I have this guy pinned down. Backup can be here in two minutes.
“It’s okay,” she told Riley. “We’ve got him now. He’s going nowhere. There’s a phone in my waistband—pass it to me.”
Garrick also had an idea. The magician suddenly withdrew from the foot of the stairs and hurried along the subterranean corridor to the computer banks.
That’s okay. That’s fine. All he can do with the computers is slap the keyboards. No password, no access, Chevie thought. Then: Really? The holding-cell door didn’t slow him down much, remember?
“Phone, Riley. Get my phone.”
“Unless it’s a weapon, Agent, forget your bloomin’ phone. Aim your gun and fire off another shot.”
“No, don’t worry. He’s contained down there.”
Riley understood that Miss Savano believed she had gained the upper hand, and his eyes watered with frustration.
“You don’t understand, miss. Garrick is a devil. He ain’t no bludger nor simple broadsman. Didn’t you see him delivered from the pit with your own two gawpers?”
Chevie had seen it, but she refused to relinquish the rules of her world entirely. “Maybe, if he could get into the weapons locker, he could do something, but that’s protected by a code.”
From below came a double bleep and ka-chaak, which Chevie recognized as the weapons locker keypad turning off its alarm and swinging open.
Riley knew without being told what the noises were. “That was your locker, wasn’t it, miss? That was Garrick outfoxing your code?”
Again, thought Chevie.
“That was our cue to go,” she admitted, hitching herself over the top step and into the hallway. “What you said about leaving? You were right.”
“Praise the Lord for good sense,” said Riley, and he ducked under Chevie’s arm so he could drag her more efficiently.
Garrick appeared, cradling an AK-47 assault rifle, which had probably been new when Chevie was in grade school.
The gun’s age won’t slow down the bullets, thought Chevie, forcing Garrick to duck as she sent three more rounds humming down the stairwell. That should buy us five seconds at least.
Five seconds was about three seconds more than she got. Before the echo of her final shot had faded, Garrick’s head appeared once more around the corner of the first flight of stairs. This time he had the AK’s stock expertly wedged between cheek and shoulder.
Riley knew then that Garrick had come out of the metal transporting machine with knowledge and abilities he had not previously possessed. He was somehow improved.
“Now, little girlie,” Garrick called, “let us see if what I dreamed about this contraption is true.”
Garrick pulled the trigger, sending a stream of bullets into the ceiling over Chevie’s head. The kickback got away from him for a second, but he soon recovered. The noise was deafening in the confined space, like overlapping thunderclaps. Riley and Chevie hunkered on the floorboards, unable to tell if they had been shot or if they were screaming.
Riley had no combat experience like Chevie’s, but his entire life had been one long trauma, so he was accustomed to getting on with living even when death was close at hand. He grabbed Agent Savano by the collar and dragged her backward like a sack of coal.
“Come on,” he cried. “We must get to the streets.”
They stumbled along together, with the threat of Garrick like a wind at their backs; and in a ragged moment they were at the front door, which was secured by three bolts set into a steel frame.
Swipe the security card and we’re out, thought Chevie.
Chevie felt for the tiny reel clipped to a pant loop where her card normally hung.
No card. Must have lost it in the explosion. Unless . . .
Chevie glared at Riley. “Give me my card, thief.”
Riley already had it out. “You leaned a fraction close doing the manacles. And I opened them with a pick from me sock that came out of the machine with me. Sorry, Agent. Life or death.”
They could talk about this later. Chevie swiped the card as bullets bounced around the hallway, shattering glass and blasting a crystal chandelier. It crashed to the ground, showering Riley with glass shards and blocking the stairwell.
“Riley!” called Garrick. “Kill her, boy. I know it’s in you. I will wipe the slate, my word on it.” All this while climbing the stairs and changing magazines.
The door popped open a slice, and Chevie put her final bullet into the control pad.
A red light flashed on the alarm pad and a peeved voice said: “control pad tampered with. lockdown in five seconds. lockdown in four seconds.”
Garrick hopped nimbly over the twisted remains of the chandelier, raising his knees unfeasibly high to the level of his ears, carrying the automatic weapon overhead.
“Strike, Riley.”
In case Riley chose not to strike as ordered, Garrick fired another burst at Agent Savano, but he was too late. The door had closed behind his quarry, all three bolts engaging automatically. Simultaneously the rear entrance locked itself, and bars dropped over every window in the house. The security system was the best federal dollars could buy, and in under three seconds the house on Bedford Street was locked down tighter than the average Swiss bank.
Chevie rested with her back against the door, feeling her pulse drumming inside her swollen eyelid.
“Okay, we have a breather now. That monster may have beaten the weapons code out of Smart, but he’s not getting out of that house without FBI clearance.”
Riley tugged Chevie away from the door.
“We must keep moving, miss. No building can hold Albert Garrick for long,” he said.
Chevie allowed herself to be tugged through the cordon of emergency tape tied across the railing. She was starting to believe that maybe this Garrick character was just as dangerous as Riley claimed him to be.
A Visit to the Outhouse
BEDFORD SQUARE. BLOOMSBURY. LONDON. NOW
Riley and Chevie stumbled into the orange glow of evening streetlamps, on to the square lined with Georgian four-story houses bordering a small park like something from Peter Pan.
“This at least is familiar,” panted Riley, gazing at the square, purposefully ignoring the sounds and sights beyond. “I was terribly afraid that modern wonders would be too much for my poor nut.”
Wait until you see Piccadilly Circus , thought Chevie. Riley drew in a huge shuddering breath. “Garrick is always telling me to breathe. It calms a body, if a body needs calming.” Riley stopped talking as his nose took stock of the air that had just gone into it.
“How curious,” he said, then threw up all over the pavement.
“That’s great,” said Chevie. “We’ll never get a black cab to pick us up now.”
But she did manage to flag down a cab outside a boutique hotel on Bayley Street, and soon they were lost in traffic, heading toward Leicester Square.
Riley kept his head between his knees, drawing sticky breaths until he could make himself stop shaking. “The smell, miss. It’s like the inside of an apothecary’s pocket. I can’t smell the city.”
Chevie patted him on the back. “I guess it’s a bit cleaner these days. No one empties chamber pots out the window anymore.”
“I can’t smell the people. Are there less people now?”
Chevie looked out at the teeming metropolis rolling past the window. “Not really.”
Riley clasped his knees tightly and raised his eyes.
“I don’t smell any horses,” he croaked.
“Nope, no horses. Except outside Buckingham Palace on occasion.”
Riley straightened and pressed his face to the window. “Generally, we have horses. But I’ve seen automobiles, so this ain’t so terrifying.” Then a double-decker bus loomed alongside.
Riley flinched. Perhaps he could handle a carriage-sized automobile, but this craft was bigger than a cargo barge.
His eyes took in one modern wonder after another. Neon signs. Computer shops. Skys
crapers. Eventually he saw something familiar.
“There’s an honest-to-god Blighty pub,” Riley gasped. “Can we go in, Agent? A quick dram of brandy for my nerves?”
Chevie snorted. “You are not drinking, Riley.”
“Why not? Is it outlawed entirely?”
“Yeah, that’s right. Totally illegal. You touch one dram and I’ll have to shoot you.”
Riley sighed a spot of condensation on the window, then lifted his gaze skyward, and his breath came in sudden shallow bursts, clouding the glass.