by Ty Patterson
The twins didn’t think much of that alternative.
The second is to expect a trap and prepare for it.
Beth and Meghan went with that one.
It was possible that Rufus was Razor. However, until they’d met him and heard him out, they would have to play the hand they had.
That afternoon, a courier delivered a briefcase to their office. It had neatly wrapped bundles of hundred-dollar bills totaling the good faith amount. Arranged by Hiram Konstantin.
They went to the basement of their building, to a large room adjacent to the parking lot, and inspected the various tools, toys, and weapons at their disposal.
‘We’ll find a way to get his prints,’ Beth told her, ‘and put this on his clothing.’
She held up a shiny coin that looked like a dollar. It weighed the same but was a tracker as well as a listening device.
They checked out the juice bar the next day. It existed, right where Rufus told them. They stepped out of their ride and inspected the neighborhood. The museum’s roof was visible in the distance. A school nearby. Houses and commercial establishments. The rumble of traffic on the bridge, which dominated the skyline.
They went inside the bar. It was small: fifteen tables, three servers, and a woman behind the counter. It backed up into a yard that was a parking lot. A pickup and several garbage bags in it.
They ordered drinks and looked over the joint. A restroom in a corner. Just one entry for customers. There was a room behind the counter for staff, which opened into the backyard. A window facing the street. No cameras.
The juice bar had a few new accessories when the sisters left. Salt shakers on several tables, which held concealed, battery-operated wi-fi cameras.
That evening, they watched the camera feeds and played back the voices on them. No match to Rufus.
They weren’t disappointed. If Rufus was Razor, he wouldn’t make dumb mistakes.
They set out at six am the next day to the juice bar. Not early by New York standards. Traffic was already fuming and raging by the time they hit Columbus Avenue.
Their plan was simple. They would park a block away from the bar. Wait inside an empty cab that had a good sight line to the bar, and watch.
The cab, which they had arranged the previous night, was in place. A duffel bag in the rear of their SUV carried the surveillance equipment they would need.
They were ready for Rufus.
Meghan made good time to Brooklyn, traffic lighter as she reached the museum and navigated through the school-going traffic.
A trundling semi ahead. Looked like it was lost, and the driver was looking for routes to get onto the Belt Parkway connector to the bridge. Traffic hadn’t started backing up yet behind the large vehicle. Theirs was the only one.
Meghan honked and swore. She lowered her window to lean out and yell at the driver.
Saw something large at the edge of her vision. Approaching fast.
‘Watch out!’ she yelled.
A truck rammed into them from behind. Another came from the side and smashed into Beth’s side. A Jeep driven by a shades-wearing, impassive man crashed into the side of the vehicle, buckling her door.
The semi backed up and rear-ended into them.
It all happened so fast that neither of them could react. The successive impacts jarred them. Their SUV’s airbags deployed, shoving them against their seats.
Meghan struggled to get free, tried to reach for her phone. She saw Beth trying to do the same out of the corner of her eye.
Sirens. Cruisers. They came onto the scene quickly, several of them, surrounding the accident.
Cops leaped out. An ambulance arrived. Its crew rushed to their vehicle.
Something smashed their windscreen. A masked man leaned through it, holding some kind of spray in his hand.
‘Don’t … breathe,’ Meghan told her sister, her voice slurring as she tried to go for her Glock.
Razor, she thought. He outwitted us.
Darkness fell.
Chapter Forty-Two
A low rumble and shaking.
Meghan tried to open her eyes and move. She couldn’t.
Her eyelids opened a crack. It was dark.
Inside a vehicle, she thought. It was cold. She turned her head, slowly, because her body didn’t seem to respond quickly to commands.
Another figure next to her. Beth. Breathing. Eyes closed. Unconscious.
She licked her lips. Tried to get her mind in working order. Opened her eyes as wide as she could to take in the vehicle.
Recognized the equipment inside, in the dim light.
We’re in an ambulance. She remembered the EMS vehicles rushing to the scene. She hadn’t given them much thought, but now … they were part of the trap.
She tried her hands. They seemed secured to the gurney she was on. Her legs, too.
She tried her toes.
Socks on her feet, but no shoes.
She raised her head, feeling like she was swimming underwater. Everything felt woozy, as if in slow motion.
Her jacket and jeans were still on her. Holster, empty. No cell phone, no wallet, nothing on her other than her clothing.
She looked over at her sister.
Beth was on another gurney. No shoes on her, either. No gun.
She fell back and lost consciousness.
A man was standing over her when she came to.
Average height. Dark hair. Watchful eyes. Clean-shaven.
Her mind felt clearer, cool air coming from somewhere, flowing over her face, reviving her. They had stopped somewhere, with the vehicle’s rear doors open. Darkness outside, from what she could see.
‘You are awake,’ the man stated. He checked her bonds. Went to Beth’s side and did the same.
He was wearing an FDNY uniform.
‘You came early. I wasn’t expecting that.’ The man came over to her. ‘I had to move fast. All the moving parts in my plan … had to move them forward.’
Was that a faint Russian accent or was her mind playing tricks?
‘Who are you?’ she asked, even though she knew. Anything to keep him talking. Her mouth felt like … rubber.
His eyebrows drew together. ‘You don’t know?’
‘Razor?’ she swallowed.
‘You know me as Rufus.’
‘Stop wasting time,’ a voice yelled from the cab. In Russian. ‘Kill them.’
‘Not here,’ Razor replied in the same language, his eyes on her.
‘Why not?’
‘We might need them as hostages. Besides, I want to rape them.’
His eyes drilled into her as if expecting a reaction.
She didn’t twitch a muscle. She and Beth knew Russian, among several other languages. Zeb had gotten them to start learning in the first week of their joining the Agency.
Is he testing me? Checking if I understood him?
Hidalgo didn’t say anything about Razor and rape.
She almost snorted. It wasn’t as if they knew anything much about the killer.
‘That money we brought, it’s got trackers.’
‘No, it hasn’t.’ The answer was indifferent, almost bored, the dark eyes piercing her as if reading her mind. ‘No one knows where you are and what happened to you.’
Our jackets have trackers on them. Zeb and the others will know.
‘No signal leaves this vehicle,’ he said, dashing her hopes in the next moment. ‘And in a few hours, it will be so your bodies will never be found.’
‘Why did you stop?’
‘Yuri,’ he jerked his head at the man in the cab. ‘He wanted to take a leak. Good help is hard to find, which is why I work alone. But for this assignment, I had no choice but have him as a partner.’
‘Let’s go,’ Yuri yelled from the front.
Razor stepped out without a word and slammed the door shut. The vehicle started moving.
Meghan lay back, taking deep breaths, letting cool air fill her lungs, clear the fog in her mind. They would
die if she and Beth didn’t act.
However, what could they do?
Her sister was still out. They had no weapons. No, that wasn’t right. She remembered suddenly and raised her head and tried to look down her body.
The cuffs around her wrist felt like plastic, standard ties that they themselves used. She bent the fingers of her right hand down her palm, searching, praying.
There. She nearly groaned in relief when she felt the delicate thread at the cuff of her jacket. The filament was barely noticeable; it looked like the stitching on her jacket had frayed and was unraveling. Even the best operatives ignored it, if they even spotted it.
She caught the thread with her middle fingers and started drawing it out.
It slipped.
She cursed under her breath and tried again. She trapped the filament against the fleshy base of her palm this time and dragged it upwards. Sighed in relief when she got hold of it between thumb and forefinger.
And pulled.
There was resistance, initially. That was by design. It gave way at a firm tug, and the thread drew out.
The fiber extended and broadened to a few millimeters as it came out of the cuff. It was coated with a ceramic alloy and, by twisting it to a particular angle, turned into a cutting tool.
She got the angle right after several attempts, her forehead beaded with sweat, her nails chipping and cracking with the effort.
She pulled and started sawing desperately. Wincing whenever the sharp edge caught against her skin. Felt movement by her side. Turned her head. Beth. She was awake, watching her with wide eyes.
There might be cameras in the vehicle. Razor might lip-read.
She stared back at her sister, hoping she could read her mind.
Beth moistened her lips, and Meghan bit back the gasp of relief when she saw her sister’s fingers work at her cuff.
She felt the vehicle turn as it navigated, and the knifing tool nearly slipped out of her fingers. She bit her lip, closed her eyes in concentration, and worked hard. Felt something warm and sticky on her wrist. Knew that she had cut her wrist.
It didn’t matter.
The ambulance slowed and jolted as it drove over uneven ground.
We must be getting closer. No sounds of traffic outside.
Something brushed against the sides of the vehicle. She cocked her head, listening.
Branches.
Forest? Some place remote, with thick undergrowth?
Staten Island? Had they crossed the bridge and entered its woods?
She worked furiously, knowing what the slowing down meant.
They were nearing their destination.
Looked across at Beth and saw the realization in her eyes.
She tugged at her wrist. Felt the tie loosen. Pinched the tool between her fingers and sawed furiously.
Indistinct conversation from the cab. Jolting and swaying of the vehicle. Which helped, making the tool bite deeper. At a harder shake the restraint broke.
Let there not be cameras, she prayed. And even if there are, let Razor not pay attention to us.
She yanked the tool free of the sleeve with a hard jerk, raised her back, twisted her right hand beneath it and worked on her left wrist.
Looked at her sister, who mouthed, right, free.
The vehicle stopped.
Chapter Forty-Three
Meghan lay there, heart thumping, watching from the corner of her eye as Beth worked desperately.
Doors slammed at the front. She held her hands to her sides, willed herself to look scared. Which wasn’t difficult.
Let them not inspect the ties.
Footsteps sounded.
A handle cranked at the back and doors flung open.
A large man stood framed in the door: Yuri, she guessed, from the dim ambient light falling on him.
His face was in shadow, but she got the impression of wild hair on his head and a thick beard.
‘Pull them out.’ Razor, not visible to her.
He’s probably holding a weapon, covering us as we exit.
‘Da,’ Yuri grunted. He bent, fiddled with some equipment, and a ramp lowered. He stood in between the two gurneys, unlocked their wheels, grabbed their sides with each hand and pulled at them.
The gurneys slid out, guided by his hand, and came to a halt on the ground.
First impressions were registering on Meghan. They were in a small clearing. Trees everywhere. Foliage overhead, but sufficient light to see Razor to Meghan’s right, four feet away.
Something glinting in his hand. A stubby weapon pointing in their direction.
Yuri to her left, two feet away, one hand on each gurney.
The large man, relaxed, not expecting any trouble. Razor alert, his gun aimed a few inches over her body.
Beth, now! she telegraphed silently without looking at her sister.
Her sister seemed to read her mind.
Beth reared up. Her right fist punched Yuri in his throat.
Meghan threw her weight to her left. Sent the gurney crashing to its side, its bottom presenting itself to Razor, who fired.
Rounds struck the gurney. She yanked her feet savagely, groaning as the plastic ties bit deep. Another superhuman pull. Something bent. Not the ties but the metal railings they were fastened to.
She didn’t have much time. Razor would move back. Wait for her to show herself and pepper her. Or he could approach and fire over the temporary shield.
She pulled hard, crying out, and felt the tubular railing break. Probably weak from use and age. It didn’t matter why. She was free. That was important.
Something hit her in the back. She risked a quick glance. Yuri, who was grappling with Beth.
The firing stopped. Razor changing magazines.
She took the opportunity. Raised her left elbow in a wicked jab. Caught Yuri at the base of his neck. Brought her knees to her chest and kicked out explosively.
The gurney went sliding towards Razor. She raised her head a fraction. The killer stumbling back, his gun hand rising.
A yell burst from her as she leaped. Diving over the equipment, hands reaching out. Not going for Razor’s face or neck, but at his gunhand, which was coming down, straight at her.
Fingers of both hands opening. Finding his wrist. Grabbing it and forcing it up, sending rounds skywards. Her body crashing into him, its weight not quite succeeding in dislocating his shoulder.
The gun fell.
Meghan landed. Lost her grip on him. Felt movement. Rolled desperately and caught a kick in her ribs.
A groan burst out of her, and then Razor was on her, raining punches on her. No time to think. Muscle memory and training took over. Blocking, sliding desperately on the ground, rearing with her head, connecting her forehead to Razor’s nose, feeling it break, spray on her face. The blows disappearing as the killer fell back. She got to her knees and then to her feet.
Yuri and Beth were fighting barehanded behind Razor. Even as she watched, the Russian lifted her sister bodily and flung her against a tree.
Meghan heard ribs snap. An agonized cry. Shock and anger flooded through her.
Use your emotions.
She charged at Razor with a bloodcurdling yell, catching his chest with her left shoulder, flinging him backwards. Something that felt like a block of concrete hit the side of her head. She staggered.
A punch to her neck left her gasping and sobbing for breath. The killer moved in front of her. Weaving and dancing, face dark from the blood flowing from his nose, eyes impassive.
He tested her with a blow. She ducked, heard the slap of flesh, Beth still fighting with Yuri. That split-second of distraction was the opening Razor needed. The side of his palm caught her neck, sent her reeling and falling to the ground.
Fire and heat raced through her at the force of the blow. She landed on her right side, a rock gouging her ribs. Felt it move. Felt blood trickle down her face.
We’re going to die. But not without causing serious damage.
&nb
sp; And with that, cold determination spread through her, compartmentalizing the pain.
She grabbed the rock underneath her as Razor approached, dancing.
She got to her feet and held it up.
He stopped.
She pulled her hand back, preparing for a throw. He started to duck.
She let the missile fly.
At Yuri.
The rock hit the large Russian square in the lower back. He groaned and stumbled back. Beth shoved him back and kicked at him.
And then Razor was flying towards Meghan, something sharp flashing in his hand. A blade.
He slashed at her face. She weaved out.
He thrust again. She deflected the blow.
Realized her mistake too late. It was a feint.
His hand curved back wickedly and the knife cut a thin line across her belly.
She jumped back, felt the warm trickle of blood.
Not serious.
Razor came again. Knife dipping in and out, moving side to side, lips curled tauntingly.
He jabbed. She snapped a blow to his neck. He sidestepped. And attacked, and this time kept coming, and all she could do was block and defend as much as she could.
Her foot slipped.
Razor lunged forward. His left hand came up.
Slapped her across the face, a brutal, insolent blow that sent her head rocking.
She brought her arms up to defend.
Gave him the opening he wanted.
The blade sank between her ribs on her right side.
She felt no pain. Felt her eyes widen.
The next moment, his left hand was around her throat, squeezing the breath out of her.
And then the pain appeared. Dark and hot, searing and lancing as the blade bit deep, Razor’s eyes unwavering, only his lips lifting in a grin.
And that enraged her.
She summoned her strength, gritted her teeth and, instead of trying to draw away, surged forward.
The knife went deeper. Razor’s eyes showed emotion for the first time.
They widened as the thrust brought Meghan close to him.
She snarled, even as she saw blackness starting to appear. Opened her mouth wide, lunged forward, bit his right ear and pulled savagely.