Spycatcher

by Matthew Dunn

  He heard a man shout, “Stop! Police!”

  Will exhaled slowly but did not move.

  He heard a different man shout, “Drop the weapon! Raise your hands and kick your weapon away from you!”

  Will did not move.

  “Do it or we will shoot you!”

  Will knew that there were at least two police officers behind him. He sighed, moved his arms outward, paused for a moment before dropping his Heckler & Koch MK23 to the ground. He turned quickly to face the police. Two male officers were before him, standing apart from each other at a distance of about thirty feet. They had handguns pointed straight at him. Behind them was their stationary police vehicle. Its doors were open, and police lights flashed silently on its roof.

  “Stand still. Nobody told you to turn around.” This came from the officer to his right. The other officer took two sideward paces, and Will knew that the man was creating a greater angle between him and his colleague so as to minimize the chance for Will to assault the men and escape.

  Will silently cursed. A moment ago he had been very close to Megiddo. But now the man would be rushing away with Lana and no doubt searching for a populated place to hide among other civilians. He cursed that the men before him were doing their job but were also unwittingly allowing the most dangerous man on the planet to escape in their village. He looked at the faces of the police officers. He could see no fear in their eyes, no hesitation and no uncertainty. They looked professional and competent. But he knew that he would be quicker; he knew he could pull Laith’s handgun from his pocket and put bullets into their brains before they could even blink. He sighed as he looked at them. He knew there was no way he could shoot dead two American police officers.

  “Keep your arms out. Get on your knees.”

  Will did what he was told.

  “Now lie flat, facedown and hands together behind your back.”

  Will moved his body into the position but kept his face forward. He could see the cop to his left take more sideways steps until he was out of sight, moving behind to handcuff Will. He looked at the other police officer. The man was motionless and kept his gun pointed at Will’s head.

  “I said facedown.”

  Will pushed his face into snow and waited. He felt a knee punch into the small of his back. He still waited. He felt strong fingers wrap around one of his hands, and he knew that the cuffs were about to be placed on him. He moved fast.

  He grabbed the police officer’s wrist, spun rapidly on the ground, twisted the man’s arm with the movement, forced him to spin with him until he was momentarily by Will’s side, heard shouting from the other officer, knew that the other officer would not shoot for fear of hitting his colleague, grabbed the prone officer’s throat, wrenched his head up and in front of him, moved onto his knees, pulled the man with him, moved into a crouch position, lunged forward with the man toward the other officer, and pushed his captive directly into his colleague. The two officers flew through the air before crashing to the ground. Will sprinted at them, kicked the gun out of one of the men’s hands, stomped on his solar plexus to render him temporarily immobile, moved to the other man as he was trying to get to his feet, jabbed an elbow down into the man’s collarbone, and simultaneously swept a leg around his ankles to force him back down to the ground. He picked up their guns and threw them down the street. Both officers were moaning in pain, but Will knew they would recover in minutes. He looked at them both, sighed, and said, “I’m sorry.”

  Then he turned and sprinted away. He ran knowing that he could not spend a moment longer in this place. He ran knowing that he now stood no chance of finding Megiddo or Lana in the village. He ran knowing that his only hope to finish everything would be for Megiddo to come to him in New York.

  He ran knowing that in just under twenty-four hours’ time he had to be face-to-face with Megiddo and that his quarry would be there to kill him.

  Forty-Eight

  Will headed north through forest but not too far from Route 86, where he had earlier seen signs for the Adirondack Regional Airport. Wind was blowing hard and sent snow and ice fast into his face. He moved, sometimes blindly, through the pitch-dark forest, using only the occasional road light on his right to maintain his bearings. He felt very cold, but he also felt angry and determined to keep moving.

  He walked for six kilometers, only occasionally stopping to crouch down when a vehicle passed on the road. He reached an area where he could see the road fork, adjusted his position, and continued his journey in a westerly direction, keeping the new road thirty meters to his right.

  He thought about calling Patrick and telling the man everything that had happened on this day. He thought about telling Patrick where he was so that the man could send help to get him to New York immediately. He thought about Roger and Laith, and his next thought echoed the words they had earlier used:

  Fuck that.

  The night grew even blacker, and the temperature plummeted further. His clothes felt heavy now, and he knew that was because they were frozen.

  He saw the lights of the airport ahead.

  He jogged forward so that he was very close to the road. He looked up and down the route before walking quickly across it and into more forest. He kept moving forward until he was close to the airport perimeter. He breathed deeply, even though every lungful of icy air felt excruciating. He crouched down, lowered himself onto his knees, and fell forward onto his stomach and chest. He pulled himself a few feet along the ground until he was satisfied that he could see the complex properly.

  The airport had only one building, and it was small and clearly both the arrivals and departures area. But it was in total darkness. Beside it he could see glimpses of snow-covered single-engine planes on tarmac and three runways beyond them. He’d come here hoping to find a busy airport, active twenty-four hours, and maybe even a direct flight to New York City. The place before him was anything but that, though, and it was clearly shut for the night. He would have to wait in the freezing night until the airport opened in the morning.

  He heard cars, looked quickly to his right, and saw two of them move slowly along the narrow entrance road to the airport. He tried to focus his eyes through the snowfall and saw that one of the cars was a white SUV and the vehicle behind it was a police vehicle. He stayed still and watched them pull up close to the solitary building.

  The cars stopped. A man exited the SUV, and two police officers got out of their vehicle. Will could not see the officers’ faces clearly, but he could tell from their builds that they were not the men who had pointed guns at him on Olive Street. He knew that more police officers would have been drafted into the area to look for the man who had disarmed the two policemen. But he wondered what was happening in front of him right now.

  The civilian walked up to the reception building, paused by the door, seemed to be looking for something, and opened the door. He entered but stopped inside within a few feet of the doorway and looked at one of the adjacent walls. He raised his arm and spent a few seconds standing where he was before walking out of the building and nodding at the two police officers. They walked into the building with the civilian, and the three men momentarily disappeared from view.

  Will knew that the civilian was the key holder to the airport and that the man had punched numbers into a wall-mounted alarm unit to disable the security system. But he did not know why he or the police were here. He waited and rubbed his hands to try to aid his circulation.

  Lights came on in the building until the whole interior was illuminated. Will looked at the windows and saw glimpses of the men moving through the place before stopping in one room. The policemen seemed to be doing nothing other than standing by the civilian; the civilian was making telephone calls from different phones. He looked focused and picked up phones as quickly as he put them down. The men were in the room for maybe ten or fifteen minutes before lights were turned off and they appea
red at the main doorway. The civilian tapped buttons on the alarm pad, locked the door, and headed quickly to his vehicle. The police officers joined him, shook his hand, and walked to theirs.

  Will now knew exactly what had been happening. The police had called the head of the airport, brought him to the place, and protected him while he made calls to other airports telling them that the Adirondack Regional Airport would be closed until further notice while authorities conducted a manhunt for the individual who had assaulted two police officers and was most certainly associated with two men who were currently in supervised medical care suffering from gunshot and knife wounds.

  He felt a surge of frustration. He rubbed ice from his face, watched the police officers enter their vehicle, saw one of them talk on their radio, watched them drive off with lights flashing. He imagined that with their task done, they would now be heading off to continue their role in trying to find him.

  The civilian paused by his car door, tried to light a cigarette, failed, opened the door, and sat for a moment in the driver’s seat. Will saw a glow behind the man’s cupped hands, followed by smoke from his cigarette. Will stood, pulled out Laith’s handgun, and ran toward the seated man. He slowed and held his gun in two hands. Falling snow swirled around him.

  The man glanced up, his eyes widened, and he looked very scared. “Are you the man they want?”

  Will pointed his gun at the man’s head and took measured steps forward. “Maybe. Are you armed?”

  The man shook his head. “Do I look like the type of person to carry a gun?”

  “No, you don’t.”

  The man briefly looked over his shoulder before looking at Will. He was breathing fast. “I imagine that you came here to get on a flight out of Saranac Lake. But there won’t be any flights now while the local police think you’re still at large within their jurisdiction.”

  Will nodded. “I need your car, your cell phone, and the keys to this building.”

  The man appeared to be on the verge of panic. “If you take those things, I’ll have to try to walk back to the village with no means of letting anyone know where I am.”

  “That’s the idea.”

  The man looked up at the sky. “I’m overweight and unfit, and in this weather I’m not sure I’d make it. I’ll probably freeze to death.” He looked at Will in total panic. “Is . . . is that what you want?”

  Of course the man was right. He was middle-aged, at least forty pounds overweight, and looked as though he’d dressed in a hurry and with no intention of spending more time than he needed away from his home or his heated SUV. Will kept his gun trained on the man. “Throw me your cell phone.”

  The man reached into a breast pocket, pulled out his cell, and tossed it onto the ground by Will’s feet. Will slammed the heel of a boot onto the phone, smashing it into pieces. “Stand up and walk two paces away from your vehicle.”

  The man hesitated for a moment before standing. “Please don’t do this.” One of his legs was shaking. “Please. I’ll die.”

  Will kept his gun pointed at the man and slowly walked around the vehicle until he was by the front passenger door. “You will if you stand there. Get back into the car. You’re going to drive me out of here.”

  Will entered the vehicle and gripped his gun over his lap, pointing at the driver’s seat. The man entered, exhaled loudly, looked at Will, and turned the key in the ignition. He drove the car forward.

  They moved out of the airport complex toward Route 186. When they reached the end of the airport road, the man stopped the vehicle and asked, “Where are we going?”

  “Anywhere away from Saranac Lake.” Will looked at the driver. “But I do need to head south.”

  The man looked to his left along Route 186. “Then we’ll have to drive through the village.”

  Will quickly placed his gun against the man’s temple and said nothing.

  The man glanced sideways but did not move his head. He looked terrified and spoke rapidly. “We can take a different route. We can go right instead, go southwest on one eighty-six and thirty so that we’re traveling on the west side of Upper Saranac Lake.”

  Will held the gun still for a moment before lowering the weapon. “All right.”

  The man swung the SUV right so that it was on 186. Will frowned in thought. “What did the police officers say to you?”

  “You saw them with me?”

  Will nodded.

  The man breathed in deeply as he drove. “They said that they were looking for an extremely dangerous man. They said that they were guarding another two very dangerous men at the Adirondack Medical Center. They said they were getting early reports that something very big had happened near one of the lakes.”

  Not good. Will had hoped that darkness and the severe weather would delay the police from finding out what had happened at Lower Saranac Lake until the morning. “How many cops will have been drafted into this area to look for me?”

  The man wiped his brow. “How would I know? I’m not in law enforcement.”

  Will shouted, “No, but you run an airport, which will have very close links to the emergency services! You’ll have some idea!”

  The man’s eyes widened, and he nodded quickly. “We had an incident a year back. The pilot of one of our planes radioed ahead that a passenger was acting suspiciously, that there were concerns he was a terrorist. We told the pilot to keep his course toward our airport. We also told the police, and within forty-five minutes they had thirty-five men and twenty vehicles encircling the airport. Most of them had been called in from the neighboring towns.”

  Will glanced at the speedometer and asked, “Is this route well used?”

  The man shook his head. “Most traffic will go via Saranac Lake. I doubt we’ll see many vehicles on this road at this time of night.”

  “Then drive faster.”

  The man accelerated. The car was now quite warm, and Will could feel his clothes defrosting.

  The man asked in a strained voice, “What should I say if we’re stopped by the police?”

  “If we’re stopped by the police, you won’t have to say anything, because by that time it will be too late for words.”

  The man darted a look at him. “Who are you?”

  “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

  “Well, I can tell that you’re not from around here.”

  Will pressed his gun hard into the man’s flabby belly. “Just drive.”

  There were no road lights on the route. Windshield wipers were straining to try to combat the snowfall, and the car’s headlights were their only guide on the lonely road. Soon they were traveling beside a very large lake, which Will saw from road signs was Upper Saranac.

  Will looked at the man. “Have you got a map of the state?”

  The man nodded toward the dashboard. “My GPS is the best route finder.”

  “That’s no good to me. I just need a map.”

  “There should be one in the glove compartment.”

  Will opened the compartment and found the map. He studied it for a while and made a decision. “You’re going to drive me to Albany.”

  The man shook his head. “In this weather that could take up to three hours.”

  “You’d better drive quickly, then.” Will rubbed his face and felt his muscles and skin tingle as coldness within them was replaced with warmth. “What time are you expected home?”

  The man shrugged. “In my line of work, I’m often called out at odd times and I often have to stay out for chunks of time.” He smiled a little. “I run an airport. Many things go wrong.” He glanced at Will. “I’m not going to lie to you and say that my wife will call the police unless I’m back soon.”

  Will studied the man. He knew that someone would have to be smart to do the job he did, that he would be rapidly assessing Will and his situation just as Will was
now assessing him, that the man had just told him the truth because he’d decided that Will would have spotted a lie, and that the man had decided to cooperate with him in full so that he could stay alive and return home safely. But he wondered if the man now suspected that Will was not a criminal, that something unusual was happening in this part of the country.

  Will said quietly, “I have no intention of hurting you. Just get me to Albany, leave me there, and go home.”

  The man chuckled, although he still sounded nervous. “You know I’ll call the cops once you’re gone.”

  Will nodded. “Of course you will.”

  They drove for an hour and saw no other vehicles on the road. They drove for another hour and during that time saw only three vehicles pass them from the opposite direction, but all of them looked normal. Forest and mountains and occasional strips of water straddled their route. Everywhere looked uninhabited.

  Will checked his watch. It was now 3:00 A.M. He asked, “How long before we reach Albany?”

  “We’ve made good time. I’d say another twenty to thirty minutes.” The man glanced quickly at his rearview mirror and frowned before returning his eyes to the road ahead.

  Will instantly looked at the mirror on his side and saw headlights behind them. They were approximately four hundred meters away, but they seemed to be moving fast. He gripped his gun and ordered the man next to him, “Keep going the way you are unless I tell you otherwise.”

  The lights were drawing closer. Will desperately tried to establish what kind of car the lights belonged to, but the glare and the driving snowfall made his task impossible. The vehicle was now about three hundred meters behind them. Will checked the speedometer. They were currently traveling much faster than the road’s speed limit, moving at nearly 150 kilometers per hour. The car behind them was clearly traveling faster.