Act of justice, p.14
Act of Justice, page 14
She got out and jogged toward the Suburban.
Hardy faced forward and focused on the dashboard screen; the red dot was moving further up the display. “All right…he’s on the move, heading north.”
Gunderson started the engine, and a second later, the Tahoe was in pursuit.
… … … … …
10:44 a.m.
Hardy and his team had tracked Pushkin throughout Baton Rouge. He stopped for an hour-long breakfast at a small diner in the center of the city. From there, he spent twenty minutes in a sporting goods store that anchored a large shopping mall before entering a men’s high-end clothing store that was deeper inside the mall.
Across from the clothing store, Hardy and Cruz were seated at a circular café table, located outside a coffee shop and inside a dining area that was cordoned off by a three-foot high, white tubular steel fence. They had a clear view of the men’s store.
Leaning back in his chair, legs crossed—ankle on knee—Hardy sipped his coffee and looked up and down the long runway that separated shops on both sides. The number of people had grown in the last twenty minutes; groups of teens hanging out, twenty and thirty-year-olds shopping, older people he had seen pass by him four or five times, using the mall for their daily exercise regimen.
Cruz took a drink of coffee and placed the foam container on the glass-top table. “At what point do we arrest him?”
Hardy turned a wrist and spied the time. He’s been in there for forty-five minutes. He faced her. “I’m not sure.” He drank from his cup and put it next to hers. “I’m hoping he’ll lead us to Kosolov.”
Having left her long coat in the vehicle, she brushed a few pieces of lint from her blue blouse; the shirt’s hem was draped over her firearm and badge. She crossed her arms over her chest. “We have him cornered. We can take him now and begin the questioning. Every minute we wait is another minute we risk losing him in the crowd.” She paused. “Not to mention a minute closer to whatever attack it is they have planned.”
“Ordinarily, I’d agree with you; however, this guy won’t be as forthcoming with information as Nadir was.” Hardy shook his head, while eyeing the clothing store. “No, Pushkin’s going to be tougher to break. We need to give him more time to unknowingly slip up.”
Hardy looked left and spotted Gunderson in a video game store, thumbing through a display of DVD’s. He pivoted his head to the right, toward the opposite side of the men’s store. He could just make out Dahlia’s bleached-blonde, high ponytail behind a rack of magazines in a bookstore. The ponytail disappeared and her eyes met his.
… … … … …
Holding a magazine, Dahlia spied Hardy. “Anything yet?” While she gently pulled down on the hem of her red blouse, conscious of the Walther PPQM2 the long-sleeved shirt concealed, she saw him shake his head.
Hardy: “Negative. Be ready to move on my order. He can’t stay in there for much longer.”
“Copy that.” She flipped a page and read the title of an article: ‘Turn your man on in six easy moves.’ She made a face and huffed. Six…really? Everyone knows there’s only two. Everything else is just fluff. “Hey next time, I want the coffee shop assignment. You and Cruz can hideout in the bookstore and learn about how to…turn on a man.” She heard Hardy chuckle.
Cruz: “No, I think we got the assignments correct…since I already know how to do that.”
Lifting her head, Dahlia zeroed in on Cruz; the seated woman’s arms were crossed, and her shoulders were slightly rocking up and down. Through her earpiece, Dahlia heard muted snickering that matched the expression on her female partner’s face. “Did you just get a shot in on me?”
“I believe I did.” A moment passed. “I’m sorry. That was rude of me.”
“Don’t be. I’m a big girl. I can take it. I like the back-and-forth.” Replaying the ‘one-liner’ in her mind, Dahlia snorted. “That was a good one, Cruz.” She turned her attention back to the magazine.
After perusing the first four ‘turn-ons,’ she scoffed at number five. Seriously? That’s a real thing? She looked up and scanned the mall area before coming to the last one. Reading the heading, Hmm, she scrunched her eyebrows, skimmed the section and nodded her head. I could see that one working.
She returned the women’s magazine to the rack. Learn something new every day I guess. She picked up a fashion periodical, featuring a long-legged woman in a slinky, silver evening gown. A high slit in the front revealed gold-colored, studded thigh boots with spiked heels. Ooh. She gave the mall another quick scan and came back to the cover image. I could see myself in that.
∞ ∞ ∞ ∞ ∞ ∞ ∞
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Chapter 26: You Bit—
10:55 a.m.
Uncrossing his legs and sitting straight, Hardy cupped Cruz’s knee under the table. When he felt her eyes upon him, he slightly dipped his forehead toward the men’s store. “All teams, target is on the move.”
With a garment bag slung over his back, a finger curled around the hanger, Pushkin turned right and entered mall traffic, heading away from Dahlia’s position. Navigating around shoppers, he sipped from a brown paper cup.
“He’s heading your way, Gunderson.” Eyeing Pushkin, Hardy stood. “Let’s go.” He motioned. “Take the left side, Cruz. I got the right. Dahlia, fall in behind us, but hang back and play ‘safety’ in case he slips by us.”
Gunderson: “I have eyes on the suspect.”
Dahlia: “Copy that. I’m leaving the bookstore now.”
Cruz hugged the left side of the main walkway, staying close to the shops, while Hardy crossed over to the other side and followed Pushkin from a distance.
A minute later, Pushkin drew nearer to Gunderson.
Hardy lowered his head. “Don’t lose containment Gunderson. Stay ahead of him.”
The older FBI agent returned the DVD to the display and walked out of the video game store, fifty feet ahead of Pushkin.
Keeping pace with the target, Hardy glanced left and right. “Watch your angles, people…a lot of reflective surfaces he can use to spot us. We don’t want to spook him.”
Pushkin wandered into a seating area that was surrounded by plants. A water fountain was in the center. He laid the garment bag on one chair and sat in another, next to a woman, before crossing his legs and setting the cup on the floor, between his chair and the woman’s chair.
Hidden behind a close cropping of plants, behind Pushkin, Hardy leaned against a support column. He studied his phone, while glancing through the shrubbery.
Cruz ducked into a lingerie shop, grabbed the first bra she saw and held up the garment by the straps, peering at Pushkin just above the cups.
Slowing her pace to a meandering crawl, Dahlia spied her teammate pretending to be shopping. “Hey Cruz,” she said under her breath, “I’ll take something in black…thirty-six ‘D.’”
Cruz replaced the bra, picked out the one next to it and repeated the browsing process. “Thirty-six ‘D,’” she scoffed, “in your dreams.”
Dahlia grinned. “Look at you…landing verbal blows left and right now.”
“Cut the chit chat, people. We need to—” Hardy looked up in time to see the woman next to Pushkin take the man’s drink, stand and leave the seating area. Watching her stride back the way he and Cruz had come, he scowled. What the… “The woman next to Pushkin just took his coffee cup. She’s coming your way, Dahlia…your height, short dark hair, black jeans and a brown jacket. You see her?” A few seconds passed.
Dahlia: “I got her.”
“She might be part of this. Follow, and discreetly detain her for questioning.”
“Copy that.”
Cruz lifted the fifth bra into the air and spotted a man—two chairs away from Pushkin—stand up, take Pushkin’s garment bag and walk away. “We have another player in the game…black hair and black beard, medium height and build—”
“This is Gunderson. I saw the handoff too. I’m on it.”
Hardy turned his attention back toward the fountain area. The man who had been sitting on the other side of Pushkin’s garment bag was gone. Hardy scanned right and found the man, who wore a faded and tattered blue jean jacket, just exiting the seating area with a plastic protective carrier folded over an arm. Hardy’s eyes zipped back toward the main target; the green garment bag was not hanging over the chair beside Pushkin. “Gunderson, he’s your responsibility. Take him down when he’s clear of Pushkin’s sight.”
Gunderson: “Roger that.”
A minute later, Pushkin arose and left the seating area.
Hardy watched him amble toward the escalators that were in the middle of the mall area, running parallel with the shops. “He’s going upstairs. I’m in pursuit. Cruz, take the other escalator.”
Observing the action playing out, “Copy that,” Cruz hung one satin bra strap on a hook and turned around, missing the other peg. With the purple lace lingerie swinging back and forth behind her, she strolled out of the shop and made her way to the second escalator.
Halfway up the moving staircase, Hardy lost sight of his prey. He snaked around the people in front of him, “Excuse me,” turning his body sideways and nudging them out of the way.
“Hey watch where you’re going!”
“Sorry.” He ran into a solid wall of shoppers and had to wait the longest three seconds of his life, until the disappearing steel steps propelled him onto the second floor. He emerged from a crowd, five feet away from Pushkin; the two locked eyes for a split-second before Hardy pivoted right and walked away from the man.
Ten paces later, Hardy glanced at the glass window of the store on his left and saw Pushkin looking his way. “I think I’ve been made.” Entering a candle place, he caught a glimpse of Pushkin in his peripheral vision; the man was moving down the upper walkway, toward the second escalator.
Hardy stood inside the archway. He immediately breathed in every scent imaginable. While one of the fragrances might have been nice, all of them at once assaulted his olfactory senses. “Cruz, he’s coming toward you. Stay on him. I need to hang back. Do you copy?” He pinched his nose to stave off a sneeze.
Reaching the second floor, Cruz turned right and headed for the upper walkway. She spied Pushkin, shooting glances over his shoulder. “Copy that. I see him.”
… … … … …
Dahlia had waited for the wavy-haired woman to pass by her before following. Staying back a quick sprint’s distance from the suspect, she bided her time. ‘Discreetly detain her for questioning’ Hardy had said. Dahlia lifted one corner of her mouth. I wonder if he knows my definition of discretion.
Gunshots rang out behind her and Dahlia whipped her head around, toward the source of the noise. Distant screams were already cascading her way.
Hardy: “All teams, report.”
“This is Cruz. I’m still following Pushkin.”
Pivoting back, “It wasn’t me,” Dahlia spotted Wavy gaping at her, both females unruffled by the commotion. The two eyed each other, each woman offering up different looks, one of hunter, and one of the hunted.
Hardy: “Gunderson, report.”
Taking a step backward, Wavy flicked her eyes left and right.
Dahlia’s left hand clutched the hem of her blouse, while her right hand inched its way up her right thigh, closer to the Walther on her hip.
Hardy: “Gunderson, where are you?”
Drawing a pistol from the waistband at the small of her back, Wavy stepped sideways and wrapped her left arm around a young girl’s neck. She pressed the muzzle to the girl’s right temple and retreated.
Hardy: “Gunderson!”
Yanking up her shirt, Dahlia drew her PPQM2, lowered her center of gravity and took slow, measured steps forward, heel to toe, heel to toe. “Let her go and you can still survive this.”
A man approached the assailant and the hostage. “Please don’t hurt her.” He pumped his palms toward them. “Please, she’s my—”
In a fraction of a second, Wavy thrust out her weapon…
Dahlia flicked her eyes toward the man. “No!”
…squeezed the trigger and jammed the gun back into the side of the girl’s head.
The man collapsed with a hole between his eyes.
The hostage screamed, “Tony,” while stretching out her hands toward the fallen man.
Retreating, her head rotating back and forth, “That was in case you doubted my resolve,” Wavy searched for an exit.
Advancing, Dahlia gritted her teeth. You bit— “This,” she growled, “will not end well for you.”
∞ ∞ ∞ ∞ ∞ ∞ ∞
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Chapter 27: Not This Time
The first round of gunfire had not caused a stir among the shoppers bustling around Cruz. The most recent rounds from the other end of the mall had gotten their attention. They started scurrying into stores and rushing toward the escalators. Cruz fought her way through the oncoming traffic, while keeping Pushkin in her sights.
Coming to a ‘T’ in the walkway, she glanced right and saw Hardy pushing his way out of the candle store. She pivoted left and continued fighting against the onrushing people.
As the flow of customers thinned, there was only her, and Pushkin—twenty feet ahead—on the upper level walkway. Her heart beat faster, as the situation dawned on her; while everyone else was running for the exits, she was the only one moving away from them, and toward him.
Pushkin looked over his shoulder.
Cruz slowed a bit when the two spotted each other.
His gait hitched before he turned around and took off on a dead run.
Pumping her arms, she sprinted after him. “I’ve been made. He’s on the run. I’m in pursuit.” Chasing him to the far end of the mall, Cruz lost ground on the man.
Pushkin stopped at the handrail, leaned over and looked down before whipping his head left and right. He spun around and thrust out his right arm.
Cruz skidded to a halt and reached for her Glock 19M, “Gun,” before diving to the right, into a bath and bedding store. As the reports sounded outside the shop, she crashed into a display, a shower of tiny bottles of hand sanitizer pelting her.
… … … … …
Hardy heard Cruz shout ‘gun.’ A second later, he felt a spray of blood hit his cheek before a young woman threw out her arms, stumbled across his path and slammed into him. He was running full tilt. The two of them did a pirouette and fell to the tiled floor, ending up on their backs.
The heavyset blonde-haired woman screamed and clutched her left thigh with both hands.
He groaned and grabbed his right shoulder. Son-of— he rolled onto his good arm and saw the strings of red seeping between her fingers. An image of Margaux lying on the bathroom floor in Brussels flashed across his mind. Getting to a knee, he grimaced, set his jaw, Not this time, and dragged the crying woman into the nearest store, out of the line of fire. A bullet shattered the shop’s front window. Glass rained down on him, as he laid her on the carpeting and assessed her injury.
His head on a swivel, Hardy holstered his Walther PPQM2 and noticed he was in a tuxedo rental shop with several other men, and one girl, who appeared to be in her late teens. He leapt to his feet, yanked a black necktie off a rack, “Anyone here have medical training…” before plucking a black marker from an employee’s shirt pocket, “doctor, nurse, EMT?”
Hardy dropped to both knees in front of the injured woman. He glanced to his right and saw her twisted face, tears streaking down her temples and cheeks. The gun battle waging outside drew his attention; sounding like a machine gun, two guns fired in short succession. Cruz. He shook his head. Care for the wounded, Hardy. She’s proven she can take care of herself.
Writhing, the woman lifted her head off the floor only to let it fall back down a second later.
He placed the marker on her upper thigh, above the wound. “What’s your name, dear?” He wrapped the men’s tie around her leg, and the marker, and made an overhand knot.
In his ear: “Hardy, it’s Cruz. What’s your ETA?”
He paused. “I’ll be on your six in one minute.”
“Copy that.”
He looked up, and his voice grew louder. “Again…I need someone with medical experience now.” He came back to the woman, smiled at her and spoke softly. “What’s your name?”
“An—” her speech wavered, “Angela…Angela Parsons.”
“Hi Angela. I’m Aaron.” Gripping the tie tighter, “This will hurt a bit,” he cinched the knot.
From over his shoulder, a quiet female voice: “I…I have some medical—”
Angela cried out, as Hardy lifted his gaze toward the teenage girl he had seen earlier. “Get down here and put your finger on this knot.”
The teenager stared at the woman, the blood and the tie.
“Get down here!”
She snapped out of her trance, knelt to Hardy’s right and put her finger on the crisscrossed necktie.
Hardy made another overhand knot and pulled on the tie ends.
She retracted her finger. “I went to nursing school for—” she flinched at the woman’s shrieks when he rotated the marker, tightening the tie.
Hardy gave his patient another smile. “It’s okay, Angela. We need to stop the bleeding. Bear with me, darling.” Turning the marker, he eyed the teenage girl. “So you’re a nurse…that’s great. You can treat this wound. What’s your name?”
“Um…Crystal.” She paused. “But…I only took classes for a year. I never graduated.”
Hardy pointed. “You…big man…get over here.” He seized the man’s hand, “Hold this,” and placed it over the marker. “That’s,” he jabbed a finger at the tourniquet, “the only thing keeping the blood inside her body. Don’t let go.”
“Did you hear me?” Crystal put fingertips to her chest. “I’m not a nurse. I don’t know—”
Hardy whirled around, clutched her shoulders with both hands and peered into her eyes. “Just treat her as if she was your mother, your sister, your niece…anyone you love.”
