"Officer Anthony?" the woman said, no longer holding the man's hand.
He barely nodded and muttered, "Yes?"
"We're going to walk past you now to seek medical attention. That's really all you should remember about us. Does that sound like a fair assessment of the situation?" she said, smiling.
"What happened up there?" he automatically replied, now scared that he might have signed his own death warrant.
"Nothing worth the life of a police officer. You should help some of the guests now."
He glanced at the mayhem through the thinning smoke and saw several people lying on the tan marble floor, coughing and wheezing.
"I suppose you're right," he said, betraying a hint of regret in his decision.
He heard his sergeant's voice and watched the uniformed police officer push his way through the leftmost lobby entrance, along with two plain-clothed officers, both armed with short-barreled M-4 Carbines. The sergeant spotted Anthony immediately and started walking over. He now had three police officers focused on his gathering. He detected a shift in intensity from the couple standing in front of him. The man previously leaning against the wall now stood on both feet, his leg wound suddenly healed. Anthony made a decision that he'd professionally regret, but personally cherish. He extended his right hand and placed it on the woman's shoulder, raising his voice over the din of confusion that seemed to envelop the whole lobby.
"Head out into the parking lot and check in with a paramedic," he said, patting her on the back to move them along and through the doors.
He never looked back at them.
"What are you doing?" the sergeant asked.
"What does it look like I'm doing? I'm screening the guests. We have no information about the shooters. They could be up on any of the floors or trying to sneak out in the stampede!" he yelled over the noise.
"Nice job, Paul. I need you to head outside and organize the rest of the officers as they arrive. I want teams of three or four on each exit screening guests. I'll get you some tactical support assets to beef up your presence." The sergeant turned to the first response tactical officers, not waiting for Anthony's acknowledgement.
He issued orders to the two tactical officers and jogged into the smoky chaos to try to gain control of the situation. Anthony turned to the door, surprised to see that his mystery guests were no longer in sight and had been replaced by several other desperate hotel guests. He made his way through the people, careful not to jostle anyone, and emerged under the roof of the guest drop-off area. He glanced around, relieved to discover that they had already disappeared. Unless the hotel crashed down on all of them, he'd make it home in time for the morning ritual. He'd kiss his wife goodbye before work and walk his two boys to the bus stop for school. Priceless moments like those left him with no regrets about letting those three vanish.
They fast walked toward Peachtree Road, hoping to catch a taxi within the next minute, before the Atlanta Police Department threw the full weight of their resources into the containment effort at the Ritz Carlton. Daniel could hear multiple sirens in the distance as they approached the crowded six-lane city street. They needed to get as far away from Atlanta as possible. Normally, he fled toward crowds, but tonight was different and their evening was far from over. It would take them a while to find a secondary location safe enough from the public eye to sit down and have an earnest chat with Mr. Young. He sensed that Young would give them everything, but they had to be sure he didn't play them. Sometimes that could get messy, or at least a little loud. Either way, he didn't expect to be on a plane headed back to the South Carolina coast tonight.
"That was beautiful! Who the fuck are you people? You just stared down a police officer. I've never seen anything like that. He saw your gun. You know that, right?" Benjamin Young said.
Daniel flipped his right hand back and slapped Young directly in the face, connecting with his broken nose. The man howled and cursed, stopping in his tracks before Jessica moved slightly behind him to provide a razor-sharp reason to keep moving.
"What the fuck did you do that for?" Young mumbled.
"To remind you that we're not friends," Daniel said.
"Now shut the fuck up and keep walking. I don't want to hear another word out of you unless I ask a question. Got it?"
"Yes or no works for us," Jessica said.
Young simply nodded, clearly struggling to walk after his focused strike. Daniel saw several taxis pass in the minute it took them to arrive at Lenox. His cell phone vibrated, and he hoped it was good news from Munoz and Melendez. They had poured out of the smoke-filled stairwell a few people back from Daniel's group, prepared to run interference if the police had already locked down the lobby. He'd watched them slither past the sergeant and his two heavily armed police escorts, just as Officer Anthony made a decision in everyone's best interest. One wrong move by Anthony might have led to a bloodbath that no presidential amnesty could forgive and an even bigger rip in his soul that could never be mended.
"Where are you guys?" he said in greeting.
"Headed northeast on Lenox. Looking to pick up a cab. What's the rendezvous point?" Munoz said.
"I think we should circle the city on the two-eighty-five and meet up at Hartsfield-Jackson. We can grab a rental at the terminal and head east into South Carolina. Find somewhere outside of Columbia to stop and have a chat with our friend here."
"All right. I'll call Sanderson with an update. I don't know what Jessica said to that cop, but it avoided a messy situation."
"Tell me about it. I'll pass that on to her. We'll meet you at the baggage claim inside the north terminal," Daniel said.
"See you there," Munoz replied, ending the call.
Daniel held out his hand to hail a cab, hoping the growing number of blue police lights wouldn't scare off their easiest and most secure form of transportation to the airport. They could always walk down Peachtree Road for about ten minutes to Buckhead Station and take the MARTA to the airport, but one glance at Young's bloodied face and scarlet-stained collar shelved that idea. They would need to clean him up before arriving at the airport. Their best course of action might be to head into the side entrance of another hotel along Peachtree Road and take him to a bathroom.
"Let's take a walk," he said, staring down the street at an illuminated "Westin" marquee sign.
Several police cars converged on the intersection of Peachtree and Lenox, screeching around the corner toward the main drive-up entrance to the Ritz Carlton. Two of the cars remained in the intersection, blocking traffic from reaching the main entrance to the hotel. It wouldn't be long before they started expanding their cordon. He turned southeast on Peachtree Road and started walking.
Chapter 36
Jackson Greely's Chevy Suburban hummed past the faint glow of Hazelton. The Chevy's cruise control was set at 70 MPH, which experience had taught him was a safe speed to avoid unwanted attention from the Pennsylvania State Police. Anything over 70 MPH was a complete crapshoot, especially on a Friday night. He hit the deceleration switch once and tucked the speed just under 70. He couldn't afford to have his whereabouts recorded in state police databanks. He'd left Harrisburg after a quiet dinner engagement with local political supporters and headed north for Lake Wallenpaupack. It was time for Greely and Harding to disappear, while events transpired that would change the course of American history.