Double Exposure (12 page)

A bearded man motioned to Janosik. "I believe it is time for me to talk to the press," Janosik said, nodding in the direction of the podium. "You'll excuse me."

He strode off, but before he could reach his place at the podium, Considine reentered the room and pulled him aside to whisper a few words in his ear. Janosik nodded. Considine walked behind the lectern and began to speak.

"I'm Lieutenant Ben Considine of the Cambridge Police Force," he began. "If I could just have your attention for a moment — "

The crowd gathered in a semicircle facing the podium. The press, Frank could see, shoved closer to the front. I guess they have a lot of questions for Janosik, Frank thought. He could hardly blame them.

"We've all seen the stories in this morning's papers," Considine continued, "and on TV. Some of you have even written them." The audience gave a few appreciative snickers.

Considine leaned forward at the lectern. "I want you all to know that based on information we have recently uncovered, I can tell you that these stories—and the videotape they are based on—are absolute lies. Alexander Janosik is not now, nor has he ever been, an agent of our government." He smiled. "Though we're very glad to have him in this country." Considine held out his hand. "Mr. Janosik," he said calmly, indicating the lectern. "The stage is yours."

Janosik smiled and moved forward.

The room erupted into bedlam.

Frank exchanged a knowing glance with his brother. He began to think things were going to work out after all.

Just then Frank saw Gregor enter the room and reach into his jacket pocket while heading for Janosik.

"Joe!" Frank said. His brother turned, and at that instant Gregor caught sight of them as well. He cursed and disappeared into the hallway.

"Let's go! Chris, stay with Janosik!" He and Frank began moving as fast as they could through the crowd. They reached the hallway. Gregor was nowhere in sight.

"This way!" Joe said, pointing off to his right, back toward the staircase they had come up.

With Frank a step behind, Joe leapt down the stairs, taking them two at a time. This time, he swore, Gregor wasn't going to get away. He'd chase him down on foot if he had to.

They bounded past the guard at the entrance and out into the crowd of demonstrators.

"There he is! And Liehm's with him!" Joe yelled. He pointed down a path that led into JFK Park, the same path they'd taken with Janosik the day before. Gregor and Liehm were on that path, running past the pillars engraved with the late president's speeches.

The STB agents cut across the park diagonally, heading for the far corner near the river. Frank and Joe set off in pursuit, steadily closing the gap.

A few hundred feet in front of them, the park ended at an intersection where two busy roads crossed, one running parallel to the river, the other back over it into downtown Boston.

Gregor and Liehm reached the intersection and started through it. A car screeched to a halt, barely missing them. As they got to the other side, another car plowed into the one that had stopped. In seconds the entire intersection was jammed with cars. Drivers began honking their horns and screaming at one another.

"Great." Joe stopped at the corner, breathing heavily. "How are we going to get across that — "

Frank never missed a step. He scrambled onto the hood of one car, and jumped from that one onto the hood of the next, leap-frogging his way across the intersection. Joe followed him. They left behind many angry drivers.

Directly across the intersection, an old brick building, covered with ivy, stood on the river's edge — one of the many boathouses that dotted the banks of the Charles. There was a small motorboat tied to the dock at the back of it. Gregor and Liehm had apparently seen it, too, for they were already splashing through the water toward it.

Joe waded in after them, the shock of the cold river water sending chills up his back.

"Hey, what are you doing? You can't take that boat!" Two students stood on the sloping wooden launch platform next to the dock, about to launch a two-man scull. One of them gestured angrily at Gregor. "That's not — "

The STB man raised a gun.

The student backed off, dropping his oars. His friend did likewise. Both turned and ran, disappearing around the far side of the boathouse.

Gregor and Liehm clambered into the boat. Liehm started the engine.

"Oh, no!" Joe yelled, watching the motorboat pull out onto the river. "They're getting away!"

"MAYBE NOT," FRANK SAID. He picked up the scull the students had set down and dragged it to the water. "Come on!"

Joe shook his head. "Are you crazy? We'll never catch them in that!"

"At least we can keep them in sight," Frank said. Joe shrugged and picked up a single set of oars. Frank settled himself in the back of the boat, and Joe took the front.

Slowly at first, then picking up speed as they synchronized their rowing motion, they moved out on the river.

But their best speed was nowhere near fast enough. The motorboat was rapidly pulling away.

"They won't get far!" one of the students who had dropped the small scull shouted from the dock. "The gas tank's almost empty!"

Sure enough, up ahead on the river the motorboat had slowed, and as they watched, stopped.

Frank and Joe resumed their own efforts with redoubled speed, and rapidly closed on them.

Gregor raised his gun when he saw them coming. Taking careful aim, he squeezed off a shot.

The bullet buried itself in the hull of the Hardys' boat.

Their scull shot past the stopped STB men. Joe raised his oar and swung it, knocking the gun out of Gregor's hands. It went spinning into the river.

Liehm sat motionless in the small motorboat, holding another gun on his lap. "What are you waiting for, fool?" Gregor shouted. "Shoot them! Shoot!"

"No, Gregor." Liehm dropped his gun into the bottom of the boat. He raised his hands. "The time for running, for fighting, is over."

With an inarticulate cry, Gregor bent over and snatched the gun Liehm had dropped. Joe leapt across the water into the motorboat and onto Gregor. As the two wrestled for control of the gun, they pitched into the water.

Wading into the water had been a bracing shock, but diving in was as if a cold fist had suddenly clenched tight around his heart, driving the breath from his body. Joe surfaced, gasping for air.

Gregor was swimming for shore.

Thrusting aside any exhaustion he felt, Joe set out after him.

He'd sworn it—this time Gregor wasn't getting away.

Behind him, Frank struggled to get the scull moving again with one oar. Joe heard him yelling something, but it didn't matter.

He had to catch Gregor.

He reached the riverbank and dragged himself onto the shore. Gregor was barely fifty feet ahead of him.

He put on a burst of speed. Gregor turned and saw him coming. There was a hint of fear in the man's eyes.

At that instant Joe knew he was going to catch him.

Gregor stopped running halfway up the hill between the JFK Center and the Hotel Charles, right beside the construction pit. He turned to face Joe.

"Hardy," he said, breathing heavily. Joe approached to within ten feet of him and stopped. "You have been a source of great annoyance to me.

"My pleasure," Joe said.

Gregor shook his head. "Still you make jokes. Good." He reached down and pulled a knife out of his boot. "You will die laughing then."

He moved forward, brandishing the knife like an expert. Joe stepped back quickly, his eyes tracking Gregor's wrist. If his concentration slipped for even a second, the knife would be in him.

"No jokes now, eh?" Gregor taunted, circling him.

"What kind would you like to hear?" Joe asked warily.

Gregor lunged forward. At the last possible second, Joe dodged. As Gregor passed him, he pushed the STB man into the wooden fence around the construction pit. With a loud crack, the flimsy wood gave way. Gregor went tumbling down into the construction area itself.

Joe jumped down after him, tumbling head-over-heels. He came to a stop and scrambled to his feet.

A two-by-four missed his head by inches.

Gregor must have lost his knife when he fell into the pit, but he'd found something to replace it quickly enough. Building materials littered the floor of the pit — many of them lethal looking. Gregor had wasted no time in choosing another weapon.

The STB man laughed and swung the beam around again. This time it caught Joe full in the chest, and he was slammed to the ground. He lay there stunned, unable for a moment to breathe, or even to think.

"Hah!" Gregor hovered over him, raising his improvised club high over his head, his face twisted with anger and pleasure.

"Now, Hardy, I am rid of you forever!"

He brought the beam crashing down.

JOE ROLLED TO HIS SIDE. The beam missed him by inches, raising a cloud of dust as it smashed into the ground. Gregor raised it again and brought it down—and again Joe rolled out of harm's way.

This time, as he rolled over, Joe snatched up a handful of dirt and flung it in Gregor's eyes.

"Arrgh!" Blinded, Gregor staggered backward. Joe scrambled to his feet and kicked out, knocking the beam from the agent's hand. He followed through with a right to the jaw that sent the STB man stumbling into a pile of cinder blocks.

Gregor wiped dirt from his eyes. He grabbed a cinder block off the pile next to him, hurling it at Joe, who barely managed to dodge.

"Don't play caveman!" Joe taunted him. "Show me some secret agent tricks!"

Gregor snarled and picked up another cinder block. He threw this one even harder.

Joe stepped quickly to his right. The block whistled by and grazed him lightly on the side of the leg.

He fell to the ground as if he'd been shot.

With an awful smile, Gregor picked up another cinder block and moved toward him.

Joe scrambled backward—until he felt something hard at his back.

A cement wall. The foundation of the building being built there. He dragged himself to his feet.

"You can't run any more, Hardy," Gregor said. "Now — "

Springing off the wall, Joe shot forward to drop-kick Gregor in the stomach with both feet. Gregor grunted heavily and dropped the cinder block.

"It is not over yet, Hardy," Gregor said, swaying on his feet, his breath coming in harsh, ragged gulps.

"Isn't it?" Joe asked, wiping the dirt off his face. "Janosik's safe—and you're dead on your feet."

"Not yet," Gregor said. With the last of his strength, he half swung, half fell at Joe. Joe dodged the blow.

Now it was his turn. He balled his right hand into a fist and swung with all his might.

His knuckles connected with Gregor's jaw with a satisfying crack—and Gregor toppled to the ground like a fallen tree.

Joe stood over him, breathing heavily. He was covered with dirt. His jacket was torn, and his body ached all over, but he felt pretty good.

"Joe!" He turned. Frank was standing above him, looking down into the construction pit.

"Everything all right down there?" his brother called down.

"Under control," Joe called back.

"You could have waited for me, you know," Frank said accusingly.

"Oh, no," Joe replied, rubbing his hand and staring down at Gregor. "This one was all mine."