Exit Strategy

by Jen J. Danna

  His guttural curse brought a feral smile to her lips. Gotcha, bastardo.

  She knew he was simply going to regroup, so she went on the offensive. She quickly grabbed the collar of his jacket in a palm-up right-handed fist on her left side of his neck. Releasing his head, she threaded her left hand under her right forearm. He made a wild grab for it, gripping his thumb and several fingers around her wrist, but she moved her right knee forward to trap his arm against her ribs and wrenched her wrist free. She shot her hand under her right arm to grab the collar of his jacket, palm down, just to the right of his neck. She knew he foresaw the cross choke when he wrapped his right forearm over both of hers, trying to block her, but a single arm wasn’t enough. Using the collar for leverage, she leaned forward, expanding her chest, and heard the change in his breathing as it became strangled with the force of her compression.

  All she needed was about five or six seconds and it would be enough for him to lose consciousness; then she could get him completely subdued until Alex got here. But having his arm locked beneath her right knee meant she didn’t have time to get her ankle hooked around his leg on that side, when, with a giant heave, he threw his weight to the left and she started to roll. She lurched onto her right knee while still keeping her viselike grip on his collar, blocking the roll as her body bridged over his.

  It should have been a simple correction—maintain the hold on his collar, yank him to line up with her knee, roll back over him and complete the chokehold. But as she braced and tried to haul him up, he didn’t move. As her own inertia instead carried her forward, she realized her mistake—in the dark, his head had jammed against the invisible crypt wall, trapping him in place while she threw her weight forward. She never would have tried the move, if she had been able to see her surroundings, but now it was too late—she was tumbling, and she couldn’t maintain her hold on his collar as she rolled onto her back.

  Then he was on her. His fist came out of the dark and pain sang through her nerve endings as he connected with her right cheekbone in a brutal cross jab, bouncing her head on the tile floor.

  Before she learned jiu-jitsu, being on the bottom of a fight would have been a terrifying position. But she knew what to do in this situation, and being far enough away for him to whale on her with his fists wasn’t it. She wrapped her legs around him, crossing her ankles behind his back, reared up to wrap her right arm behind his neck, pulled him in close enough to smell the stale waft of his breath, and rolled back to the floor, pulling him down on top of her. In too close quarters to hit her with any force, Boyle tried to wind his arm under hers. She quickly counteracted by weaving her arm under his, putting them back into the same position. But when her sweaty palm slipped on the back of his neck and he slid free and back, she reached a hand out, connecting with his chest and pushing him a few extra inches away, while she unlocked her ankles, giving her room to pull her knees up and ram them into his chest. She heard his grunt as she made contact, felt his fist skim her chin, and knew she’d escaped the force of what might have been a knockout punch.

  Time to wrap this up before he managed to overpower her with the bulk and strength clearly on his side, or he decided he could subdue her for the precious four or five seconds it would take to reach for, orient, and find the trigger on the Glock.

  Alex, where the hell are you?

  He could only be minutes behind her, and he couldn’t fail to find them as they fought in the dark. And, hopefully, he’d have the sense to bring a light source. Or backup. Or weapons.

  Or all of the above.

  She could try a triangle chokehold by trapping his head under her locked thighs, but that would be damned hard when she couldn’t see her opponent. Still, it might be the best way to hold him.

  His weight thrust forward against her, so she snapped her knees open and he fell against her at the sudden loss of support, and she struggled to wrap her legs around him again. But this time, he was ready and threw himself toward her right side, scrambling to land perpendicular to her body. She countered by digging the fingers of her right hand into the soft flesh of his elbow and slammed her left forearm against the base of his neck, the initial target she’d missed in the dark. She brought up her right knee to nail him in the hip. When he jumped away from it, she jammed her heels into the floor and rolled him, flipping his body up and over the forearm locked against the back of his neck. He somersaulted over her to go rolling away in the dark.

  Her triumph in the moment was cut short by the sound of a gun scraping along the floor, dragged by his body. She rolled to her knees and lunged for it. But when one of Gemma’s fingers closed over cold metal, the other closed over Boyle’s overheated hand. Her sweat-slicked skin couldn’t get a solid grip on the gun, but she wrapped her fingers around the barrel and levered sideways as hard as she could and the gun skittered away again.

  She was just about to reach for it, but an elbow bludgeoned her from out of the darkness, connected with her nose, and snapped her head back. The force of the hit knocked her backward and the shock of pain loosened her grip enough that Boyle was able to roll away. Then there was the sound of scrabbling, followed by retreating steps toward the back of the church.

  As she planted her hands to push herself to her feet, her index finger brushed metal. She thrust her hand forward to grasp the discarded gun, her fingers finding the top of the grip. She transferred it to her right hand, feeling the familiar shape and heft of the SIG Sauer, a gun she’d shot many times, as it was one of the department’s designated choices for a service weapon, even if the Glock 19 was her preference.

  He still had the Glock in his pocket. Now they were both armed, so at least the fight stayed balanced.

  She needed to move. He might already be working his way up the center aisle to the stone doorway and escape.

  Eschewing a two-handed pistol grip to keep one hand on the crypt wall to guide her way, she silently crept down the corridor, back the way she’d come, grateful once again for the soft-soled sneakers that allowed her to move silently. She had the advantage of knowing the layout of the site, and moved stealthily, pausing only briefly every four or five steps to listen for any sign of Boyle.

  She rounded the corner to the smaller feeder corridor. Could she see minute traces of the red EXIT sign in the darkness just there? Was that the doorway?

  The gun held steadily in front of her and her left hand running along the wall, she picked up her pace. It wasn’t the crypts and the corpses that gave her the creeps down here. It was the madman she couldn’t find in the dark.

  Her fingers ran around a corner and she knew she’d hit the doorway. Finally. She followed the wall line and took the corner.

  And ran full tilt into something hard enough to steal the breath from her lungs.

  CHAPTER 30

  Gemma reared back, and was just bringing the SIG Sauer up, when a voice hissed her name in her ear and her body sagged in relief.

  Alex had arrived. Finally.

  His hand locked around her wrist and he pulled her back into the empty undercroft, pressing them both against the fieldstone wall so they couldn’t be a target from inside the catacombs. Alex had lost the cassock and was once again in cargo shorts and his Hawaiian shirt, now sketched with sinister patterns in the diffuse red illumination.

  He scanned her quickly from head to toe. “You okay?” He kept his voice low so the sound couldn’t carry inside the crypt.

  She nodded.

  He squinted at her and lightly touched his fingers, just under her nose. They came away wet with blood.

  Maybe not so okay, after all, after a few shots to the face. But she didn’t have time to worry about it now. “I took a couple of hits, but it’s nothing major. He’s still there.”

  “Just him?”

  “Yes.” When his gaze darted down toward her gun, Gemma said, “I got this away from him. But he’s still got a Glock 42, so consider him very dangerous.”

  “Understood.” He slipped his Glock into the holster
at his hip and dug into one of the pockets of his cargo shorts. He pulled out a U-shaped band connected to an earpiece and a battery pack/receiver. “Put this on.”

  Gemma recognized it immediately, realizing Alex wore an identical throat mic and likely had under the priest’s cassock, but it had been hidden by the high collar. She handed him her gun and took the communication equipment. She quickly fit the transducers into place on either side of her windpipe, clipped the push-to-talk button to the collar of her blouse, and slipped the receiver into a back pocket of her capris. She slid her earpiece in and suddenly the operation around her went live as she heard A-Team members being assigned locations both at street level and rooftops around the church. Several names she knew flashed by, including Logan’s, who was across Mulberry on top of a six-story apartment building, with a view of the north cemetery and all the rear exits.

  Alex had set all this up. A single clue and he’d known where she was, what she needed, and had found a way to make it all happen. Take that, anyone who considered him nothing more than a rat from Internal Affairs. He was as good a cop as any of them.

  She pressed her TALK button. “Gemma Capello, signing on,” she said very quietly, her eyes on Alex.

  He gave her a thumbs-up and handed her back the SIG. She was live and they were good to go. “He’s still in there?”

  “Yes. He got away from me in the dark. I don’t know how much ammunition he has in the pockets of his jacket. He might be able to sustain a firefight. Biggest problem in there is the multiple corridors. He could slip by us. Maybe we should wait him out until more people arrive and then go in and get him.”

  “That would work fine if there was only one entrance, but what about the old street entrance off Mott?”

  “That was closed off years ago.”

  “From outside access. But did they block it off from the inside, or is that old staircase still there at the end of the main corridor? If it is, people might not be able to get in, but he may still be able to get out.”

  Gemma’s heart sank. She had been counting on the fact there was only one way into the catacombs, but Alex was absolutely right. If they just killed time sitting here waiting for him to come out, he could be away and out on the street in minutes. Yes, the A-Team was setting up, but what if he got by them? It was all happening too quickly. In ten more minutes, she’d say there was no problem, but right now was when they could lose him.

  “We have to go in,” she said. “We have to contain him. Even if it means just holding him until backup arrives.”

  His lips a tight line, Alex nodded.

  “You remember the layout?” she asked.

  “Yeah. Any light in there?”

  “Not right now, but we’d be idiots to keep it dark. Let’s light it up. Then we can see him and each other so we don’t take each other out.”

  “Agreed.” Alex glanced back toward the staircase, at the panel of switches there. “We’ll hit the lights and go in. We’ll be able to tell right off the bat if the main aisle is empty. You go left, I’ll go right, and we’ll meet at the back near the external stairs up to the street.”

  “And, hopefully, he won’t have run up the main corridor and out. Any sound in there is going to echo, so go as quietly as possible and listen for him to make a move.” Gemma activated her throat mic again. “Detectives Capello are entering the catacombs to contain the subject. We’re going 10-7,” she said, using the radio code for “out of service.”

  “10-4,” came the response.

  Sanders. Even with that short answer, she’d know his voice anywhere. Of course, he’d be here running the op.

  “Ready?” Gemma whispered.

  “Give me a few seconds to get to the other side of the doorway so we go in simultaneously. See you on the other side. Be safe.”

  “You too.”

  Gemma dialed down the volume on her earpiece so she’d be able to hear the slightest noise in the crypt as Alex crossed the open doorway in a crouched position, then straightened on the other side. When he was in place, Alex gave her a thumbs-up.

  She went over to the light panel and held up three fingers.

  Three . . . two . . . one.

  She hit all the light switches simultaneously and the room was flooded with brilliant white light, painful in its intensity after the near-total darkness. Gemma had to blink against the brightness as she moved to stand on the far side of the doorway.

  Alex nodded to her. Ready.

  They moved together, guns extended, swinging around the corner and into the arched doorway.

  Ahead of them stretched the main corridor, with its arched ceiling and recessed lighting, brightly illuminating each crypt and the spaces between. In the distance, an open doorway gaped, the first few steps of the original staircase visible before disappearing up into the gloom. The corridor itself was empty.

  If Boyle hadn’t found the staircase before, he would be able to see it now, but that couldn’t be helped. If it was permanently sealed, it could be a way to trap him. If it was only locked against outside access, he could use it for escape, so they would have to try to keep him away from it. But she knew with three main corridors, two side corridors, numerous open vaults, and an unsealed family vault, there was still a chance he’d get past them. If so, she had to hope by then that the A-Team was ready with a shot to disable him.

  She moved silently down through the arch and then paused at the corner, Alex across from her. Leaning as far over as she could, while still staying protected by the wall, she peered down the right hallway, checking the way for Alex. The Eckert crypt was at the left end of the hallway, a short series of steps leading down to the cast iron door, and she could now see the smooth wall she’d used as a guide was actually the front tiles of a columbarium. But the space was deserted, with no sign of Boyle, so she gave Alex a thumbs-up. He did the same for her and gave her the same signal. Simultaneously they cleared the corner in their own direction, separating to start their own searches.

  The access hallway was only about twenty feet long and Gemma covered it quickly, hugging the fieldstone wall at the west end. She noted there was also no sound. Neither from Alex nor from Boyle.

  The corridor wall cut in, where it turned to the east, and instead of a sharp corner, there was a long stone sarcophagus. Gun extended, Gemma crossed to that side of the corridor and eased around the top of the sarcophagus. A second sarcophagus was set perpendicular to the first, with an open area in the lee between them. At least over the top of the sarcophagus, the open space appeared empty. She would have to check from the other side of the sarcophagus, but first, she had to step into the long run on the north corridor.

  This was where things got dangerous. If she was caught in a section of the corridor where there were only closed crypts, she’d be a sitting duck, with nowhere to take cover if bullets started flying. But the same could be said for Boyle. The only difference was her first choice would be to try to take him down, but not out, giving her the chance to take him into custody, whereas he’d be aiming for a kill shot right from the start. She had to make sure she wasn’t on the receiving end of that shot. His skill with a gun was already an established fact, and after their fight, he’d be in a killing rage and would show her no mercy.

  She leaned out again and got a quick lay of the land. Empty. Down the right-hand side of the deserted corridor, there was a run of sealed crypt doors and then a gap in the wall that would be one of the open vaults. He could be hiding in there. And if he wasn’t, it would be a good place for her to take cover in case he popped up.

  But first, make sure he wasn’t right under her nose. Crouching down, she circled the sarcophagus and then eased around the far corner, to find the area clear. Moving into the space between the sarcophagi, she leaned cautiously around the second tomb. No Boyle.

  Still crouched, she checked the long corridor again, then stealthily half ran down the corridor, stopping just before a pair of inset tombs in an open vault. A quick glance over the tops of the tom
bs showed an empty space. She then went low to check out the space between the tombs. Also empty.

  She slipped inside. She could stand erect inside the open vault, with several feet of space between the two tombs, both topped by massive slabs of marble inscribed with names, birth dates, and death dates. Between them, at the far end of the vault, stood a life-size crucifix, its wooden cross bearing the crucified Christ, his head bowed and his body limp in death.

  The catacombs were so quiet, Gemma could swear she was the only one there, but she knew better. In this life-or-death game of cat and mouse, the slightest move could spin the dial toward death.

  Keep going.

  She checked the long stretch of corridor toward the back, found it empty, and quickly covered the distance to the cross corridor at the end of the catacombs. She leaned ever so slightly around the corner, more and more of the perpendicular access pathway coming into view. Empty... empty... the gaping maw of the rear staircase. He could be up there.

  Gripping her gun firmly in both hands, she took the corner to find a deserted passageway running all the way to the far side of the catacombs. She slunk over to the open doorway at the end of the main corridor. Inside, she could see the original entrance to the catacombs and the crumbling original staircase marching up into darkness. There were no electric lights inside the staircase, leaving it shadowed in gloom. The question was, what was inside that gloom?

  Only one way to find out.

  She took a step toward it.

  The explosion of a gunshot boomed, reverberating through the empty space and echoing off every surface, so Gemma couldn’t determine where it originated.

  Before she could even shout her brother’s name, he bellowed hers and then the sound of pounding feet filled the air. Back toward the entrance. She turned and sprinted for the archway, cranking up the volume on her earpiece as she ran, knowing Alex would be alerting both herself and the team. Was that just a flash of Alex at the far end as she rounded the corner?