Night Prey

truck, “is not somebody to fuck with. He just did three miles at a dead run. There are pro fighters in worse shape than he is.”
    “I’d take him on,” Connell said.
    Lucas looked at her. “Bullshit.”
    The Ruger was in a mufflike opening of her handbag, and she slipped it out in one motion. Big hands. She spun the cylinder. “I would,” she said.
    After the park, Koop went home. Stayed for an hour. Started out again, and wound up pulling the team through the skyways, right up to Jensen. “Where’s he going?” Connell asked as Lucas caught up. She took his arm, made them into a couple, a different look. “Is he going after her?”
    “He’s headed in her direction,” Lucas said. They were closing a bit, and Lucas turned her around, spoke into the radio. “Sloan, Del, you got him. He’s coming through.”
    “It’s ten minutes to five,” Connell said. “She gets off about now.”
    Sloan beeped. “Where is he?”
    Del: “He’s stopped halfway across, he’s looking down at the street.”
    Lucas pulled Connell to one side. “Walk across the entrance sideways, glance down there. Don’t come back if he’s looking this way.”
    She nodded, walked across the aisle that led to the skyway, glanced to her left, continued across, looked back, and said, “He’s just looking out.” She waited a moment, then crossed back to Lucas, again glancing down the skyway.
    “He’s moving,” she said to her radio.
    “Got him,” said Del. “He’s out of the skyway.”
    “Coming through,” Lucas said. “Raider-Garrote’s in the Exchange Building.”
    Another department store separated them from the Exchange Building, but Koop didn’t linger. He was moving quickly now, glancing at his watch. He went through the next skyway, Sloan out in front of him, Del breaking off to the side, then dashing down half a block and re-crossing in a parallel skyway, turning back toward the surveillance team.
    Lucas and Connell split up, single again, Connell now carrying her huge purse in one hand, like a briefcase. Lucas put the hat on.
    “Sloan?”
    “It’s going down, man,” Sloan said, sounding like he might be out of breath. “Something’s gonna happen. I’m going past Raider-Garrote right now. I’m gonna stop here, in case he goes in, pulls some shit.”
    “Christ, Del, move up. . . .”
    “I’m coming, I’m coming. . . .”
    Connell moved back to him. “What’re we doing?” she asked.
    “Get close, but not too close. I’m gonna call Sara.” Connell strode away, her gun hand resting on top of her purse. Lucas fumbled in his breast pocket, pulled out the cellular phone, pushed the memory-dial and the number 7. A moment later, the phone rang and Jensen picked it up.
    “It’s happening,” Lucas said. “He’s right outside your door. Don’t look directly at him if you can avoid it. He’ll see the trap in your eyes.”
    “Okay. I’m just leaving,” Jensen said. She sounded calm enough; he felt like there might be a small smile in her voice.
    “You’ll take the elevator up?”
    “Like always,” she said.
     
     
     
    LUCAS CALLED THE other three, explained. Del came up and they started off together, Sloan interrupting: “Here he comes. And Connell’s right behind him.”
    “We’re coming in,” Lucas said. “Del’s coming first. You better move out of sight, Sloan. What’s he doing?”
    “He’s looking through the windows . . . I see Connell.”
     
     
     
    DEL TOTTERED ON ahead, perfect as a skyway wan derer, a little drunk, nowhere to go, staying inside until the stores closed, and moving out on the streets for the night. People looked away from him—even through him—but not at him.
    “I just went by him,” he called back to Lucas. “He’s looking through the window, like he’s reading the numbers off their boards. Jensen’s on the way out.”
    “I just walked back past him,” Sloan said. “Del, you better get out of sight for a minute.”
    “I’m coming,” Lucas said.
    There was a moment of silence. Lucas was conspicuous, loitering in the skyway, and he crossed to a newsstand cut as a notch into the skyway wall. Sloan came on. “Jensen’s out. He’s walking away, same way I am, coming at you, Lucas.”
    “I’m going into the newsstand,” Lucas said. “I’ll pick him up.”
    A moment later Sloan said, “Christ, Lucas, put your radio away. I think he’s coming in there.”
    Lucas turned it off, slipped it into his pocket, grabbed a copy of The Economist