Zero Day_ A Novel - Mark Russinovich [107]
“Don’t be a spectator,” his partner was always telling him. “You want to watch crime, watch Law and Order on TV.” Jerry moved toward the couple, not even realizing that as he did so, he placed his hand on his gun.
Alley guy was picking up his pace and Jerry could see he was angling to reach the sidewalk just behind the couple, his hand coming out of the pocket now. Jerry felt the hair on the back of his neck stand up and his skin prickle. A man in an alley, a couple, people walking back and forth on the street. Nothing was odd about the movement itself, Jerry saw it a thousand times a day on patrol, but this was different. He knew it. Jerry drew his weapon.
Jerry himself was almost across the street, about thirty feet in front of and to the left of the laughing couple. Alley guy was maybe twenty feet away from them, still in the street but almost to the cars parked along that side. His hand was in view now and Jerry saw the pistol with the big nose on the barrel. A silencer, he knew, never having seen one in action before, but the entire gun looked just like one with a silencer they’d shown his class at the academy.
“You!” Jerry shouted. “Drop that gun! Freeze!”
On the sidewalk, Jeff heard the officer and turned toward him. The uniformed man was pointing his gun behind them, yelling at someone. Jeff looked and saw a man just reaching the parked cars, a gun in his hand. The man turned toward the cop and Jeff heard three pops like subdued firecrackers, sensed rather than saw the officer struck with bullets. Then the officer’s gun fired in a loud explosion, then fired again, and again and again as he tumbled onto the pavement, landing on his back.
Jeff pushed Daryl forward without thinking. “Run! Run!” he said as the pair broke into a sprint down the street, then around the first corner.
* * *
Jerry felt the bullets striking him across the chest like heavy blows. Alley guy had been incredibly fast. Jerry cursed himself for missing him. The only bullet he’d fired that was even close was the first, but he knew it had gone high and wide. The others had gone into the cars or pavement as he lost his balance and fell. Shit!
* * *
The cop had come out of nowhere. Manfield had seen him standing watch over the construction site and assumed he was some kind of traffic officer, which, in England, were always unarmed. Even if he was armed, Manfield had decided that with the noise and traffic it was unlikely the cop would even see what he was up to. If he did, it would all be over before he could respond.
Spotting the couple coming out of the hotel, Manfield had focused only on them. His instincts told him to kill both of them, but the man first, since he was the target. He moved across the street as quickly as he dared, drew his weapon, then heard the cop. He couldn’t believe the man had actually been watching him. Spinning, he’d shot him three times in the heart, saw him topple over, then had taken off after the running couple, ignoring the gunshots in his direction as they weren’t even close.
At the corner he turned and saw they were already well down the street. He looked back and saw the officer flop over on his back. He was talking into a communication device of some kind. At the construction site, the workers had stopped; it was silent. They were staring straight at Manfield and pointing.
Pursuing the couple meant drawing the police to him, and a running gunfight in midtown Manhattan made no sense. Manfield ran back up the street, then disappeared into the alley. Along the way he wiped, then ditched, first the pistol, then his windbreaker. Emerging on the other side, he flagged down a taxi. “Trump Tower,” he said, then sat back in the seat and watched for trouble.
Fifteen minutes later he paid the driver, then entered the lobby of Trump Tower. There he drew out his cell phone and punched in the numbers. After several rings