Josef holstered his weapon as the team moved toward Liberty Street. Leskov’s team pressed farther into the crowd, hoping to lose themselves amid the chaos.
‘Shit, gunfire!’ Nolan growled as he broke into a run toward Maynard Street, leaving Kelsey in his wake.
He took defensive cover behind the pillars at the end of the arcade, scanned the situation, and moved out into the street. Kelsey emerged onto Maynard just as Nolan reached the officer who’d been shot. The crush of people emptying out onto the adjacent streets turned the area into complete chaos. Several bystanders were trampled, including artisans who were crawling out from beneath the wreckage of their booths.
‘She’s dead,’ Nolan pronounced angrily. ‘What a fucking waste.’
He rose, looked around, then spotted the other officer through the shattered plate-glass window. Kelsey followed, and they traipsed over the debris from the ruined booths and stepped into the bookstore. Carefully, they lowered the fallen cop onto the carpeted floor.
‘How is he?’ Kelsey asked as Nolan checked for a pulse.
‘Unconscious, and cut to hell.’
Nolan pulled the microphone off the cop’s shoulder and keyed the switch. ‘This is Kilkenny. There are two officers down on Maynard between Liberty and William. One’s dead and the other needs a medic, stat. Over.’
‘Help’s on the way, Kilkenny,’ Ptashnik promised, his voice filled with concern. ‘Where are the fucks who did this?’
‘They’re somewhere on Liberty, probably heading west, away from the fair. They’ve done what they came to do, so they’re looking to exfiltrate. Kelsey Newton is going to stay here with your people until the ambulance arrives.’
‘Where are you going?’ Ptashnik asked.
‘I’m going to try and get my hands on these guys for you.’
‘Don’t you even think about it, Kilkenny!’ Ptashnik shouted.
‘You’re going to have to trust me on this one.’ Then he cut the transmission.
Nolan turned to echo the same thought to Kelsey, but before he could say a word, she handed him the wounded officer’s weapon. After checking the safety on the SIG-Sauer P226 and clipping the police radio to his waist, Nolan turned and disappeared down the street.
35
Kilkenny cautiously approached the intersection, edging alongside a brick building that housed a copy center in its basement level. He slowly peered around the corner and saw that the Russians were moving west down the center of Liberty Street, between the parallel rows of booths that temporarily occupied the metered parking spaces.
He moved onto the sidewalk, using the booths as a screen between himself and the Russians. At the end of the block, he passed a seven-foot-tall bomb, painted like Old Glory, that stood beside the entrance of a militarysurplus store. The Russians cleared the last booths and stepped onto the sidewalk opposite Kilkenny — about half a block ahead of him. He easily picked them out in the thinning stream of people.
‘Ptashnik, this is Kilkenny. Over.’
‘I read you, Kilkenny.’ Ptashnik sounded pissed-off. ‘What’s happening?’
‘The Tangos are still on foot moving west on Liberty. They crossed Division and are nearing Fifth.’
‘Oh my God! He’s got a gun!’ a woman screamed when she saw Kilkenny crossing Liberty with his weapon drawn.
Leskov and two of his men turned at the scream and saw Kilkenny. The Russians immediately broke into a run toward Main Street.
‘Shit! They spotted me,’ Kilkenny cursed into the handset. ‘Tangos are heading toward Main.’
The radio chattered with commands and responses as the police drew their forces in. Officers on foot and in cars moved to cordon off the two-block stretch of Main Street where the cop killers were headed.
The Russian in the rear position turned and aimed his weapon. Kilkenny dove behind a parked minivan as the man fired; two rounds shattered the vehicle’s windshield. The sounds of gunfire cleared the sidewalk for two blocks as people ran for cover. Ahead, the Russians pressed forward into the thick crowd on Main Street.
‘They’re on Main, heading north from Liberty,’ Kilkenny reported.
He sprinted down the street, slowing when he reached the edge of the Art Fair’s downtown venue. Thousands of people had replaced the normal gridlock of cars.
The atmosphere was still festive as the panic of Liberty Street had not infected this area yet. The aroma of spiced lamb and onion accompanied the bouzouki music wafting from a Greek restaurant’s temporary sidewalk café. Up the block a nine-foot-tall inflatable Mongol warrior greeted passersby, encouraging all to dine at BD’s Mongolian Barbeque.
‘Ptashnik, Main Street is packed, and the Tangos are right in the middle of it. Where are those other cops?’
‘On the way,’ Ptashnik promised.
The police radio crackled as officers reported their positions, converging on the scene. Kilkenny pressed the two-way against his ear to better hear over the din around him. Frustrated, he pushed his way onto the sidewalk and began hurdling over the chain partitions that defined the outdoor seating areas of the Main Street restaurants.
‘Sir!’ a hostess shouted angrily. ‘You can’t do—’
‘Dmitri, on the sidewalk,’ Josef said.
‘I see him. It’s Kilkenny, the one who killed Pavel and the others. Josef, you’re with me. The rest of you follow Evgenii to the pickup. We’ll be right behind you.’
Leskov and Josef broke ranks, moving to intercept. Each readied his weapon as they approached their prey. The four other Russians hurried their pace, moving onto the last city block closed by the fair.
Kilkenny pushed his way through the long line of people waiting to be seated at the Mongol warrior’s restaurant, and finally reached the intersection of Main and Washington. From behind a wooden barricade, he surveyed the milling crowd, searching for the Russians. He spotted them as they passed into the next block, then realized that two were missing. Nearby, a patrol car quietly approached the intersection.
‘Turn around and keep your hands where I can see ’em!’ a cop shouted as the doors on the police cruiser flung open.
Kilkenny froze, then put both hands in the air.
As one of the officers approached, Nolan saw two of the men who attacked Sandstrom’s lab muscle their way through the restaurant’s queue. The Russians spotted Kilkenny and raised their weapons.
‘Gun!’ Kilkenny shouted as he dove for the curb.
The cops hit the pavement just as two shots roared past Kilkenny. Both flew wide of the mark, ricocheting off the pavement.
A woman screamed, pulling her children away from the restaurant’s giant mascot. Her youngest, a three-year-old boy, stumbled, and she lost her grip on his tiny hand. Hearing gunfire, the young man inside the inflatable suit dove over the child. The next shots ripped through the costume’s thick nylon skin, sending an explosion of pressurized air and fabric upward.
‘Time to go,’ Leskov announced as the window of opportunity for revenge closed.
Both men rushed with the crowd up Main Street toward Huron. On the other side of the barricade that marked the northern edge of the fair, Leskov saw the rest of his team climbing into the dark green Suburban that had brought them there.
Kilkenny stood up and began scanning the crowd for the Russians. He caught sight of the two men who’d just shot at him halfway up the block.
‘Freeze!’ the cop shouted.
‘Ptashnik!’ Kilkenny said angrily into the microphone, ‘tell the two cops at Main and Washington to lay off me right now. Your cop killers are getting away!’