CHAPTER 106
I GRAB MY PISTOL and crawl across the floor to the window behind the desk. One of the panes has a hole in it surrounded by spiderweb cracks. I peek over the windowsill.
Another shot pierces the pane above me and slams into the wall across the room.
I call out to Phillips, “Behind the hedge! About twenty yards!”
He nods. “I’ll take the front. You flank him.”
“Phillips! You can hardly walk! You’re an easy target!”
“I’m fine.” He ducks behind the sofa and comes up with his M4 rifle. He points at a door on the other side of the office. “There’s a patio through there. Stay low.”
Am I really taking orders from this guy? I guess so. He knows the enemy. And he’s got a bigger gun.
Phillips goes through the office door toward the main entrance. I dash for the other exit. Outside the office is a short hall linedwith windows. I drop and crawl below them until I get to the patio door. Through the lattice panes, I see a stone terrace with cushioned outdoor furniture and a huge gas grill. Accent lights run across the base of a low stone wall that separates the patio from the lawn.
I shove the door open and crawl across the cold stone until I’m against the wall with my head just below the top. I poke my head up, just barely to eye level.Bam!The wall cap is blasted into pieces a few inches away, stinging my cheek with stone fragments.
I see movement behind the hedge. I aim my pistol and get off five quick rounds—suppressing fire. I need to give Phillips time to maneuver. I jump over the wall, crouch down low, and head for a stand of tall trees in the backyard. I hear a burst of automatic fire to my left. I can see Phillips moving across the lawn in silhouette, firing as he goes. I crouch behind a tree trunk and mentally count my rounds. Ten left.
Phillips drops when a burst of fire comes from the hedge, closer to the road.
Polermo is on the move! I don’t have a clear shot from here. I sprint across the open lawn to the far end of the hedge. It’s about two feet thick, trimmed square on both sides—a solid wall of foliage. Can’t walk through it, only around it.
I look back to where I saw Phillips last. He’s gone. Then I see a flash of movement behind a parked car at the edge of the lawn. Phillips is taking cover, hardly moving. Shit! His leg probably gave out.
Suddenly the windshield buckles and cracks. The car alarm starts blaring. I run down the hedge toward the street. I see a shape moving toward the car, all in black, rifle raised. I see Phillips inching along the side of the car, cradling his rifle. For a few seconds, he’s outlined against the white door. A perfect target.
The black shape advances and fires. Bullet holes pock the door above Phillips’s head as he flattens himself on the pavement. As I come around the end of the hedge, I’ve got a clear shot at the shooter from the rear. Head or body. My choice. I drop my pistol and shout, “Polermo!”
He wheels around. I’m right there to meet him. Before he can bring his barrel up, I deliver a hard uppercut to his jaw. He’s a big guy, but I’m bigger.
My punch lifts him right off the ground.
He’s out before he hits the lawn.
CHAPTER 107
Cross
IT TAKES BOTH ALEX and Damon using all their strength to push the metal hatch open. They manage it on the fourth try. When they emerge into the stinking pigsty above, Alex Cross can see flashlights approaching Brophy’s front gate. Lots of them.
He found his phone in Brophy’s pocket, and his call obviously got some attention.
Alex hurries across the yard to the main house and pulls the switch to cut power to the fence.
“All clear!” he shouts.
He sees a flash of gunfire and metal sparks as somebody shoots the lock apart.
When the gate swings open, a dozen cops in tac gear pour through under the moonlight. Probably the entire Chapel Hill police force.
Alex hurries back to Damon in the middle of the yard. “Putyour hands up and stand still,” he says. He knows how trigger-happy cops can get. This is no time for mistakes.
Then he hears a familiar voice. “Hold your fire! Eyes on the hostages!”
It’s Gail Bailey. She’s the last one through the gate. No full tac, just a ballistic vest over a polo shirt and jeans. She shines a flashlight in Alex’s face. “You can put your hands down, Dr. Cross,” she calls.
