A Cross to Kill

by Andrew Huff

  Eric interjected and gestured to the two civilians. “We don’t know what the men look like, so we’ll be counting on you two to give us some direction in there.”

  John nodded in Christine’s direction. “She spent the most time with them. Christine and Guin can take the main hall. Eric, you and I will stay on the mezzanine level and check around the shops.”

  “It’s going to be packed in there,” Guin said, shaking her head.

  John shook his head. “We can’t involve anyone else. We don’t know who we can trust.”

  Eric swallowed loud enough for everyone to hear. “I guess now would be the right time to start praying.”

  Guin motioned for Christine and John to insert the earbuds. Christine pressed the soft foam piece into her right ear canal and noticed something hard at its center.

  Guin said, “Check,” her voice magnified within Christine’s head.

  “It’s working,” Christine responded.

  John started toward the escalator. Guin held out a hand to stop him and pressed the butt of a handgun into his belly. He looked into her eyes, a look that lingered too long for Christine, and pushed her hand away.

  “Take it,” she said with an eye roll. “You can at least take out their knees.”

  John glanced from Guin to Christine. She gazed into his eyes, yearning to telepathically tell him everything would be OK.

  It worked, possible proof of latent superpowers. He grabbed the gun from Guin and stowed it in the waistband of his jeans near the small of his back. The T-shirt fell just long enough to hide the grip.

  His eyes darted to each one of them. With a deep breath, he said, “Let’s go.”

  John took the escalator down first, followed by Eric.

  Guin held Christine back as a couple boarded next. “Don’t worry,” Guin whispered into Christine’s ear. “I’ll be there.”

  Christine nodded and took her place behind the couple. She suspected Guin waited before descending on the escalator, but didn’t dare glance behind to see. Up ahead, she watched John disembark, followed by Eric. They parted in opposite directions, John left, Eric right, and disappeared. The couple exited next and walked straight ahead.

  It was Christine’s turn. She stepped from the escalator and followed the couple until the sight ahead brought her feet to a halt. The mezzanine level opened in a wide expanse on both sides, the massive ceiling decorated in coffered plaster hexagons. Light poured from overhead windows and added an angelic sheen to the marbled floor.

  Christine couldn’t remember ever having visited Union Station and regretted the circumstances of her first experience.

  “On your right,” said a soft voice in her ear. Guin passed by without making eye contact and headed to a nearby spiral staircase leading to the second level. “Follow me down the staircase and straight ahead into the main hall.”

  Christine paused for a few seconds, then complied. She slid her palm along the polished wooden handrail of the staircase as she descended and decided a future return trip was in order. Maybe even by train.

  To visit the station, of course. Not see John. Unless he wanted to—

  “Can somebody give me an idea of what I’m looking for?”

  The surprise of Eric’s voice caused her to almost lose her footing on the last step.

  “Christine,” John replied. “Give us a quick rundown on what you can remember.”

  “I only ever saw five of them. I’m not sure if there’s more than that.” She wondered if she spoke too softly. Wasn’t she also supposed to hold her hand on her ear? According to Hollywood maybe, but the reception seemed fine in the bud. “One is short, thin. Eyes set a little apart, and a mustache. Another is average build, with a nose that turns up. Curly dark hair. One’s balding, with glasses. They all have darker skin, more olive than tan.”

  “I remember one of them has a flat face, a lot of stubble on his chin,” John added.

  “That’s right. The only other man I saw is big and ugly. He walked with a limp.”

  “He’s welcome.”

  “I take it you’ve met. He’s the only one I heard called to by name. Erkan.”

  Eric grunted. “It’d be nice to put a face with the name.”

  “Don’t worry.” John’s voice crackled in the earbud. “You’ll know him when you see him.”

  As he spoke, Christine stepped through the entryway to the main hall of the station, a colossal monument to Roman architecture. The high barrel vault overhead mesmerized her. Large white tiles connected by smaller, diamond-patterned brown tiles flowed toward a beautiful round open café in the center of the hall.

  Guin’s voice snapped Christine back to reality. “I need you to look down, Christine. At faces. Focus.”

  Christine remembered the task at hand and worked her way through the crowd, scanning faces as she walked.

  “I’ve got something,” Eric said in a hushed tone. “Hold on.”

  Silence. Christine kept searching as she rounded the café. She slowed to peer across the tables for any recognizable features. Nothing. No one familiar. No one suspicious.

  “Seventeen minutes,” Guin announced, breaking the silence.

  Eric’s voice followed. “I’ve got eyes on a possible suspect. Tall, broad shoulders. Carrying a messenger bag. He’s walking with a limp. I can’t get a vantage on the face.”

  Christine stopped in her tracks and strained to catch every word as a woman’s voice boomed over the public address system. She lifted a hand to cup it around her ear just as she heard Guin.

  “Keep your hand down.”

  Christine dropped her hand to her side. “I’m sorry. I just …”

  Her words trailed off as she looked up and stared ahead into the face of someone she knew. He stood a few yards ahead of her, dressed in a pair of jeans and a dark jacket, with a ball cap sitting low on his brow. He clutched a small duffel bag in one hand and stared straight at her.

  The nostrils of his concave nose flared.

  All the breath in Christine’s lungs escaped through her mouth carrying the words, “It’s him.”

  The man bared his clenched teeth and took a step toward her. A crack echoed off the marble columns. The man jerked as a dust cloud exploded from his jacket behind his left shoulder. He fell facedown to the ground as screams erupted around them, and the crowd scattered in all directions.

  Guin stood behind him, a trail of smoke escaping from the barrel of the gun in her hand. Christine watched her mouth move as her voice sounded clear through the earbud. “Suspect down.”

  Christine and Guin both ran to the downed man. Guin flipped his body over and checked for a pulse. “Still alive, but I’ll bet he loses the use of that arm.”

  Christine grabbed the duffel and opened it. She pulled a handful of wadded newspaper from inside and looked up at Guin. “Where’s the bomb?”

  Guin swore and holstered her weapon. “It’s a decoy. I repeat—the real bomber is still active.”

  Armed police officers descended on their position, weapons drawn, and yelled commands.

  Guin held up a leather wallet with a badge and ID clipped to the inside. She spoke in a thunderous, commanding voice. “Central Intelligence. I need you to stand down.” With her hands in the air, Guin shot a glance at Christine and whispered, “Run.”

  Without hesitation, Christine jumped to her feet and ran past a startled officer. “Hey!” he shouted as she passed.

  She rounded the corner of the café and disappeared from their view as she heard him call instructions into his radio. She shot by frightened pedestrians and caught another officer barreling his way toward her out of the corner of her eye. She waited for him to get close enough before dropping to the ground and skidding across the slick tiled floor.

  The police officer tumbled over her and bowled into a group of travelers huddled together for safety. Christine jumped back on her feet and ran out of the main hall and back into the shopping plaza.

  “John, where are you?” she exclaimed.r />
  “I’m heading to Eric’s position. To your left. End of the hall, then another left. He’s heading to the Metro.”

  Christine ran down the long walkway, dodging from one side to another to avoid a collision with confused patrons filing in and out of the various shops. She didn’t bother looking over her shoulder, certain she’d only spy the blur of navy-blue uniforms in pursuit.

  She rounded the second left and headed for the down escalator. Pushing her way around passengers, she took a second to glance over a shoulder. No one yet.

  “We don’t have a lot of time. Permission to engage?” Eric’s voice rang louder as the chatter and ambient noise of the underground Metro stop invaded the radio space.

  “Negative,” John replied. “I’m not there yet.”

  “Eric, where are you? I’m coming down,” Christine said as she bounded off the escalator and ran to the top of the stairs leading to the rail.

  “Trying to keep my distance so he doesn’t …” Eric’s voice trailed off. Sounds of muffled excitement followed.

  Christine took the stairs two at a time and made it to the bottom of the long stairway only to find the balding, bespectacled man choking the life out of Officer Eric Paulson.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  CROSS SPOTTED CHRISTINE disappearing just under the concrete overhanging as he sprinted down the stairwell leading to the Metro platform. Either she kicked into a gear he hadn’t witnessed, or he was slowing with age. Confident he wasn’t old enough to be losing it, a half smile creased the corner of his mouth as he thought about her impressive determination.

  At the bottom of the steps, it only took an approximate two seconds for him to assess the situation. Christine stood frozen as Paulson grappled with an unknown assailant a handful of yards ahead of her.

  Over his earbud, Paulson’s voice crackled, “He’s getting away!”

  Cross watched the connected cars of the Red Line pull to a stop just ahead on the track. A large man carrying a messenger bag glanced over a shoulder and stared back at Cross with eyes of angry recognition. Then he disappeared into the crowd.

  Erkan.

  Cross broke into a run and grabbed Christine’s elbow from behind. No choice in the matter, she fell into equal step beside him.

  “What about Eric?” she exclaimed.

  “He’ll be fine,” Cross replied.

  As they neared the two fighters, Paulson bent his knees and pushed backward. The bald man lost his footing, giving the CIA officer just enough leverage to flip him upside down over his back. The terrorist landed on his own back with a thud and cried out. Paulson held a tight grip on the man’s hand and twisted. Another sharp exclamation rang out.

  Paulson looked up as Cross and Christine passed by and shouted, “Go! I’ve got this!”

  They didn’t skip a step. Cross heard Christine mutter under her breath, “No kidding.”

  The doors to the Red Line train stood open as pedestrians filed in and out. No sign of Erkan. “He’s got to be on board. Don’t hesitate,” Cross ordered.

  Christine matched his pace. Five yards out, the doors automatically moved to close. They both jumped into the car with not nearly enough room to spare, and fellow passengers greeted them with glances of annoyance.

  “That was lucky,” Christine said after a deep exhale.

  The car bounced as the train started its journey into the heart of downtown DC. Cross picked out the name of the next station from a scrambled public announcement echoing from an overhead speaker.

  “Judiciary Square. Union Station must be plan A.”

  Christine’s eyes grew in size. “What’s plan B?”

  Cross shook his head and strained his eyes to look through the scratched dirty glass of the doors separating the cars. “We’ve got to get our hands on that bag.” He took a step toward the door leading into the next car, then held up a hand. “You’d better stay here, where it’s safe.”

  She raised a scowling eyebrow. “I’m pretty sure none of us are safe if that bomb goes off inside this tunnel. Besides, you’re going to need me to grab the bag while you have fun with the jerk carrying it.”

  Cross smiled. “You sure you don’t want to take a crack at him?”

  “I just might,” she replied as she stepped up to the door.

  They passed through the gap and paused just inside the door of the adjacent train car. It was full, and it took time to move through the crowd to the rear, with no sign of Erkan among them.

  The train came to a stop with the announcement of passengers to exit to the right.

  “What if he gets out?” Christine asked.

  “Get into the next car. I’ll jump out and see if I can spot him. Your earbud still good?”

  Christine nodded. She put a hand on the exit door as he slipped from her side and followed a shaggy college student out of the train.

  He worked his way down the platform, taking a couple of glances into the train to track Christine’s movements. More people filed into the already crowded stop, making it impossible to catch a glimpse of Erkan before he could slip away.

  “This is ridiculous,” Christine said over the radio. “How are we going to find him during rush hour?”

  Cross tuned out her question, his eyes darting from face to face and his mind recalling as many details about Erkan’s appearance as had captured in the few seconds before the man had disappeared near the Red Line. His shaved head uncovered, a jean jacket, and the dark strap of the messenger bag slung over a shoulder. Erkan was tall and broad. If the brute stepped off the train, Cross doubted he would miss it.

  An announcement over the PA cued Cross to jump back into the car Christine scouted. She stood facing the door into the next car in line. He took a step toward her when her voice whispered into his ear, “Got him.”

  The Red Line bounced as it pulled away from the platform and picked up speed into the tunnel. The screech of wheel against metal echoed against brick.

  “Sit down,” Cross ordered.

  She slipped into a red leather seat facing him, her back to the rear wall of the car. “Did he spot you?”

  She shook her head. Cross nodded in reply, then grabbed the nearest handlebar to steady the sway of his body in rhythm to the motion of the Metro car. He squinted his eyes to peer through the double-layered glass into the next car. It was a small window, and though he couldn’t see the entire car, he spotted the shoulder of a jean jacket sitting near the center.

  “What are you going to do?”

  Cross thought for a moment before he replied, a variety of scenarios playing out in his mind. “Not sure. He’ll see us coming through the door, and we’ll lose the element of surprise. We may just wait and see where he gets off.”

  “He could set the bomb off inside the car.”

  Not a scenario Cross wanted to imagine. At the right location, Erkan could kill dozens. Not as catastrophic as Union Station, but still devastating.

  “I’m praying he’s patient.”

  Christine exhaled a deep breath. “You’ll have to teach me how to do that sometime.”

  Cross smiled at her. “We’ll grab coffee.”

  An elderly woman clinging to the crossbar beside him narrowed her eyes in his direction. He gave her a wink, then locked his eyes on the back of Erkan’s head.

  “Now approaching Chinatown Station, doors open on the left,” announced a bored voice over the loudspeaker. The train braked, and passengers hoping to disembark shifted positions.

  “Guin, Eric, do you copy?” Cross pretended to scratch the back of his head and cupped his hand around his ear to block out the irritating squeal of the train tire. “I’ve got eyes on …”

  Erkan stood and slipped between a woman toting groceries and a businessman fidgeting near the exit just as the ding of a bell overhead signaled the moment of escape.

  “He’s on the move,” Cross said, half toward his ear and half toward Christine.

  She stood and squeezed around a large sweat-covered man. On instinct, Cr
oss offered his hand to her. She grabbed it tight. He ignored her eyes, startled by the intense wave of excitement washing over him. Pushing away his feelings, he focused on a single word.

  Mission.

  It was all that mattered now. Just as it had so many times before. Only this time he wasn’t in the business of taking lives. This time he would save them.

  The doors to the platform slid open and cued the mass exodus from the Red Line. Cross lost sight of Erkan for only seconds as they pushed their way through the exit.

  “Get ready,” Cross whispered. “If he turns toward us, we’re blown.”

  It was a risk, but Cross kept his eyes trained in the direction he expected to find Erkan. They were both a few inches on the tall side. He was certain to be identified. By divine providence, the terrorist turned his back to them on the platform and headed for the nearest escalator to ground level.

  “Praise God,” Cross breathed. He tightened his grip around Christine’s hand, and they filed in line with a few dozen others heading the same direction.

  “What’s he waiting for? Is this not enough people to kill?”

  He hesitated to answer her question. What was Erkan waiting for? The longer he walked around town holding a chemical bomb in his hands, the greater chance of failure. Cross opened his mouth to speak, but the words caught in his throat as another voice interrupted his ear cavity with a crackle of static.

  “My guess, he’ll detonate in the open. Greater spread of the chemical. Oh, and Cross, no coffee for the rest of us?” Guin added a scoff for emphasis.

  Cross felt his cheeks warm. Mission. Their feet hit the first rising step, and they paused as their bodies were lifted upward. “If you’re standing at the top of this escalator with a Stunner, I’ll buy everyone a round.”

  Christine let go of Cross’s hand and glanced at him with a quizzical eye. “Stunner?”

  “The handy little piece I used in Jordan.” He fought back the disappointment of losing her touch.

  “Sorry, John,” Guin interjected. “You’ll have to hold on to your money this time.”

  “Guin, are you OK?” Christine asked. “Were you arrested?”