‘Let’s get the hell out of here!’ Nolan shouted.
Kelsey was halfway down the corridor before the words were out of Nolan’s mouth, and he was just a few steps behind her.
33
Quickly making their way to the main floor, Nolan and Kelsey rounded the corner into the vestibule and raced out through the front doors. As they reached the top of the steps, Kelsey looked down into the crowd on the Diag. Below, in the mass of people who now stood bewildered as the library burned, she noticed a group of men forcefully working their way through the crowd. In the middle of the group, one of the men quickly glanced back at the burning building.
‘Nolan, over there!’ Kelsey shouted, her voice full of surprise and anger. ‘That’s one of the movers.’
Nolan immediately shifted his gaze to where Kelsey pointed. The taut, muscular men stood out from the crowd like a team of athletes walking among the fans. They carried themselves differently than normal people, their posture and movement the result of skillful training.
‘I got ’em, Kelsey. Looks like a six-man unit in a close formation. You’re right about the tall blond one in the middle. The big guy in front of him was there, too. Come on.’
As they stepped down into the crowd, Nolan keyed through his phone’s memory and selected a number.
‘Major Crimes Unit, Detective Ptashnik.’
‘Nolan Kilkenny here. The Preservation Lab where Johann Wolff’s notebooks are being stored is on fire. Anyone who was inside is probably dead. I’m on the Diag headed toward the intersection of State and North University. About fifty yards in front of me is a group of six men who I believe are responsible for the fire. All are probable ex-Russian Special Forces. Two of them are wanted for murder, theft, and arson in Indiana. You need to get some cops down here ASAP.’
‘Shit. You sure about this, Kilkenny?’
‘Absolutely.’
‘All right, I’ll put the word out and get a car’ — Ptashnik paused — ‘fuck, the streets are blocked off for Art Fair. I’ll get the foot patrols moving to your location. What’s your number?’
Nolan carefully recited his phone number.
‘I’ll call you as soon as I get something moving on this end. Where are the suspects at now?’
‘They’re crossing State, looks like they’re heading into Nickels Arcade.’
‘Keep an eye on ’em. I’ll call back in a minute.’
34
Leskov heard the sound of approaching sirens and instantly knew that firefighters were en route to the burning building. He scanned the crowded plaza; people were starting to edge away from the library as clouds of thick black smoke roiled upward. Bright orange-yellow flames danced at the base of the smoky column. The accelerant had completely engulfed the lab in seconds. The firefighters didn’t know it, but soon there would be nothing left for them to salvage.
‘Misha, where is rendezvous?’
‘The driver reports very heavy traffic, as expected, Dmitri. An accident is causing problems at the primary pickup site. He suggests we meet at the backup location.’
‘Approved,’ Leskov said. ‘Evgenii, take us to the backup site.’
‘Da, Dmitri,’ the point man replied.
The Russians waded through the audience gathered around a quartet of Peruvian musicians. Leskov smiled; the crowded streets were the ideal place for him and his men to disappear.
Evgenii led the way across State Street toward Nickels Arcade, a two-story glass-roofed gateway of small shops that bisected the long block of continuous storefronts.
The phone purred in Nolan’s hand.
‘Kilkenny,’ he answered.
‘It’s Ptashnik. I’ve got you on a speakerphone so we can relay information to the cops on the street. Where are you?’
‘We just crossed State and are moving toward Nickels Arcade.’
‘Understood. I want you to stay out of sight — do not let these guys see you following them. They’ll bolt or worse. There’s a pair of uniformed officers on Washington moving toward Maynard. What do these guys look like?’
Nolan described each of the men as best he could. As he spoke, someone in the background on the other end of the line parroted what he’d said.
‘Got it. Our patrol has spotted your Russians just exiting the arcade.’
‘That’s them,’ Nolan confirmed.
From where they stood, Nolan and Kelsey saw the six men leave the arcade onto Maynard Street. An earful of static told Nolan their signal was fading as he and Kelsey moved deeper into the arcade.
‘I’m losing you,’ Nolan hollered, hoping the detective could still hear him. ‘Call me in a minute.’
The connection was gone.
‘What’s going on?’ Fear resonated in Kelsey’s voice.
‘Two cops on Maynard have spotted the Russians. I just hope to God they hang back until they can get these guys in the clear, or we are going to have a genuine, grade-A clusterfuck. Look at all these people — nothing but shields and hostages.’
‘Oh my God.’ Kelsey’s fear grew stronger.
‘The tactical situation here is completely skewed in their favor,’ Nolan continued. ‘What we need is a handful of two-man teams on the ground, roving in the crowd, and a sniper team up above if we’re to have any chance of taking some of those men alive without killing a lot of bystanders.’
‘Dmitri,’ Josef said in a low voice. ‘Police.’
Leskov looked to the left. About twenty feet back, two uniformed police officers carefully waded through the crowd, moving in their direction. The younger of the pair tilted her head slightly as she spoke into a microphone clipped to her shoulder.
‘Continue moving,’ Leskov quietly ordered. ‘It’s probably nothing.’
Evgenii led the team right, veering away from the approaching officers. A concrete parking structure spanned over the midsection of the street, casting a dark, cool shadow where they walked. The crowd thickened in the sheltered space, seeking some relief from the sun.
‘Excuse me,’ the senior cop announced in a stern, serious voice.
Pivoting on his left leg, Kiril quickly spun around and drove the ball of his right foot into the side of the cop’s head. The momentum of the vicious spin kick flung the man headlong through a plate-glass window and into a large bookstore. The officer lay in a torn, bloody heap atop an overturned floor display of anthropology texts.
‘Officer down!’ the younger cop shouted into her radio as she drew her weapon.
In a swift, fluid motion, Josef drew a 9-mm Glock from the holster concealed against the small of his back, aimed, and fired three rounds through the woman’s chest. She fell back, collapsing on the pavement.
A woman screamed, and the crowd on Maynard Street panicked, spreading out away from the scene like a rippling aftershock.
‘Move!’ Evgenii shouted as he pushed a couple into a booth of hand-tooled leather goods.
The metal frame supporting the light fabric roof over the booth buckled as the couple grabbed for anything to halt their fall. They toppled through the fabric wall into the next booth, setting a domino effect in motion that brought the seven consecutive booths down to the ground. Ceramics, jewelry, and blown-glass art crashed onto the pavement and was trampled by the fleeing throng.