The Pursuit

by Janet Evanovich

  There were three snipers watching Dragan drive off on avenue du Maine. Two of the snipers were Road Runners in a sixth-floor apartment in the building directly across the street. Their names were Daca and Stefan, and their job was to protect Dragan while he was in the apartment. Now that Dragan was gone, Daca and Stefan began dismantling their weapons and packing up.

  The third sniper, on the rooftop of the same building, was Walter “Eagle Eye” Wurzel. He’d also had his eye on Dragan while Jake O’Hare, standing beside him with binoculars, watched the others in the room. Walter and Jake knew about the two snipers on the floor below them and would stay on the rooftop until Antoine Killian, in the shadows somewhere on the street, alerted them that they were gone.

  “I hope I don’t regret that I didn’t kill Dragan when I had the shot,” Walter said, lifting his eye from the scope as the Maserati drove off.

  He wore large square-rimmed glasses with thick lenses balanced on a bulbous nose covered with red squiggly capillaries. The glasses magnified his eyes and made them look unnaturally large. He lay on his stomach, the rifle balanced on a tiny tripod.

  “If you’d killed Dragan,” Jake said, “the snipers would have killed Nick and Kate.”

  “Maybe, but you’re talking about saving two people instead of thousands,” Walter said. “At a certain point, we may have to choose between our team and our mission.”

  “There is no choice,” Jake said. “I believe in Kate and Nick, but if their con fails, we take down Dragan and stop the attack, no matter what.”

  “Let’s pray it never comes to that,” Walter said. “In the meantime, do we have any croissants left?”

  Jake reached for the bag next to him and looked inside. “One chocolate and one butter.”

  “I’ll take ’em both,” Walter said. “I’m hypoglycemic. My vision gets blurry when my blood sugar crashes.”

  —

  On Saturday afternoon, Kate parked a sewer department van on boulevard Raspail. It was just north of place Denfert-Rochereau, beside a bus stop shelter that had a large advertisement featuring Johannes Vermeer’s painting Girl with a Pearl Earring. The ad read Atelier Vermeer. Apprenez à peindre comme les ancien maîtres. Copies de tableaux. It was the first thing Nick saw when he emerged from the rear of the van wearing a sewer worker’s jumpsuit. “Vermeer Workshop. Learn to paint like the masters. Copy the paintings.”

  He figured that spotting an advertisement for a school that taught art forgery, at the outset of faking the robbery of a level-four biolab, was probably a very good omen.

  He walked to the manhole and used a crowbar-like tool to remove the cover while Road Runners Dusko, Vinko, and Borko unfolded a chest-high yellow canvas pedestrian barricade around the opening. The four men transferred the equipment from the van to the manhole and down into the sewer while Kate remained in the driver’s seat with the engine running and watched for trouble. This was the first time they’d entered the sewers so close to the institute and place Denfert-Rochereau, a high-traffic area for cars and pedestrians. Being so visible was a necessary risk, since it was the largest manhole close to where they’d be digging, making it the best place to deliver the heavy equipment. But it was also the moment when they were the most likely to attract unwanted attention.

  Once they were done, Nick disassembled the tripod while Dusko and Vinko removed the barricade and put it back in the van. Then the two Serbians went down into the sewer to join Borko. Nick followed them in, slid the manhole cover back into place, and Kate drove off. The operation had taken less than ten minutes.

  In the sewer, each man picked up a piece of equipment, and Gaëlle led them single file through several IGC access tunnels to the lighted utility corridor where they would be working. The corridor was about six feet high and six feet wide, and the concrete ceiling and walls were lined with scores of pipes and conduits.

  There was a big X written chest-high on the wall where they would be drilling three twelve-inch circular shafts, one right next to another, in a tight cluster to create one tubular tunnel large enough for a man to crawl through.

  Vinko placed the diamond coring tool on the track. Dusko attached the coring bit and water line to the machine. Borko plugged the rig into the electric line. Nick powered up a twelve-inch flat-screen TV that Joe had mounted on the wall and that was hardwired into the institute’s video surveillance feed. Several angles on the lab came up on-screen. There were four scientists working in their inflated suits.

  “They are putting in some overtime,” Nick said.

  Vinko came up beside him and looked at the screen. “Is that a problem?”

  “No. They can’t hear us digging and will be long gone by the time we punch through the wall at two or three in the morning.”

  Vinko watched them working with their pipettes of plague for a moment.

  “I’m glad you’re going into that room and not me,” Vinko said. “The air is full of death.”

  “The room will be clean when I go in,” Nick said. “It’ll be a lot more sanitary than the sewer we just walked through.”

  Huck took out the tablet device that operated the computerized coring tool and typed in some data. “I’m ready.”

  Nick shut off the monitor. Everyone put on their goggles and ear protectors. Huck tapped a key on the tablet, starting the drill. The diamond core bit began spinning, the water-moistened circular face cutting into the concrete with a noise amplified so much by the confines of the tunnel that it became a physical sensation. The men shook with the sound, and the wall wept slurry under the spinning bit as the core driller made its slow progress.

  —

  A panel van from Orange, the French telecom company, was parked on a nearby side street that ran along the ivy-covered walls on the southeastern edge of Montparnasse Cemetery. Litija and Joe were sitting in the back of the van at a console watching two monitors.

  One monitor showed dozens of thumbnails representing the views of all security cameras inside and outside the institute. The other monitor showed a full-screen picture of the lab they’d be breaking into.

  Litija closely watched the scientists in the lab to see if any of them appeared to notice the sound or rumble of the drilling outside their walls. Nothing seemed to break the concentration of the scientists on their experiments. The only thing she sensed was the urgency and seriousness of their work. She glanced at the other monitor. Nothing out of the ordinary was happening elsewhere at the institute either.

  “So far so good,” Joe said, looking to her for agreement. But she didn’t give it to him.

  She picked up the radio and called her lookouts.

  “Daca, what do you see?” she asked in Serbian.

  He was stationed atop a building that overlooked place Denfert-Rochereau so he’d be able to see any police vehicles approaching from any of the intersecting boulevards.

  “Ništa se dešava,” he replied. Nothing is happening.

  “Stefan, what do you see?” she asked.

  He was positioned atop a building one block further north, where avenue Denfert-Rochereau intersected with place Ernest Dennis. Between the two men, she’d know if authorities were coming from any direction.

  “Isti,” he replied. The same.

  Litija set the radio down and gave Joe the nod he was looking for.

  “So far so good,” she said.

  That was true for now. But she knew with absolute certainty that it wouldn’t last.

  —

  By midnight, Huck had drilled through the limestone and was close to cutting his first hole into the concrete wall of the laboratory. In the hours leading up to that, Nick and the three Road Runners had lugged a dozen cylindrical cores of solid concrete and limestone out of the utility corridor and into the sewer, lining them up along the wall. Nick and Vinko had just brought out the last two limestone cores and were drenched with sweat.

  “Here you are, working for Dragan Kovic, the man who kidnapped and then betrayed you,” Vinko said to Nick. “That m
akes no sense to me.”

  “Dragan didn’t betray me,” Nick said. “Zarko did.”

  “We both know that’s not true. Zarko always followed orders. He took a fall for you.”

  “A very long one.”

  Vinko got in Nick’s face. “Zarko and I grew up in the same village. We served side by side in the war. He was like a brother to me. He’s not a punch line for a smart-ass remark.”

  “I didn’t push him off the cliff. If you have a problem, it’s with Dragan, not me.”

  Vinko shook his head and poked Nick’s chest hard with his finger. “Dragan did it for you.”

  Kate stepped out of the adjoining IGC tunnel. “Huck is about to punch through into the lab. Do you guys want to be there for it or is it interrupting your tea time?”

  “We’re on our way,” Nick said.

  Vinko walked away, brushing past Kate into the tunnel. She turned to Nick.

  “Do we have a problem?” she asked.

  “No, but Dragan might.” Nick rubbed his chest. He was lucky he didn’t have a collapsed lung. “Tossing Zarko off a cliff probably wasn’t a great move for employee morale.”

  They made their way back to the utility corridor. Huck was crouched outside the four-foot-diameter opening and held the tablet controller for the diamond core driller. The core driller was twenty-two feet further down and digging through the concrete wall of the lab under remote control.

  A brownish slurry, from the water that kept the drill bit wet, spilled out onto the floor. Dusko was trying to suck up as much slurry as he could with a workshop vacuum.

  “We’re close,” Huck said. “Any second now.”

  Nick turned on the monitor, showing several views of the empty lab. One angle showed the back wall of the control room. Kate, Borko, Vinko, and Gaëlle huddled closely around Nick for the big moment.

  The first thing they saw was a circular seam opening up in the wall, then water seeping through. An instant later, the diamond-serrated edge of the core bit cut through, looking like the wide open mouth of a metal snake that had just swallowed a huge chunk of concrete. They were in.

  —

  The drilling went very fast after that. The remaining two bores were cut in less than two hours, making the hole wide enough for a man with a pack to crawl through. The drilling tool was removed and the track was pulled up. It was time for Nick to go inside. He picked up the small backpack that contained the titanium case for the vial of smallpox and went to the mouth of the tunnel.

  “Good luck,” Kate said.

  “The hard part is already over,” Nick said.

  He gave her a smile, their eyes met and held for a long moment, and he crawled inside.

  —

  In the van, Litija and Joe sat at their console and stared at the image of the empty control room and the hole in the wall. Nick crawled out, his white SAP jumpsuit smeared with wet slurry, and wiped his gloved hands on his suit.

  They watched him take off the muddy work gloves, set them on the counter, and pull out a pair of white surgical gloves from his pocket. He put the rubber gloves on, took off his backpack, and removed the container for the vial from inside the backpack. His lips were pursed and he seemed to be moving to a jaunty beat.

  “Is he whistling?” Litija asked.

  “It’s ‘Whistle While You Work,’ ” Joe said. “From Snow White.”

  “How do you know?”

  Because Joe could hear him. Now that Nick was in the basement of the storefront, the signal from his earbuds wasn’t blocked anymore by tons of limestone and concrete. Nick could hear Joe and Litija, too. But, of course, Litija didn’t know that.

  “That’s what he always whistles when he goes in solo on a break-in,” Joe said.

  Nick looked up at the camera and pointed to the keypad that operated the air lock.

  “Yeah, yeah, I’m unlocking it,” Joe said and began typing furiously on the keyboard.

  The air lock door opened and Nick stepped inside. Only his face was visible through the porthole window. Joe switched the image on the monitor to a view from a camera inside the lab.

  Nick stepped out of the air lock and, still whistling, made his merry way across the lab to the freezer that contained the deadly virus.

  —

  “That, ladies and gentlemen, is a natural thespian in action,” Boyd said, pointing at the TV. Willie and Tom were in the storefront with him. They were a floor above the lab set, sitting in folding chairs and watching the con unfold on their screen. Chet was down in the basement, outside the set with his tool belt on, ready to spring into action if there was a technical problem.

  “Notice how effortlessly Nick expresses his relaxation as well as the joy he derives from his work,” Boyd continued. “That is body-language acting. His entire character comes through.”

  Nick looked up at the camera, pointed to the keypad on the freezer, and whistled some more while he waited for Joe to release the locking mechanism.

  “That is Nick being Nick,” Willie said. “He’s just having fun.”

  “People thought the same thing about James Garner, Jimmy Stewart, and Spencer Tracy,” Boyd said. “The great actors make acting look easy, as if they are just playing themselves. You’re forgetting that this is not a real robbery. That’s Nick acting like a thief who is enjoying himself.”

  “But it is a real con,” Tom said. “I think he likes that even more than stealing stuff.”

  “Because it involves acting,” Boyd said.

  The keypad of the refrigerator flashed green and Nick opened the fridge door. A fog of frost escaped, dissipated, and revealed the rows of vials inside, each presumably containing a deadly virus.

  “Look, he’s stopped whistling,” Boyd said. “That’s because he’s staring into the gaping maw of rampant pestilence, misery, and doom. The chill he’s feeling on his face might as well be the fingers of Death stroking his cheek. He’s learned so much from me.”

  Nick set his box down on a nearby counter, opened it up, then slowly reached into the refrigerator for a vial.

  Something on the monitor caught Litija’s eye. She nudged Joe and pointed to Nick.

  “What is that on his back?”

  “Dirt,” Joe said.

  “No, no, the black thing,” she said. “I think it’s moving.”

  Joe tapped his mouse and the camera zoomed in on the black dot. It was a big, black spider and it was crawling between Nick’s shoulder blades toward his neck.

  “That’s a spider,” she said. “We’ve got to warn him.”

  “How?” Joe said, knowing that Nick could hear every word they were saying. “Besides, what harm could it do?”

  Litija picked up the phone. But it was too late.

  As Nick turned to place the smallpox vial in the container, the spider went over his collar and down his bare neck. And bit him.

  Nick winced at the sting and reflexively reached for his back with both hands, dropping the vial of smallpox.

  The vial hit the floor and shattered.

  —

  Everyone in the utility tunnel stared in horror at the screen. Nick was still reaching for the spider, and hadn’t realized yet what had happened.

  “The spider just killed him,” Vinko said, the edges of his mouth curling into a smile.

  Nick will live, Kate thought, but the con, and all the work they’d put into it, was dead. She swore, ducked into the opening, and started crawling for the lab.

  Vinko looked at the others. “What’s she going to do? Read him his last rites?”

  —

  Litija couldn’t believe what she was seeing and, at that same instant, neither could Nick, who spotted the broken vial on the floor. The full impact of what it obviously meant slammed him. He was infected with smallpox. Nick staggered back from the broken vial, shaking his head, seemingly unwilling to accept the inescapable truth—that he was a dead man.

  This changed everything for Litija. All of the plans she’d made would die with him. She co
uldn’t let this happen. There had to be a way to salvage this for herself.

  And then, as if Nick were reading her thoughts, he looked up into the camera and right at her. She could almost see his mind working, desperately searching for a way out of this.

  Save yourself, Litija thought. Save me.

  She saw Kate crawl out of the hole into the control room. Her first thought was that Kate was crazy to expose herself to the virus, then Litija remembered that the lab had an independent air system and there was an air lock between the two rooms.

  Kate knocked on the control room window to get Nick’s attention.

  —

  In the few seconds that it had taken Kate to crawl from the utility corridor to the control room, she’d figured it out. Nick was a world-class thief and a master con man. And yet, he’d been foiled by a spider…a very photogenic spider, one with a Boyd Capwell sense of drama and a Hitchcockian sense of timing.

  Nick approached the window with an appropriately shell-shocked expression on his face.

  Kate got close to the glass and whispered, “You jerk. You changed the game plan and you didn’t tell me.”

  Kate knew he could hear her through the earbuds they were both wearing, and she wanted to be quiet in case anybody else came through the opening behind her.

  “That’s cruel,” Nick said. “You’re not showing a lot of sympathy for my dire predicament.”

  “The spider was no accident,” Kate said. “It’s not even a real spider, is it?”

  “It’s a tiny robot Chet made for me,” Nick said. “I put it on my back in the air lock and he operated it by remote control from outside the set.”

  “You did this so Dragan will have to take you to his lab to harvest the virus. You’ve made yourself the smallpox sample,” Kate said.

  “I’m also the tracking device. I swallowed it as I was crawling in. There’s another one in my biohazard suit.” He tipped his head to the three emergency protective suits hanging on the wall behind Kate. “It’s like one of those.”

  She didn’t look behind her. “So you also had Chet create a working bioprotection suit for you, too. Very thorough. You planned to do this from the start and hid it from me. I really thought you trusted me.”