Vector

by Robin Cook

  The United Nations building loomed up on the right.

  Curt cut into the neighboring lane. There was another cacophony of horns and shouts from behind. Curt pressed the accelerator to the floor and the van gained on the beer truck. He had to let up on his speed as he came within a few feet of a taxi, but he’d moved ahead enough to spot Jack, who was now directly even with them.

  Steve lowered his window.

  “What do you think?” Curt yelled at Steve.

  “I could shoot him, but I wouldn’t be confident where I’d hit him,” Steve shouted back. “We’re bouncing around too much.”

  “I’d cut in front of the truck if this goddamn taxi in front of us would move his ass,” Curt cried. As it was, they were slowly gaining on the beer delivery vehicle.

  “Hold on!” Curt yelled when he decided he had the opportunity. He cut the wheel sharply to the right. The van skidded slightly before rocketing ahead of the truck and then swerving in the opposite direction. The driver of the truck slammed on his brakes, causing his tires to screech in protest. Curt fought to keep the van from fishtailing as Steve leaned the gun out the window. They’d come directly alongside of Jack.

  Before Steve could draw a bead, Jack surprised them by braking suddenly himself and disappearing from view.

  “What the hell?” Curt questioned. He eased up on the accelerator. The van slowed. “Where the hell did he go?”

  “Behind us, I think,” Steve said. He stuck his head out the window and looked back.

  Seconds later Jack appeared right next to Curt’s driver’s side window. To Curt’s astonishment the doctor flipped him the finger. Curt swore and struggled to get his window down while yelling for Steve to shoot the bastard.

  Steve leaned across Curt’s lap, but Jack had moved forward.

  “Hold on,” Curt yelled. He pressed on the accelerator and the van leaped ahead. But just as they were coming abreast of Jack for the second time, Jack swung left into a clearer lane. Curt swore and moved left himself, but the lane was occupied. There was another thump as a taxi hit the side of the van. In the mirror Curt saw the taxi skid sideways to end up perpendicular to the oncoming traffic. Instantly there was a tremendous collision and a multi-vehicle pileup.

  “Christ!” Steve exclaimed. He could see what had happened through the rear window of the van.

  “Hold on, everybody, he’s going left again,” Curt yelled. No sooner had Curt changed lanes himself than Jack made a wide, arcing turn into Fifty-first Street heading west.

  “God damn it!” Curt cried as he jammed on the brakes and threw the steering wheel to the left to try to follow. The van shuddered as it skidded sideways before the tires caught. Even so, it grazed a parked car on the right followed by one on the left before Curt regained complete control. In the distance they could see Jack methodically pumping.

  “Doesn’t he get tired?” Curt questioned. He pressed down on the gas and the van shot forward.

  At Second Avenue they missed the traffic light. Undeterred, Curt inched out into the moving traffic amid horn honking and swearing. Steve hunkered down in his seat, since he was the one exposed to the oncoming vehicles.

  “Up yours!” Curt yelled to a particularly irate driver. Despite moving against the light, Curt succeeded in making it across Second Avenue, and he accelerated again. Jack was already at Third Avenue waiting for the traffic signal there to change.

  “We got him now,” Curt snarled.

  Ahead, the light changed to green. Jack started forward. Curt pressed the accelerator to the floor, jacking his speed up to over fifty miles per hour. He was determined to make the light. Curt’s mouth went dry, since he knew it would be close. He prayed there would be no taxis jumping the light on their way north.

  They streaked across Third Avenue without incident. Jack was only a half block away. But as they rapidly closed the distance, a car pulled out from a parking spot. Curt was forced to brake rapidly. He came up to the very back of the vehicle and leaned on his horn. The driver ignored him. Ahead Jack was again leaving them behind by crossing Lexington Avenue.

  “I don’t believe this!” Curt yelled. He slammed on the brakes and simultaneously hit the steering wheel with the heel of his hand in frustration. The car in front had stopped at the corner with a yellow light. “It’s just our luck to get behind the only driver in New York who stops on yellow lights.” He ran an anxious hand through his hair. “I suppose I could push him out of the way.”

  “But look at the traffic,” Steve said. It was bumper-to-bumper and moving slowly on Lexington Avenue. “There’s no place for us to go, so don’t bother. We’ll catch him on the next block.”

  Curt growled but didn’t say anything.

  “Let me out of here!” Yuri cried as soon as he was aware they were stopped. He dragged himself forward between the front seats.

  Steve looked over at Curt, who shrugged his shoulders and then nodded. Steve opened the door and climbed out. Yuri scrambled out of the vehicle and stood on shaky legs while Steve climbed back inside.

  “We’ll see you tonight,” Curt yelled from the driver’s seat. “Sometime around eleven. You’ll be ready, right?”

  “I’ll be ready,” Yuri promised hoarsely.

  The light turned green, and Curt honked his horn. The car in front slowly made the turn to the left. Impatient, Curt gunned the van before the car was completely out of the way. They ricocheted off the car bumper, and the driver leaped out to protest.

  “Serves him right,” Curt said with a malicious laugh as he sped west.

  In the distance Jack was crossing Park Avenue on a green light. Steve braced. As Curt accelerated, Steve had no idea what was going to happen at the intersection. He knew intuitively that they were not going to make the light. Fortunately it ambered its way to red soon enough to force Curt to stop. The traffic heading uptown was moving rapidly, and since it was now coming on Curt’s side of the van, he was instinctively reluctant to try to cross against the light as he’d done on Second Avenue. While they were waiting, they could see Jack in the distance turn right on Madison Avenue.

  “If we lose him, I’m going to be royally pissed,” Curt groused.

  “I bet he’s heading for the park,” Steve said. “He probably lives on the Upper West Side.”

  “You could be right,” Curt said. “And what are we going to do if he does go into the park?”

  “Follow him!” Steve said. “Provided we see where he goes in. We can always have one of the boys snatch someone’s bicycle. The park is always filled with bikes.” Steve swung around to look into the depths of the van. The wild ride had quieted the troops.

  “Who’s in the best shape to ride a bike?” Steve demanded.

  The troops all pointed to Kevin.

  “Is that right, Kevin?” Steve asked.

  “I guess,” Kevin said. “I’m in pretty good shape.”

  The light changed and Curt rocketed ahead. Steve turned forward and grabbed what he could to hold on.

  At Madison the light was in their favor, and Curt made a rapid turn. The pipe lengths all rolled to one side amid swearing from the troops. Curt had to stop behind traffic waiting at the light at Fifty-second Street.

  “I think I see him at the next light,” Steve said.

  “I believe you’re right,” Curt said. “Between the bus and the oil truck. Jeez, the guy’s fearless.”

  The light changed and they were off.

  “What should I do?” Curt said desperately. “We’re not going to catch him with this kind of traffic on Madison Avenue.”

  “We do have his home number,” Steve said. “Maybe we should wait and call him at home and try to get him to give us the address. One of us could say we were Yuri Davydov. Hell, maybe he’d come see us.”

  “That’s an idea,” Curt agreed. “But what do you think we should do now?”

  “Let’s head for the corner of Fifth Avenue and Central Park South,” Steve suggested. “If he does go into the park, that’s where it
will be.”

  “Well, it’s as good an idea as any other,” Curt said. He wasn’t happy.

  They traveled north as fast as the traffic could allow. At least they were making the lights, but they knew Jack was as well. As they streaked across Fifty-seventh Street Steve happened to catch sight of Jack traveling west.

  “Shit!” Curt exclaimed. The sighting had been too late to make the turn.

  “I think it’s okay,” Steve said. “Keep going the way we are. Let’s give Fifth and Central Park West a try.”

  The first street they could turn left on was Sixtieth, which was just as well. It led them to the northern part of Grand Army Plaza, where it joined the park. Curt crossed Fifth Avenue with the light and pulled over to the side of the road. He stopped by wooden police barricades blocking vehicular traffic from entering one of the park’s drives.

  “Well, there are certainly enough bikes available if we need one,” Steve commented, trying to sound optimistic. Bicyclists were coming and going along with a host of in-line skaters and joggers. “Best of all, I don’t see any cops.”

  Curt was looking back beyond the gilded equestrian statue of General Sherman to the area around the Pulitzer fountain in front of the Plaza Hotel. The area was jammed with a confusion of people, cars, buses, and hansom cabs.

  “This is goddamned impossible,” Curt complained. “I knew that once we lost sight of him it would be like finding the proverbial needle in the haystack.”

  “If I follow him on a bike, what do I do if I catch him?” Kevin asked.

  “Lots of luck catching him!” Curt said. “The guy’s a pro.”

  “He might stop,” Steve said. “You never know.”

  “That’s true,” Curt admitted. “So give Kevin one of the Glocks. But more importantly, give him your phone so he can keep in touch with us.”

  Steve swung around and handed the gun and the phone to Kevin, who eagerly pocketed them. “You want me to go out and get a bike now?”

  “No!” Curt said. “We’re not doing anything unless we see the bastard. Actually I think we’re going to have to fall back to plan B. The more I think of calling him and saying we’re Yuri, the better it sounds.”

  “Holy shit, there he is!” Steve said, frantically pointing to a bicyclist who’d just swept past them no more than ten feet away.

  “You’re right!” Curt said. “Kevin, you’re on!”

  Kevin scrambled forward and climbed out of the door Steve had exited. Without a moment’s hesitation he took off at a run. Steve climbed back into the van.

  Curt and Steve watched as the husky Kevin vaulted over the police sawhorses, despite his heavy Doc Marten boots, and ran directly at a bicyclist who’d stopped at a water fountain. The man was still on his bike with one toe in its clip, but he was leaning over to drink. He was sporting all the proper cycling paraphernalia, including the helmet, tights, and padded gloves.

  Kevin didn’t hesitate. Without a word, he grabbed the bike and snatched it from under the man, upending him.

  Kevin threw a leg over the bike and was about to take off when the bicyclist recovered enough to get a grip on one of the cycle’s handlebars. Kevin responded by balling his big hand into a fist and laying the man out cold.

  “Oh,” Steve gushed. “Now that was a punch!”

  Despite the crowd of people in the area, the incident happened so quickly that few individuals had actually witnessed it. Although several people went to the aid of the downed bicyclist, no one went after Kevin, who was pedaling furiously in pursuit of Jack. Since it was quite light despite the sun’s having set, Jack could still be seen in the distance heading north.

  “At least that went smoothly,” Steve said. “Now what do you think we should do? Sit here?”

  Curt scanned the area as if he expected the answer to be in the surroundings. After a moment’s consideration, he shook his head. “No, I think we should head over to Central Park West. If Stapleton lives on the Upper West Side, that’s where he’ll come out.”

  Curt put the van in gear. At a comparatively leisurely pace he drove west on Central Park South. As he did so he pulled out his cellular phone, checked to make sure it was on, then put it on the dash.

  ________

  TWENTY

  Wednesday, October 20

  6:30 P.M.

  Jack sat up and took his hands off his handlebars. With no hands he coasted along the pathway strewn with dead leaves. Just ahead was Central Park West and the exit across from 106th Street.

  The ride home had been most enjoyable. The weather had been as glorious as he’d anticipated. The ride up First Avenue had had its normal share of aggravations, but it had been stimulating just the same. His nightly circuit around the Pulitzer fountain had been so inspiring that he’d been moved to stop to admire the resplendent nude statue of Abundance in the fading daylight. But by far the best part of the trip, as usual, had been the ride through the park. As soon as he’d broken free from the clutch of people near the park’s entrance he’d poured on the speed. It had been as if he’d been flying in a dream.

  Jack waited for the traffic light to change before cycling across the busy avenue and entering his street. He was now in the cool-down stage of his ride and pedaled quickly in a low gear with almost no resistance. He stopped at the fence at the basketball court. As he’d hoped and expected, a game was in progress. Once again Warren and Flash were on opposing teams.

  “Hey, Doc, you going to run or what?” Warren called out. “Get yourself out here, man.”

  “You better be in good form,” Jack called back. “‘Cause I’m going to be trouble tonight!”

  “Uh oh!” Spit yelled. He was one of the younger players but had become Warren’s protégé. “Doc’s threatening to make some house calls.” The group teased Jack by calling any of his better moves “house calls.”

  “There’s going to be plenty of house calls tonight,” Jack shouted back. He pushed off and rode across the street. He was eager to get out on the court.

  Jack hesitated on his stoop while debating whether he’d cab to Laurie’s later or take his bike. He knew he’d prefer to bike, yet he wanted to humor Laurie. While he was arguing with himself over the issue he happened to notice another cyclist emerge from the darkening park. The only reason the man caught Jack’s eye was that he seemed to be stumbling, as if exhausted or hurt.

  Jack watched the man for a moment to make sure he didn’t need assistance. But it was soon apparent he didn’t. He took out a cell phone and made a call while pressing the button to make the traffic light change.

  Having decided to cab to Laurie’s, Jack hoisted his beloved bike to his shoulder and entered his building. In his haste he took the stairs two at a time. After keying open his apartment door, he rolled his bike inside and leaned it up against the wall. Without even taking the time to close the door to the hall, he rushed into his bedroom, removing his work clothes en route.

  To his frustration, it took Jack a few minutes to locate his basketball gear. When he finally did, he dressed quickly. The finishing touches were a dark blue Nike headband and an old hooded sweatshirt. He then ran into the kitchen to grab a quick drink of water. Then the wall phone rang.

  Jack debated whether to answer. His first thought was to let the answering machine get it, but then he remembered that he got few calls at home other than from Laurie. Thinking it might be her, he picked it up.

  “Hello,” he said briskly, but there was no response. He said hello several times. What he heard was just what he’d heard through the receiver at the office, down to the sound of rushing water and even a distant automobile horn. Disgusted, Jack hung up.

  He got only a few steps out of the kitchen when the phone rang again. On the off chance there had been a mechanical problem, he went back and picked it up again. He was glad he did. It was Laurie.

  “Did you just try to call me two seconds ago?” Jack asked.

  “No,” Laurie said. “Did your phone ring?”

  “It’s
not important,” Jack said. “What’s up? I’m just on my way out to play B-ball.”

  “I know better than trying to keep you from that,” Laurie teased. “I just wanted to let you know that it’s going to be just you and me tonight. Lou can’t make it.”

  “His loss, my gain,” Jack said.

  “You flatterer you!” Laurie joked. “Anyway, he did offer to call the restaurant where I wanted us to go. So I know we’ll get good service. They love him there.”

  “Sounds good,” Jack said. “Tell me, has Paul been pestering you?”

  “Haven’t heard from him since he left the office,” Laurie said.

  “Good.”

  “See you at eight,” Laurie said.

  “I might be a shade late,” Jack said. “As I said, I’m only now just heading out. But I’ll play only one game, and I’ll call you before I leave.”

  “See you then,” Laurie said. “Remember! No bike!”

  “Aye, aye, sir!” Jack said. He hung up the phone.

  Jack ran out to his closet and searched around the cluttered space for his “kicks,” as Warren called sneakers. Impatient to get them on, Jack didn’t even bother to lace them before rushing out his door. He was about to close and lock it when he heard his name called out loudly from down below. Not recognizing the voice, he leaned over the banister to take a look. Three men were looking up from the ground-floor hallway, and when they saw Jack, they immediately started up the stairs. They came at a run, their boots making a fierce clatter against the bare treads. The one in the lead was a blond fireman in a blue uniform.

  Jack put his head back and sniffed for smoke. He sniffed again after turning his head in the direction of his apartment, but still couldn’t smell any smoke. When he looked back down the stairs the lead man was already on the last flight leading up to Jack’s level. But instead of carrying a fire axe or some other appropriate piece of firefighting equipment, he was clutching a gun.

  Jack backed up into his doorway, totally confused. The other two men were in black leather jackets, not firemen’s uniforms, and had shaved heads. Then Jack saw that the one bringing up the rear was carrying an assault rifle!