Sam was hardly listening. All he knew was he needed to get up there before the task force assembled by Duval arrived and this was taken out of his hands again – and he knew, deep inside, that his thoughts were not wholly rational, had been finally triggered by his little son’s frightened eyes.
‘Don’t go, Daddy,’ Joshua had appealed to him.
Then Grace, with her new cool eyes, and her flat statement: ‘There’s always a choice.’
‘Not true,’ Sam said now.
‘What’s not true?’ Martinez said, still with him, troubled, wondering what the hell was best to do with his partner, his closest friend. Nothing right now, he decided, except stay with him, stop him doing anything really crazy, anything that might get Sam fired – or worse.
Because then Kovac would have won, for sure.
His phone rang.
Duval.
He slowed to answer, saw Sam disappear around the corner, heard a sharp sound, Sam maybe kicking down some barricade.
‘Units on the way,’ Duval told him.
‘We’re here,’ Martinez said.
‘If that means you and Sam, you need to get him away from there.’
‘Easier said,’ Martinez said.
‘He needs to stand down,’ Duval said. ‘We’re on his side.’
‘Tell me about it,’ Martinez said.
He ended the call and went after Sam.
No sign of him.
No sign of Kovac on the roof.
Still, something telling Sam that this was the place to wait.
No time now for him to enter the interior, to search for him alone – as much sense in that as chasing a rat in a sewer. And his mind was working better up here, and it was still light, though another dusk was on its way, another night, closer to home, yet home still feeling a million miles away.
Martinez hadn’t followed him up – too tough a climb – and Sam guessed he’d be coming in with Duval, working his way up through the house.
On his own now, and it felt right.
‘I’m here, Kovac,’ he said, not too loud, like someone on stage, testing his mike.
His Glock in his right hand now, good to go.
He wondered how long he’d have to wait.
Wondered if maybe Martinez was right, and the rat might even now be heading Interstate or on a boat – and he remembered the Fountain used in the first killings, wondered if Kovac had requisitioned that …
A bullet whistled past his head and ricocheted off a steel door fifteen feet away.
Sam dove onto the sun-warmed bitumen, rolled, waited for a second shot, scanning all around.
No one else up here that he could see.
The door crashed open.
Martinez and Duval, both down in tactical crouch, seeking their target.
‘You OK, man?’ Martinez called to Sam.
‘I’m good,’ Sam called back.
‘Got a team checking out the place,’ Duval told him. ‘I’d say go home, make the most of your time off, but maybe you’d best stay put.’
Another bullet.
Sam’s head whipped around.
He saw him, got him in his sight.
‘Adjacent roof,’ he told the others. ‘In plain sight.’
Ron Kovac stood about a foot back from the edge of the next building’s roof, the sweat on his bald head glinting in the glow from the setting sun. Sam looked for some kind of arsenal, but all Kovac appeared to have on him was in his hands, held out straight-armed in front of him, his MBPD-issue Glock.
‘Guess you might have been right, Al,’ Sam said.
Kovac had taken two good close shots at him, and Sam figured that if he’d been aiming to hit him, he would have.
Didn’t mean he didn’t want Sam to die, but maybe he was waiting for the others to get him in their sights so he could get his star prize, a two-in-one result. Suicide by Sam Becket, Sam preferably dead or finished into the bargain.
Not going to happen.
Sam took a breath.
‘Put down your weapon, Kovac,’ Duval yelled across the divide.
Kovac’s muscles shone with perspiration, and his arms didn’t waver, but he shifted his stance, altered his angle by about twenty-five degrees …
Going for Duval or Martinez.
Not going to happen.
Sam took aim.
Squeezed the trigger.
Shot the gun right out of Kovac’s hands.
‘Going to jail!’ he shouted.
Twenty or so feet behind Kovac, a door opened, men in tactical black moving out and across the roof, cutting off his escape.
Sam heard their voices, issuing orders.
Knew what Kovac was going to do.
‘Don’t do it, Ron!’ someone yelled.
But he did it anyway.
He took a step back, then sprinted for the edge and jumped over the low barrier, looking, Sam thought, watching, like Elmer Fudd without his cap on, eyes shut, legs cycling as he fell, hitting the ground with no more than a thud.
Sam stood up, his mind feeling calmer than it had in a while, walked over to the edge, took a look over.
Not giving a damn which way it had gone for Kovac.
If he was dead, that was fine with him.
If he was badly injured and in pain, so much the better.
Sam wondered, briefly, if he was suffering some kind of compassion fatigue, knew he was not.
The last bad man standing in their case was down.
It was over.
He was conscious when Sam and the others reached ground level, paramedics tending to him.
Kovac had seen him, was saying something.
‘Sir,’ one of the paramedics called. ‘I think he’s talking to you.’
Sam strolled on over, looked down at him.
‘I couldn’t do it.’ Kovac’s voice was surprisingly strong. ‘When it came to it, I couldn’t do that to your wife or kid. That has to count for something, doesn’t it?’
‘Sam,’ Martinez said from behind.
‘It counts for something,’ Sam said, ‘that you wanted me to believe you had done it.’
‘Hey, man,’ Martinez said softly, touched his left arm.
‘It counts for something that you terrorized my five-year-old son and my wife,’ Sam went on. ‘Not to mention your part in the killing of nine people and an unborn baby.’ He looked around. ‘Has anyone read this dirty scumbag cop his rights yet?’
‘I should have shot your black head off while I had the chance,’ Kovac said. ‘I could have, if I’d wanted to.’
‘Sure you could,’ Sam said.
And walked away.
Going home.
About time.
A lot of trouble waiting for him at the station, but it could wait.
In the last few hours and days, Sam had seen three of his loved ones in mortal danger.
Nothing more important to him than protecting them.
Nothing more important now than getting back to Grace and Joshua.
No job on earth.
Nothing.
Fear and Loathing Page 28