Page 121 of Deadline

But it wasn’t. Dawson Scott alighted and went into the building alone, and while Jeremy would have loved nothing better than to blow him away, he hadn’t had a clear shot, and besides, Dawson Scott wasn’t today’s target.

Amelia drove away. They waited, ate energy bars, drank from water bottles. Going on two hours later, Amelia returned and parked. This time she and “Guess-fucking-who,” Carl chuckled, parked and went inside. “Got to come out sometime. Set up, son.”

This time the wait was short. Amelia was the first one out. Headly right behind her, his phone to his ear.

“Got him?” Carl asked Jeremy.

“Roger Dodger.”

But just as Jeremy squeezed the trigger, the agent turned to speak over his shoulder. Carl, who was expecting to see the agent’s head explode, cursed when he collapsed and fell, cranium intact. “Not a head shot, but he’s down. Let’s go!”

The binoculars hung from his neck by a cord, so his hands were free to grab the tripod as choreographed. Jeremy retrieved two shell casings. The shots had come in such rapid succession, Carl hadn’t realized Jeremy had fired a second time. “Amelia?”

“Missed her.”

Carl didn’t waste time on disappointment. There would be another occasion for Amelia. As for Headly, if he wasn’t dead, he was ruined.

The two of them jogged across the gravel roof and squeezed through the heavy metal door that had given them access to it. Their footsteps echoed loudly in the enclosed stairwell, but there was no one to hear them as they descended through the deserted building. Jeremy was carrying the rifle, but he could still move with more speed and alacrity than Carl, whose hips pained him with every tread.

Jeremy asked if he needed to take a sec to rest. Carl shoved him aside and went past him. “You’ll have trouble keeping up with me, sonny.”

As though to underscore their need for haste, the wail of sirens reached them through the exterior walls.

“Christ, that was fast,” Jeremy said.

“Don’t think about them. Just keep moving.”

By the time they reached the ground floor, both were laboring to catch their breath. They left the building through the back door by which they’d entered after destroying the lock. Jeremy opened the rear door of his car and was carefully placing the rifle in the floorboard behind the driver’s seat when a patrol car, running hot, lights flashing, turned into the alley between the abandoned building and its vacant neighbor. It screeched to a halt about ten yards away from them.

“Stay calm,” Carl said, instantly adapting the persona of Bernie Clarkson.

The officer behind the wheel was middle-aged, which told Carl a lot about him, namely that he wasn’t the sharpest of cops or he wouldn’t still be on routine patrol. He clambered out while unsnapping the holster on his right hip.

“Put your hands where I can see them!” He worked the pistol out of the holster and aimed it at them in turn.

“What’s going on, officer?” Carl asked in Bernie’s age-rusty voice.

He shouted, “Come out from behind that door! Hands up!”

Jeremy eased away from the open door of the backseat and, along with Carl, raised his hands shoulder high. “What are all the sirens—”

“Who are you? What are you doing here?”

“As of this m

orning, we’ve leased this building for our medical supply company,” Jeremy said. “Came to check it out, see if the utilities had been turned on yet. We were just about to leave when those sirens started screaming.”

Carl asked, “Was there a robbery in the area?”

The officer’s eyes sawed between them. “Stay where you are.” He reached for the transmitter clipped to his shoulder.

“Daddy?” Jeremy said.

“Got him.” Carl yanked a pistol from his waistband at the small of his back and pulled the trigger only once. The cop went down. “They never learn.”

Shooting a cop hadn’t been part of their plan. Jeremy said, “We need to get out of here now.” He turned to close the car’s rear door.

Carl hobbled around the front of the car to the passenger side and was halfway in when he heard the crack. It was still several seconds before he realized that the policeman, lying crumpled on the pavement with a pool of blood forming beneath him, had managed to get off a shot.