The Trail to Buddha's Mirror - Don Winslow [124]
Her black-clad form appeared in stark silhouette against the whiteness of the Buddha’s head, about twenty feet away. She was inching her way along, trying to feel for the railing that led down the stairs.
Neal realized that she was heading down to the river. She had a boat waiting. He couldn’t let her meet it. He broke into a sprint.
The bullet hit Buddha square in the ear. Li Lan dropped to the ground.
“Shit.”
Neal heard the voice. It was about fifty feet away, in a copse of trees to his right. He peered through the fog but couldn’t see anyone. He lay on his stomach, wishing his breathing didn’t make so much goddamn noise. Li Lan hadn’t gotten up, so she was either hurt or just being smart. Staying flat on his stomach, he crawled to where he had seen her fall.
His hand touched her elbow and she flinched. He grabbed her arm and pulled himself against her.
He heard cautious footsteps. The shooter was maneuvering for a better angle. If he was smart, he’d work his way back onto the path and come straight onto the landing. She heard it, too.
“Are you hurt?” he asked her. It was just the slightest whisper, but it sounded like a PA announcement to him.
She shook her head.
The footsteps stopped.
“You have a boat down there,” he said.
She nodded.
“You can back down the stairs without being seen.”
“There is not the time. He will shoot me on the stairs.”
“I’ll take care of it.”
The footsteps started again, slow and patient.
“Get going,” he said.
“Why would you do this?”
Good fucking question.
“Because you’re going to take me to Pendleton.”
If I live that long.
And you might as well tell the truth as long as you’re probably going to get killed anyway.
“And because I love you. Now crawl backwards onto the stairs. When you’re down to the next landing, get up and make all the noise you can going down. Got that?”
“Yes.”
“Where can I meet you?”
She didn’t answer. The footsteps had stopped. The bastard was in position and just waiting for the right moment. As soon as his quarry flinched, he’d move in for the kill.
“Look,” Neal whispered. “I know where your mountain is. I know it from your paintings. I can track you down, and I won’t give up. It will never stop until you let me speak with Pendleton. Never. Now tell me where I can meet you, and get your ass in gear before we both get killed.”
She squeezed his hand. “At the elephant.”
“Where?”
“You can find it. I will be there.”
“Get going.”
“I am very frightened.”
“I’m scared to fucking death. Now go.”
She squeezed his hand again and started to crawl backward, feeling for the edge of the stairs with her feet.
Neal could just hear her make contact with the wooden steps. Now what? he thought. The opposition has a gun, and you’re armed only with your fine sense of irony. Of course, he’s missed once already. Maybe he’s a lousy shot.
Then he heard the sound of footsteps running down the stairs to the river. She was making a real show of it, and that was just what he needed, because then he heard the shooter running along the path straight toward him.
The fucker doesn’t know anyone’s here, Neal realized with relief. He’s running straight, hard, and fast toward the stairs, where he’ll have her pinned against the river. He’ll have all the shots he wants.
Neal gathered his knees underneath him.
Simms burst out of the fog, holding the pistol, barrel up, in his right hand, running hard. He was almost on top of Neal.
Neal lowered his head and sprang. The top of his head smacked Simms on the bottom of the chin.
Neal figured it worked better when you had a football helmet on, and his head spun with pain as he fell. But Simms was out, and this gave Neal a few seconds to recover. He found the pistol just a few feet from Simms’s hand and picked it up.
Do it, Neal thought. You can pop him right now and toss him into the river. The currents will take care of the rest. Do it. He raised the pistol and lined the sights up on Simms’s forehead. Then he waited for Simms to come to. It didn’t take