In Death 20 - Survivor in Death

request odd told her Baxter sent the kid off on similar errands routinely. While he dashed out and into the shop, Eve sat, watched, tapped her fingers lightly on the butt of her weapon.
    Trueheart came out with her Pepsi, and a cherry fizzy for himself She waited until he’d strapped in, then began to cruise as before.
    “Do we have another stop to make, sir?” he asked a few moments later.
    “Why do you ask?”
    “You’re well east now of your home.”
    “That’s right. Keep drinking that fizzy, Trueheart, keep facing front. But check the side mirror. You see that black panel van about five vehicles back?”
    He did as ordered. “Yes, sir.”
    “Same one’s been on us since we left the scene. Not all the time, didn’t pick us up until we were about four blocks south, but it keeps sliding in, four, five, six back. Gave them a chance to come at me when I sent you in for refreshing beverages.”
    “Sir!”
    “They didn’t take it. They’re just watching awhile. Just watching, maybe trying to catch a transmission, maybe thinking I might lead them to wherever we’ve got the kid stashed. Careful, careful, careful. Me, I’m getting a little tired of watching.”
    “I’ll call it in.”
    “No! They’re close enough, maybe they can monitor transmissions. You don’t call anything in until I say different. You strapped in all right and tight, Trueheart?”
    “Yes, sir.”
    “Good. Hold on to your fizzy.”
    She’d gone as far east as Second, and now at an intersection, whipped the wheel, slapped into a steep vertical lift, and executed a rapid and airborne three-sixty.
    “Hit the sirens,” she snapped at Trueheart. “Call it in now! Street and air support. Black panel van, New York plates. Abel-Abel-Delta-4-6-1-3. And up they go.”
    The van shot into vertical, then blasted like cannon shot down Second. A white light exploded in front of Eve’s windshield and shook the air like thunder.
    “Shit on a stick. They’ve got laser rifles. Fricking armed and fricking dangerous, heading south on Second at Seventy-eight. Make that west on Seventy-seven, approaching Park. Look at that bastard move.”
    “Juiced up.” Trueheart’s voice was even as he spoke, as he gave dispatch a rapid-fire report of their direction. But it had gone up a full octave.
    The van shot out another blast, then dropped to street level, punching up speed in a shower of sparks as they streamed onto Fifth and aimed south.
    She saw two black-and-whites cut over from the west at Sixty-fifth, move to intercept. Pedestrians scattered, and some of them went airborne as the next blast boomed out. One of the black-and-whites was flung into the air to spiral like a top.
    Eve was forced to slap vertical again to avoid collision and panicked civilians. She lost nearly half a block before she could set down and increase speed. Then she screamed downtown after the building-block red squares of the van’s taillights.
    Another blast knocked her back, had her fighting to keep control. Icy red liquid splattered over the dash. She was gaining. The shops of midtown were a colorful blur as she careened south. Lights and animated billboards were nothing but sparkle.
    Overhead, one of the ad blimps boomed out about a buy-one get one half fall sale on winter coats.
    She stayed on him, weaving, dodging, matching maneuver to maneuver as he swung west again. She heard the scream of sirens, her own and others.
    She would tell herself later she should have anticipated, should have seen it coming.
    The maxibus was lumbering in the right-hand lane. The blast from the van rolled it like a turtle, had it skidding over the street. Even as she switched to a straight lift, the maxi’s spin caught a Rapid Cab, flipped it into the air like a big yellow ball.
    On an oath, Eve whipped right, dived down, managed to thread between the bus, the cab, and a pocket of people on the sidewalk who were standing with eyes and mouths wide open at the free show.
    “Abort standard safety factors!” she shouted and prayed the computer would act quickly enough. “Abort cushioning gel, goddamn it!” An instant later, she landed with a bone-crunching slap of tires to pavement.
    Safety factors aborted. Please reset.
    She was too busy swearing, shooting into reverse. But when she pulled out on Seventh, she saw nothing but chaos. And no sign of the van.
    She yanked the harness clear, shoved out of the door, and slammed a fist on the roof. “Son of a bitch! Tell me air support’s