Sudden Prey

he won’t kill you. But if you shoot me, you can make any kind of deal you want—you can make a deal with the President—and he’ll kill you anyway.”
    He grinned, and said, “Yeah, tough guy,” but he was thinking. He thought about Martin, probably dead already, going cold in the snow somewhere, and he said, “They’d stick me in the Black Hole of Calcutta.”
    “Probably, for a while,” she agreed. “Then something bigger and dirtier would come along, and they’ll start to forget about you, and they’ll give you a little air. Then you’ll have a chance. If you die now . . . that’s it. No court, no TV time, no interviews, no nothing.”
    “Well, fuck that,” LaChaise said. “Let’s see what your old man says.”
    Weather took a breath: it was a start. “You’re bleeding,” she said. “We could get a first-aid kit.”

29
    THE DRIVER OF the squad had his foot to the floor, his partner, braced for impact, screaming, “Slow it down, slow it down,” and they skidded through the first corner and nearly off the street, then they were on Washington headed toward University Hospitals.
    Dispatch came back: “We don’t know what the situation is, but she’s still alive. He’s got her on the third floor, in surgery. Wait a minute, wait a minute, he’s calling in on 911, he wants to talk to you . . .”
    Lucas shouted, “No. I don’t want to talk. He wants me to hear him shoot her. Tell him you’re trying to get in touch.”
    “Got that.”
    He sat clutching the handset, the street reeling by. Then Dispatch again: “You asked for a number at U.S. West.”
    “Yeah, yeah.” He’d almost forgotten, but he took the cellular phone from his pocket and punched the number in as the dispatcher read it.
    The phone was answered instantly: “Johnson.”
    “This is Lucas Davenport. I was supposed to call here to find out what numbers this phone has been calling.”
    “Yeah. We’ve got the number now, we’re reading it now, we’ll check the billings and get back to you. You can hang up.”
    “Get it quick,” Lucas said. “Soon as you can.”
    “It’ll take a few minutes.”
    “Whatever. Call me back at the number,” Lucas said, and he hung up, got on the handset, and said, “What’s happening?” and the cop in the passenger seat lifted his hands to ward off an oncoming car, but the driver slipped it to the left and then hooked down a ramp and they were on the bridge.
    Dispatch: “He’s still in the operating room. Another doctor’s going in and out. We’ve got two cars there, we’ve got an ERU team a minute away. Listen, the chief wants to talk . . .”
    Lucas said, “You’re breaking up . . . I’ll get back.”
    He turned the handset off and said, “Stay off the radio, guys.”
    “Why?” asked the white-faced cop in the passenger seat.
    “Because Roux wants to take me off this, and I can’t do that.”
    THEY FLASHED UP the hill on the far side of the river, made the turn and slewed down Harvard toward the hospital’s front entrance. As they braked to a stop, Lucas said, “Pop the door,” and they popped it, and he climbed out with the cops and said to the driver, “I owe you big time,” and they all ran into the building.
    A half-dozen security guards were in the lobby, and Lucas held up his ID and said, “What’s the deal?”
    “They’re out of the operating room. They’re in an office.”
    “Any cops up there?”
    “Yeah, but they can’t see down through the doors.”
    “Let’s go up,” Lucas said. He’d observed at several of Weather’s operations, trying to learn a little about her life. He knew the operating suite, and most of the adjoining offices and locker rooms. They rode up in the elevator, and when they got off, were met by two uniforms, who saw Lucas and looked relieved.
    “He’s down there, Chief. He’s got her in a back office, and he’s asking for you,” one of the cops said.
    “You got a phone line into him?”
    “Yeah, but he says don’t call unless it’s you.”
    “All right.” He turned to the security guard. “I need an exact floor plan, and all the nurses and doctors who work inside.”
    “You gonna call?” one of the cops asked.
    “Not yet,” Lucas said. “And I don’t want anyone to tip him off that I’m here. We gotta figure something out.”
    WEATHER WAS FIGHTING LaChaise. She’d come out from behind the desk, rolling out of the office chair, and she said, “I hope everything goes okay for Betty. I wish