The Devils Teardrop

Czisman was close behind.
    Cage and Kincaid stood together, looking over the crowds. Kincaid pointed toward the west side of the Vietnam monument and Cage nodded toward the east. They separated and moved off in their respective directions, the man in the trench coat trotting away from them both, toward Constitution.
    Czisman was a heavy man and out of shape. His breath snapped in and out of his congested lungs and his heart pounded like a piston. But he managed to keep up with Parker Kincaid very easily, pausing only momentarily—to take the pistol from the sweaty waistband of his slacks and slip it into his coat pocket.

26
    The Digger’s coat is heavy.
    Heavy from the weight of the guns.
    From the weight of the clips, containing hundreds of rounds of .22 . . .
    Click, click . . .
    . . . of . . . of .22 caliber long-rifle ammunition warning bullets can travel up to one mile do not allow children to shoot unsupervised.
    But the Digger would never do that—let a child shoot unsupervised.
    Not Tye. Never, ever, ever Tye.
    Two nicely packed suppressors. Cotton and rubber, cotton and rubber.
    You’re the you’re the you’re best . . .
    The machine guns are in the inside pockets of his nice blue or black overcoat, his Christmas present from Pamela. One of the pistols from the glove compartment of his Toyota is in the right outside pocket of his coat. Four more clips for the Uzis are in the left-hand pocket.
    No bags, no puppies . . .
    He’s standing in shadows and none of the people nearby notice him. He looks for police or agents and sees none.
    Tye is asleep in the back seat of the car, a block away. When the Digger left him his sticklike arms were folded over his chest.
    This is what worries him the most—if the police start shooting or if the Digger has to shoot with the unsilenced pistols Tye might wake up from the sound. And then he won’t sleep well.
    He’s also worried that the boy will be cold. The temperature keeps falling. But the Digger remembers that he tripled the blanket over Tye. He’ll be all right. He’s sleeping. Children are always all right when they’re sleeping.
    He is standing by himself watching some of the people who are about to die. He calls one last time on his cell phone and the lady who sounds like Ruth before the triangle of glass says, “You have no new messages.”
    So it’s okay to kill these people.
    They’ll fall to the ground like dark leaves.
    Chop chop chop chopchopchop . . .
    He’ll . . . click . . . he’ll spin around, like a top, like a toy Tye might like, and he’ll spread the bullets throughout the crowd. Bullets from two guns.
    Then he’ll get into the car and check his messages and if the man who tells him things still hasn’t called then he and Tye will drive until they find . . . click . . . they find California.
    Somebody will tell him where it is.
    It can’t be that hard to find. It’s somewhere Out West. He remembers that.
    * * *
    Is the Digger behind him?
    In front?
    Beside?
    Parker Kincaid, separated from the other agents, walked in a large, frantic circle near the Vietnam Memorial, lost in a sea of people. Looking for a man in a dark coat. With a shopping bag. Wearing a crucifix.
    Far too many people. Thousands of them. Ten thousand.
    Cage was on the other side of the Memorial. Len Hardy was on Constitution Avenue. Baker and the other tactical officers were making a sweep from the other side of the Mall.
    Parker was about to stop a group from walking down to the Memorial itself, send them to the safety of a cluster of officers, but then he paused.
    He realized suddenly that he hadn’t been thinking clearly.
    Puzzles. Remember the puzzles.
    Three hawks have been killing a farmer’s chickens. . . .
    Then he understood his mistake. He’d been looking in the wrong places. He stepped aside, out of the way of the crowd, and examined the grounds near the Vietnam Memorial. He thought of the unsub’s mazes and realized that the man would have known that by the third attack the agents would have some description of the Digger. He would’ve told the killer not to approach the Memorial along one of the sidewalks, where he could be spotted more easily; he should come in through the trees.
    Parker turned quickly and disappeared into a thicket of maple and cherry trees. It was still crowded with people making their way to the Mall but he didn’t stop to tellthem to leave the area. His job now wasn’t to be a caretaker,