Reckless

by Andrew Gross

  Suddenly the train began to slow. An announcement blasted through the tinny speakers. “Wilmington. This is Wilmington, Delaware. Next stop, Baltimore…”

  The man in the army cap stirred, grasping his satchel. He looked up and made it appear as if he was getting ready to leave. Briefly, his gaze darted their way. Didn’t make eye contact. Just made sure they were still there. He stood up. Departing passengers began to fill the aisles.

  Suddenly it became clear. This was how O’Toole was going to do it. As he went by, exiting the train. Then he could bolt onto the platform.

  “Wilmington. Wilmington Station…,” the call came through again.

  Hauck tried not to show a reaction, but the sweat had built up under his shirt. Any way out of their seats was blocked now by the lineup of passengers. The man fiddled with his bag. Hauck saw him put something underneath his jacket. People left, carrying bags, suitcases.

  They were blocked in.

  He leaned close to Naomi and whispered with urgency, “Take out your gun. It’s happening now.”

  Hidden by the departing passengers, Hauck reached under his jacket and took out his Sig. He transferred it to under his seat, hidden in the palm of his hand.

  The train slowed. It entered the open station. Hauck kept his gaze riveted on O’Toole. The train came to a stop. The doors hissed open. People began to step off onto the platform.

  O’Toole was about six passengers in front of them. Advancing. What if it wasn’t him? What if he was someone else? He couldn’t just start shooting. Four people between them now. Hauck saw him reach inside his jacket.

  Three.

  There was no more time.

  O’Toole was turning toward them now. Hauck put his palm on Naomi’s back and pushed her to the floor. “Stay down!”

  He jumped up, leveling his Sig at the approaching assailant. “O’Toole!”

  The killer looked at him, a glint of recognition in his eyes. He went for whatever he had under his jacket, then he ducked behind a passenger.

  Hauck couldn’t shoot. He shouted, “Everyone get down!”

  There was a scream. A black woman directly in the line of Hauck’s aim spotted his weapon. Then everything descended into chaos. The line of passengers shifted as if they were one, people crouching, diving into the rows, covering their heads.

  O’Toole stared directly at him now. Hauck spotted the Glock 9 equipped with a silencer. O’Toole was startled by Hauck’s sudden response. He grabbed one of the businesswomen in a gray suit and pulled her across his body. She was terrified, shrieking.

  There was no way Hauck could shoot.

  O’Toole didn’t have the same qualms. He raised his Glock and squeezed off two rounds in Hauck’s direction, bullets thudding into the seat cushions where Naomi had been sitting, his captive’s jerking movements altering his aim.

  Hauck ducked down.

  Everyone was screaming in panic. Running for the exits.

  O’Toole stepped backward, forcing the terrified woman with him, using her as a shield. He spit off two more muffled shots as Hauck dove out of the line of fire.

  “Shut the fuck up!” he screamed, twisting her by the hair. There was a flash and another silenced round clanged off the luggage rack.

  Everything was at close quarters and happening fast. Hauck knew that if O’Toole simply rushed forward using the woman as a screen, he wouldn’t be able to fire back. He had nothing to protect them.

  But instead, he went backward, firing as he did. Two more bullets slammed into the wall of the train, one grazing Hauck’s arm. It stung like fire.

  He winced.

  Naomi had made it up and had her gun leveled at O’Toole. The man kept the woman in front of him and began to back his way through the aisle to the rear of the car, trying to get to the far exit. He reeled off one more shot, and it ricocheted off the wall, hitting a bystander, who groaned. The man sat upright in his seat, his shoulder spewing blood.

  Someone shouted, “Oh, God!”

  Finally O’Toole threw the woman to the side and ran to the rear as people darted out of the way into the seats.

  Hauck went after him.

  Naomi pushed her way toward the front entrance, shouting, “I’m a government agent! Everyone out of the way. Get down!”

  O’Toole had made his way to the back of the car, turning once to fire. Hauck ducked under a seat and drew a line on him. At that very moment a black train conductor rushed out of the next car, holding a radio, shouting, “What the hell’s going on?”

  Hauck stood up in horror and raised his gun. “No!”

  O’Toole shot the man twice in the chest, the heavyset conductor dropping down to his knees, grasping a railing to hold himself up.

  O’Toole ran out onto the platform.

  Hauck pushed the few remaining people out of the aisle and rushed up to where the conductor was clinging to the railing. His large eyes glassed over. He was breathing heavily. A young Latino woman jumped out of a seat. “I’m a nurse.”

  “Call 911!” Hauck said. It didn’t look as if the guy would make it. He had rolled onto his back. A bubble of blood came out with each labored breath. “Tell ’em there are two people down. Call for EMTs.”

  She nodded, grasping her cell phone.

  He jumped out of the train onto the platform. Two bullets clanged off the side of the train, whizzing past his head. He saw O’Toole running down the platform at the end of the long track. Everyone on the platform had hit the deck.

  He started after him, looking behind him for Naomi.

  He saw her. She had her back pressed against the side of the train, her gun at her side. She had a fixed, glassy look in her eyes and she seemed to stare right through him.

  Then she glanced at her shoulder and muttered, “Ty…”

  CHAPTER EIGHTY-NINE

  Hauck froze, focused on Naomi, as O’Toole made his getaway.

  “No, no, no, no!”

  He rushed back to her. Naomi pulled herself a little unsteadily off the side of the train, the stunned look in her eyes trying to become a bit more firm. “O’Toole’s escaping…We’re not letting him get away, Ty. C’mon, let’s go!”

  Then her legs buckled again and she fell back against the side of the train.

  Hauck looked at her, his heart exploding. “You’re hit!”

  Her left arm hung limp. There was a hole in her suit jacket right below her collarbone. She shook her head, pulled herself off the train. “I’m not letting him get away…”

  “No.” Hauck restrained her by the other arm. “You can’t!” Blood had started to seep out from her jacket. He wasn’t sure how bad it was. She was showing a bit of disorientation. He spun and took a quick glance down the tracks and saw O’Toole heading for the end of the open platform. “You stay here. Someone help her!” he shouted. “She’s a federal agent. You get the police to come after me. You hear what I’m saying, Naomi? Get them to come after me!”

  “No.” She grabbed her gun with both hands, her shoulder hanging loosely.

  “You’re staying, Naomi. Do you understand? Help her,” he said to a man in a business suit exiting the train. “I’ll be back. You wait for the EMTs. Don’t let her leave.”

  He didn’t wait for her answer. He took off along the track after O’Toole. He was maybe fifty yards ahead and had made his way to the far end of the platform. Beyond the station it looked like just open terrain. As he ran, O’Toole loaded a new mag into his gun.

  Hauck raised his Sig and squeezed off two rounds at the fleeing man. Way out of range. They both kicked harmlessly off the asphalt platform.

  O’Toole got to the end, hurdled a metal railing, and jumped onto the southbound tracks.

  Hauck headed after him. The man who had killed April. He wanted to grind him into pulp with his own hands. But O’Toole was younger, fit, and didn’t have a leg that still carried metal from two gunshots from a little more than a year ago. Hauck followed him to the railing and hurtled over it himself, continuing on.
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br />   There was blood escaping from a wound on his own arm. A gash was visible under his torn jacket. Hauck didn’t even feel it.

  O’Toole still had about fifty yards on him.

  There was a train at rest on the northbound tracks. It looked like an empty commuter train, maybe a local heading up from Philadelphia. Dense woods bordered the southbound tracks. O’Toole could maybe hide out in them for a while. But he could also be trapped with nowhere to go. Across the northbound side there was a wire fence that ran six feet high. On the other side was the train station’s parking lot. If O’Toole could somehow get across, he could force his way into a car. That seemed to be his best way out. It appeared he was trying to find his way through the parked train. Or under it.

  Hauck made up some ground behind him.

  His heart raced tremulously about Naomi. He didn’t know how bad her wound was. He hated to leave her there. But she was right—there was no way he could let this man get away. Not now.

  This was the end of the line.

  O’Toole turned back and fired off a couple shots at him, meant more to keep Hauck at bay than to stop him. At this distance, his silencer wasn’t exactly helping his aim. Hauck knew that sooner or later the police had to arrive. All he had to do was keep O’Toole contained until they got here. Not let him escape. This had been his goal since the day he first heard April’s name on the news. Thibault. Hassani. Serbia. London. That had only been his way of finding her killer.

  That had been his vow.

  Around a hundred yards ahead, Hauck spotted a small trestle railway bridge spanning the four tracks. O’Toole seemed to be heading directly for it. If he could make it across the tracks he might manage to leap the fence, jump into the lot, and force his way into a car.

  That was his best way out of here.

  Hauck quickened his pace. As O’Toole made it to the bridge, Hauck stopped, took aim, and squeezed off two rounds at him. The first kicked off the tracks, clanging into the trestle. The second managed to find its mark, striking him in the leg. He pulled up with a hop, spun around, and fired three wild shots back at Hauck, all dinging off the side of the resting train.

  Favoring his leg, O’Toole started to climb the bridge. He made it up to the crossing platform as Hauck, ducking out from behind the train, reached the stairs. He started to go up himself, heart pounding, not knowing if O’Toole might suddenly appear above him and fire down at him or lie in wait at the top of the platform.

  He glanced back toward the station. Where the hell were the police?

  In the distance, sirens began to wail. Halfway up the metal steps Hauck spotted flashing lights arriving at the station. He sent off three shots into the air to draw their attention. In the heat of it he no longer knew how many he had used. O’Toole was heading to the other side of the tracks. There wasn’t time to wait for anyone to respond. Hauck hugged the railing, gun drawn, and started up the stairs.

  O’Toole would have seen the same thing. Hauck searched for him through the trestles. No sight. Which didn’t give him the best of feelings. As he cautiously made his way up to the platform, he positioned himself behind a metal stanchion. Three muffled shots came back at him, all clanging loudly off the iron rails. Hauck pinned himself against them.

  The last shot felt like a flame against Hauck’s gun hand.

  The Sig flew out of his grasp.

  It fell over the side of the railing onto the tracks. He was unarmed.

  He now had about a second to make a decision, a decision that might mean his life: whether to jump and run for it. O’Toole was a trained shot, an ex-Ranger. It would leave Hauck in the open, even if he managed to make it to the gun. Or to stay. He heard a train’s horn blare loudly in the distance. His eyes fixed on the gun on the tracks. He realized he had nowhere to go.

  “Step out,” O’Toole said to him.

  Hauck remained glued against the stanchion. He caught a glimpse of the police back at the station starting to come his way.

  “Step out here, now,” he heard O’Toole say.

  Hauck’s only hope now seemed to be to stall for time.

  Warily, he stepped up the last step to the platform and came out from behind the post.

  O’Toole was standing there, teeth clenched, the damning tattoo peeking out from his jacket collar. Hauck had to hold himself back from charging at him like a bull and hurling both of them off the bridge.

  “The police are here,” Hauck said. “You’re done. We know who it is you work for. Strike yourself a deal. Turn yourself in as a witness.” He looked into the man’s desperate, raw-boned face, glancing toward the station. “There’s no gain in killing me.”

  “Other than that’s what I was sent to do.” The man’s dark eyes carried a resignation Hauck had seen before. It was the narrowing realization that there was nothing left to lose. “And I don’t let down.”

  To the north, Hauck heard the train horn again, this time getting closer. His gaze turned and he saw the first reflected light of an advancing train.

  A gust kicked up and O’Toole’s army cap blew off his head. He reached after it, but it fell beyond his grasp and went over the side. He smiled, sort of a futile, hopeless acknowledgment, and looked back at Hauck. “You know, I didn’t set out for it to be like this.”

  “No one does.”

  The police were still a long way off on the other side of the tracks. O’Toole took a step back on the platform, his only chance.

  He said, “I served my country.” His gun was trained on Hauck’s chest. “But you probably know that, don’t you? I was a goddamn kid out of Oklahoma and they taught me how to use a gun and a knife. And I did it well. I don’t back down.”

  Hauck met his eyes with equal intensity. “Nor do I.”

  “Why?” O’Toole winced from the wound in his leg. “What’s your stake in this anyway? You’re not even a cop anymore. The girl I know—but you, why do you even fucking care?”

  “You killed someone…”

  “I killed a lot of people.” O’Toole chortled.

  A siren blared from the parking lot as cop cars streamed in. Now O’Toole’s only way out was to go through Hauck to the woods. “Sorry, man.” He pointed the weapon at his chest. Hauck stiffened. “You’re just one more.”

  He never heard a shot.

  All he saw was O’Toole’s legs begin to buckle and reach for his back.

  The first shot slammed in between his shoulder blades, straightening him. The second hit him in the thigh, making him stagger backward. His foot caught only air and he slipped through an opening in the railing, lunged to right himself, his hand grasping the platform just as he was about to fall over the edge.

  O’Toole’s gun toppled over the side.

  Hauck looked down. He saw Naomi, on the tracks, her arms still steady and extended, her gun raised.

  He reached down for O’Toole.

  “Lift me up,” the man said. He was about to fall and was clinging to the railing.

  The front lights of the oncoming train were approaching fast.

  Hauck wrapped his hands around the man’s wrists and pulled against his weight.

  “Come on,” O’Toole urged him. Hauck gazed into the struggling man’s eyes.

  And then he stopped.

  O’Toole just seemed to hang like a sack of wheat, trying to climb Hauck’s arm. His gaze flashed to the advancing train and he said, “I can bring people down. I know things you would want to know.”

  “I already know what you know,” Hauck said. “You asked me why. And I said you killed someone…” He felt the rumble of the oncoming train. O’Toole’s face started to grow panicked, and he grasped Hauck’s arm more forcefully.

  “I told you I killed a lot of people…”

  “I heard you”—Hauck looked in his eyes—“but I only care about one.”

  He dangled O’Toole over the tracks as the trestles started to rattle. “You shot her in the closet, with her daughter, back in Connecticut…”

  “I was pai
d to do that. To make it look like a break-in.”

  “Her name was April, you sonovabitch. And this is a promise I made to her.”

  O’Toole’s face froze. His gaze shot to the train that was almost upon him. A sheen of understanding lit his eyes.

  Hauck let him go.

  He fell, a dead weight, bouncing onto the lead car of the train. There was a thud and the body simply fell off to the side and disappeared, dragged under the wheels as the Metroliner rumbled by.

  Hauck watched, the bridge trestles shaking, and bowed his head. He didn’t feel anger or satisfaction, just resolution. It was a promise I made to her. He heard the massive train’s brakes hiss and watched it come to an abbreviated stop.

  When he looked up again, Naomi was staring at him.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. Hauck stood with her off to the side while the EMTs lifted O’Toole’s body. He pressed a damp cloth against the burn on his own arm. Naomi had her shoulder immobilized under her jacket in a makeshift splint, but she’d declined any further treatment. “I couldn’t hold him,” he said. “He slipped out of my grasp…”

  “We could have used his testimony,” Naomi said.

  Hauck shrugged. “We don’t need it.”

  “What was it he said to you up there?”

  “That it wasn’t always like this. That he served his country.” Hauck picked up O’Toole’s hat, from the 101st Airborne, from the track. “He asked why I was here. What was in all this for me.”

  “And what did you answer?” Naomi asked. She looked up at him in the same direct way she had after O’Toole had slipped to the tracks.

  “That I was in it for a friend,” Hauck said. He eyed her wound. “You ought to get that shoulder looked at. Take it from a pro.”

  She shrugged. “The bullet’s gone clean through. Makes me seem tougher. Anyway, the day’s not over. We still have some work left to do.”

  “Yeah, I guess we do.” He grinned. “Any chance we can go the rest of the way by car?”

  Naomi smiled, looking at him, and started to head back along the tracks in the direction of the station.