chapter 17

T hings were moving way too fast for Jack to be scared. He was still facedown in the parking lot behind the squad car. The driver-side door was open. The wounded officer was down on one knee, struggling to reach for the radio control and at the same time keep his gun trained on Jack. Jack’s ears were still ringing from the discharge of Falcon’s pistol inside a closed vehicle, but he thought he could hear voices from somewhere across the parking lot. The sound of a car crashing into a building was nothing short of the blast of a bazooka, and it had sent neighbors scurrying out of their apartments and into the street like a swift kick to an anthill.

“You people get back inside!” the cop shouted, but his voice was weak. He tried to stand but couldn’t. He propped himself up, elbow on the running board, groaning in pain as he managed to key the public address system on his vehicle. “Everyone, back inside your homes. You are in extreme danger!”

He dropped the microphone and grasped the radio control. Jack could hear sirens approaching from the north and south-or was it that damn ringing in his ears? No, it was definitely sirens. They were getting louder, closer, with each passing moment.

“Six-one, this is McKenzie,” the officer said into his microphone. Who’s out there?”

“Fernandez,” the reply came back. “Where are you?”

“Biscayne Motor Lodge,” the cop said, his voice fading. “Officer down. I’m hit, too.”

“Hang on, buddy. I’m one minute away.”

“It’s bad. Real bad. Lopez took one in the head. Send a full-crisis team. Got a possible hostage situation.”

“Roger.”

Jack was under orders not to speak, but his silence was helping no one. “Tell him that it’s Pablo Garcia, aka Falcon. The homeless guy who was stalking the mayor’s daughter.”

McKenzie’s breathing grew heavier, as if he were summoning the strength to tell Jack to stay quiet. Or perhaps he was just processing the information. Finally, he keyed his microphone and said, “Tell the chief to send Vince Paulo.”

THE BULLET HAD flown right past Theo’s left ear.

“On the floor!” Falcon shouted. He was holding a young woman as a human shield, her eyes wide with fright. The gun was jammed against her right temple.

It wasn’t the first time Theo had been locked in a stare-down with a gunman, but calculating his next move against a deranged man with an innocent hostage was unlike anything he’d ever faced.

“Down on your belly, now!”

Theo’s mind was awhirl. The guy had a gun. It was obviously loaded. He’d hit two cops already. The chances that he’d miss Theo a second time seemed pretty slim.

Falcon jabbed his finger into the girl’s eye, and she screamed again.

“Okay, okay!” Theo said as he went down on the floor.

Falcon pushed the girl onto the bed, grabbed a ropelike sash from the draperies, and tied her hands behind her back. His movements were quick and efficient, as if he’d done this before. With the gun aimed at Theo’s head, he patted him down for weapons. Theo had none.

“Get up!” said Falcon as he grabbed the girl and pulled her up from the bed. Again, she was his shield. “Everything goes up against the wall,” he told Theo. “The mattresses, the dressers-everything. Right now!”

Theo climbed to his feet and started moving furniture.

“Faster!”

Theo was practically throwing things into place, creating a mountain of debris behind the wall, window, and door that separated them from the police in the parking lot. There wasn’t enough to cover the entire window, and some light from the parking lot seeped into the room through the top of the draperies. When the task was finished, Falcon said, “On your belly!”

This time, Theo didn’t wait for him to savage the girl’s eye. He went down quickly. Falcon came to him and pressed the muzzle of the gun against the back of his skull. Theo could smell gunpowder from the previous rounds. He wondered if this was the end, if Falcon was of the mind that two hostages were more than he could handle.

“Let the girl go,” said Theo. “You don’t need her.”

“Don’t tell me what I need.”

“Seriously. Swyteck can help you.”

“Swyteck can’t do shit.”

“That’s not true. He helped me, and I was on death row.”

“Death row, huh?”

“That’s right.”

“I got news for you, big guy,” Falcon said as the gun barrel burrowed into the nape of Theo’s neck. “We’re all on death row.”

THE NEXT FEW minutes unfolded like a war zone around Jack. At least a dozen squad cars roared up Biscayne Boulevard and positioned themselves around the motel in circled-wagons fashion. An ambulance was right behind them. Two City of Miami cops jumped out of their cars and ran toward Officer Lopez, who lay motionless in the parking lot. A quick round of gunfire from room 103 turned them back and sent them scurrying for cover behind their vehicles. Another squad car squealed across the parking lot and stopped between the downed officer and the motel to create a shield. On hands and knees, a paramedic crawled toward Officer Lopez. Thirty feet away, closer to the street, another paramedic hurried toward Officer McKenzie. Jack watched it all unfold from a worm’s-eye view, his cheek flat on the asphalt.

Another officer rushed to McKenzie’s side. The name tag on his breast pocket said D. SWANN. “Where you hit, Brad?”

“The shoulder,” he said. “There’s innocents inside that building. You guys have to hold your fire. How’s Lopez?”

“Don’t know. Paramedic is with him now.”

With a jerk of his head, he pointed toward Jack. “This guy was driving the car that crashed into the building. Could be dangerous.”

“I’m not dangerous, I was carjacked,” said Jack.

“I’ll take care of it from here,” said Swann.

The paramedics placed McKenzie on a gurney, and the ambulance whisked him away. Swann patted Jack down, but before he reached Jack’s wallet, he said, “You’re Jack Swyteck, aren’t you? Governor Swyteck’s son.”

“Yes. That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you guys. That’s my client in there with-” He stopped, his chain of thought broken by another round of gunfire.

Swann keyed his microphone. “Hold your fire!” He looked at Jack and said, “What’s your client armed with?”

“Handgun.”

“Pistol or revolver?”

“Pistol, I think.”

“How many ammunition clips?”

“I don’t know.”

“What’s his name?”

“Pablo Garcia. He goes by Falcon.”

Swann keyed his public address system. “Falcon. This is the City of Miami Police Department. You are surrounded. Please, just calm down, and hold your-”

The crack of gunfire sent him diving to the pavement. For a split second, Jack thought Swann had been hit, but he was just taking cover. “That’s one pissed-off client you’ve got there, counselor.”

“No kidding. What you need is a trained negotiator.”

“Got one on the way.”

“Good,” said Jack. “Tell him to hurry.”