The cruiser’s passenger door opened, and the shadow of a cop flowed out.
Hala leveled her Sig through the chain link, siting the man’s chest. He was as good as dead, if that was what she needed to do. Yet she felt nothing. As he stepped up to the fence, another surge of adrenaline ran through her. It felt as though her blood was running a race. She wanted to kill him.
The policeman stopped and looked around. As casual as a tourist. Then he leaned back slightly. When Hala saw the stream arcing away from his body, she almost laughed out loud.
“Stand by. He’s just urinating,” she said. “I’m watching the idiot relieve himself.”
As the cop finished up and turned to go, his partner called out something from the car. Whatever it was, the first officer stopped and turned back toward the rail yard. A flashlight came up in his hand.
He shone it through the fence and onto the tracks — where it caught a glimpse of a moving body. Hala saw it too — the younger boy. Just before he darted back out of sight. Imbecile! Amateur!
She didn’t hesitate, squeezing off three fast shots. The flashlight dropped first, then the cop himself. She was pleased with her shooting, the accuracy under duress. This was excellent practice.
“Everyone out of there,” Hala radioed. “Bring the van to the opposite side. Brentwood and T. Do it now!”
Another light, even brighter, came right up in her face!
She realized it was the search beam on the side of the cruiser. Hala fired into it, two more rounds. There was a popping sound — and the night went dark again.
For a brief moment, she couldn’t see anything, but she could hear the second cop. He was radioing for backup even as he ran toward the bridge and his fallen partner. His dead partner, Hala knew.
“Shots fired! Officer down! Request immediate assistance at the Brentwood rail yard! Repeat: officer down!”
That was followed by heavy footsteps pounding up the metal stairs.
Time to run. Time to get everybody out.
The rest of the team was scrambling and directing one another to the pickup point in breathy, frantic voices. Hala ignored all of it as she made for the far side of the bridge.
Then the cop’s voice came again, directly behind her. “Freeze!”
She didn’t.
A bullet ricocheted off the metal cage just over her shoulder. There was nowhere to go but straight ahead. Unless —
Hala stopped short.
She turned and dropped in one fluid motion, firing blindly down the alley of the walkway. Everything else disappeared for two very long seconds. Then the second cop dropped to the ground.
Dead? Almost definitely. She never missed. That was why she had the gun, not Tariq. Then Hala was up and running again.
She hit the stairs on the far side at full speed and almost barreled over the railing. Even now, she felt proud of herself. She was good at this, very skillful.
“We have to wait!” Tariq’s voice sounded over the radio as he scanned the area for Hala.
Then the mother bitch’s answer. “You wait,” she said. “We’re leaving right now.”
As Hala hit the sidewalk, she saw the van pulling away from the curb, its side door still open. A taxi swerved to avoid being hit. The van didn’t slow down. It ran a fast left turn through a red light and was gone into the night.
Tariq was still there, looking around frantically. The poor man seemed lost.
“I’m here,” Hala said. “To your left, Tariq.” Come to mother.
He ran toward her and they met in the middle of the sidewalk.
“What should we do?” he said. “They drove away. They left us, Hala!”
The sound of police sirens was already closing in around the neighborhood. They had no money for a cab, or even the subway, once it started running. If the van was apprehended, it could even be unsafe to go back to their hotel room.