The Alpha Deception (7 page)

At least the killers were known to him now. Once through the scaffolding, he would draw them into the open. Any fire then would be clear of innocent bystanders, and Blaine would be able to take on his assailants commando-style. It wouldn’t be easy; their silenced machine pistols attested to their professionalism, but—

A woman smacked into him from behind. The impact knocked his arm against a street lamp, and the gun went flying under a sea of rushing feet.

Behind him the four black coats loomed closer. Blaine had no choice but to run; escape was his only option.

But not at the expense of more innocent people. With that in mind, he darted straight into 47th Street, zigzagging through traffic in a diagonal toward Fifth Avenue; the subway perhaps, a cab or bus. Bullets chewed the air. Screams tore at his ears, joined now by the shrieks of brakes and the crash of steel on steel as cars swerved sharply to avoid him. He sped onto Fifth Avenue with the awareness that the gunmen were very close and a continued flight by him would almost surely claim more innocent lives. He had to narrow the battlefield in order to gain the advantage.

The service entrance to a spanking-new building at 590 Fifth Avenue had been propped open by deliverymen, and Blaine sped through it up a wide set of stairs. He heard what must have been singing and had climbed three flights before a collection of crates deposited on the landing blocked his way further up. He had no choice but to go through a door that brought him to the origin of the singing.

He was on the dais of a synagogue that occupied the second and third floors of the building. A robed man, apparently a rabbi, was standing next to a young boy, while a man in different robes, apparently a cantor, chanted from a scroll. Few others were present. It must have been a rehearsal, a rehearsal for the boy’s upcoming Bar Mitzvah.

“Get out!” Blaine shouted, as he rushed forward, but his warning was barely complete when two of the Hasidim charged onto the dais after him. One stumbled and slipped but the other came straight for McCracken. The man aimed his machine gun.

Blaine grasped the heavy wooden ends of the Torah scrolls and swung the heavy object like a bat as he lunged toward the gun-wielding “Hasid.” The sacred symbol cracked into his face and tore his feet out from under him as the second “Hasid” regained his balance and a third came through a door at the front of the synagogue.

McCracken dove to the floor of the dais and rolled. He grasped the machine pistol of the downed “Hasid” and fired a burst at the second man now charging toward him across the dais. The bullets caught the man in the gut and sent him careening into the Torah stand. The stand toppled to reveal the terrified boy who had sought cover behind it.

The third assassin’s bullets flew wildly across the dais. A man screamed, then a woman. The boy crouched in fear.

Blaine leaped to cover the boy as the third “Hasid” fired a fire spray over the area where the boy had just been. The leap had separated Blaine from his gun and he swept the floor for it frantically. He found it just as the costumed killer, snapping a new clip into place, was charging up the synagogue’s center aisle. Blaine fired at motion more than shape as the front door crashed open and the fourth “Hasid” burst through.

The third had stopped and crumbled in his tracks. Blaine twisted to train his machine pistol on number four. He fired a split second before the last gunman and sent the man over two sets of seats. He was dead when he landed.

McCracken kept the boy tight beneath him as he checked the dais. A young woman was holding her arm. The rabbi was bleeding rather badly from a leg wound. Blaine eased the terrified boy gently up at the shoulders.

“Now,” he told him, “you can live to become a man.”

Chapter 6

“BLAINE, WHERE HAVE YOU
been? What happened? I’ve been calling the parlor and—”

“Never mind, T.C. Your grandfather’s safe, but it was close. I don’t know what he’s gotten involved in but it must be big. And unless I miss my guess, it’s got something to do with some twice-stolen crystals.”

“Crystals? You mean gems?
Stolen?
Blaine—”

“Listen to me. I’m not sure what these crystals are but they’re part of the mystery and they’re the only trail I can follow. But somebody might not want me to get very far, and it might not take them very long to put the pieces together. Just stay put at the Waldorf until you hear from me.”

“No, I want to—”

“You’ll do as I say,” he insisted firmly, then lowered his voice. “I’m going to tell you how to reach an Indian friend of mine in case something happens to me. You’ll be safe. He’ll make sure of it.”

“Blaine, you’re scaring me… .”

“I just want you to appreciate me more when I come to pick you up.”

McCracken rented a car at Hertz’s midtown depot and headed out toward the home of Lydia Brandywine, which was in Woodmere. He wasn’t sure how she connected with all this but a connection was plain; the robbery had occurred days after she had examined the crystals. So she had alerted someone, the force behind the “Hasidim” perhaps, to their existence. Whether she had done so on purpose or not Blaine didn’t know. He intended to find out.

Lydia Brandywine lived in a large house, not quite large enough to be a mansion, off Chester Road. It was painted white, and its facade was dominated by a trio of pillars. The grounds were spacious, and a circular drive fronted the entrance. McCracken parked directly before it and climbed the steps. He rang the bell, waited a few seconds, and then rang it again. He heard locks being turned and then the door swung open.

“Have you seen my cat?” an old voice asked him through the crack left by the chain. “Have you seen Kitty?”

“No,” McCracken said, flashing his best smile. “Erich Earnst sent me. He’s recovered those crystals you were interested in, and he sent me out to inquire about possible settings for them.”

She gazed beyond him. “Has he recovered my cat? She’s disappeared before, though. Always comes back. Wants to eat.”

“May I come in, Mrs. Brandywine?”

“Why?”

“To discuss possible settings for the crystals.”

“Oh, yes.” She started the door inward to unfasten the chain. “Certainly.”

The door open, she bid Blaine to enter. He saw she was frail and wrinkled, her body hunched over. She was hardly the type he’d expect to be a second-floor customer of Erich Earnst and well known in the diamond district to boot. She wore a long dark dress with a shawl covering her shoulders.

“It’s so nice to have company. If only I could find Kitty. Here, Kitty,” she called. “Here, Kitty… .”

Blaine followed her through the huge marble foyer to a set of double doors. She thrust them open to reveal a grand wood-paneled library dominated by shelves of leatherbound books.

“I feed her in here. Sometimes she hides.” She walked in, eyes peering about, voice higher. “Here, Kitty. I’m getting your dinner ready. It’s your favorite. Here, Kitty. Oh, where
is
that damn cat!”

“Mrs. Brandywine,” McCracken started, “if you could spare a few minutes… .”

“What’d you say your name was?”

“McCracken.”

“First or last?”

“Last.”

“You have cats, McCracken?”

“No.”

“Don’t. More bother than they’re worth.” She moved to an elegant brass-legged glass table with an antique bowl atop it and a can of cat food resting alongside. Leaning over, she began to spoon its contents into the bowl. “She’ll smell the food and come running. That’s my best hope. Here, Kitty.”

“Mrs. Brandywine, about the setting …”

She swung toward him. “Yes. Wanted to make a collar for Kitty. Something different. Fell in love with the crystals at first glance. Just the kind of thing I had in mind.”

“The expense didn’t bother you?”

“Why should it?” She was spooning again now, tapping the last of the can’s contents out onto the side of the antique bowl. “Here, Kitty!”

Blaine kept himself patient. “The crystals, Mrs. Brandywine, did you tell anyone else about them?”

“Just Kitty. She was very happy. Didn’t run away for a week afterwards. Damn cat. Why do I bother?”

“Was there anyone else?”

She eyed him sharply. “Anyone else what?”

“That you discussed the crystals with.”

“Who else would be interested? Don’t get out much anymore you know.” She was mixing the cat food up now. “Here, Kitty!”

“How did you get into the city the day you visited our shop?”

Lydia Brandywine had to stop and think. “My driver. Victor.”

“Where is he?”

“With the car. I call him when I need him.”

Blaine felt he might be on to something. “Do you have his number?”

“Somewhere.”

“Did he ask you about the crystals when he drove you home from the parlor?”

“Kitty doesn’t talk much,” said Lydia Brandywine. “Sometimes, but not much. Ah, here she comes now… .”

McCracken had time only to register the fact that the padding of approaching paws was too loud and out of place. He swung, too late his eyes told him, and he froze in his tracks.

Kitty was a black panther.

The big cat opened its mouth and snarled from deep in its throat.

“You’re carrying a gun,” said Lydia Brandywine, no longer interested in the cat food and suddenly quite in command of her faculties. “I saw the bulge. Reach into your belt and pull it out slowly. Move too fast and she’ll lunge. Don’t challenge her.”

As if to reinforce the old woman’s words, the big cat snarled again and whipped its paw through the air, claws bared. A single lunge away, a lunge that could be covered in the shadow of an instant. Blaine slid the pistol he’d lifted from one of the 47th Street assassins out of his holster and let it drop to the floor.

“Very good, Mr. McCracken,” Lydia Brandywine said. “Now slide it over here.” When he had, she stooped to retrieve it, all the while keeping her eyes on him. “Now move backward very slowly and settle yourself in that chair. Remember, slowly, and keep your hands by your sides.”

Again Blaine did as he was told. He found the chair with the back of his legs and slowly settled into it. The big cat advanced a bit, staying a lunge away.

“I’m going to leave you briefly. Rise from that chair and she’ll tear you apart. Move your hands from the arms and she’ll tear you apart. She won’t move so long as you don’t.”

Lydia Brandywine kept her eyes on him as she glided past, the gun clutched in her hand, no longer seeming as old. She petted the panther’s head on the way out. There was no phone in this room and Blaine figured she was moving to another to summon reinforcements. More of the men behind the attack on 47th Street, no doubt, and they’d be on their way here in minutes.

The cat snarled again, stretching its lips wide to show its teeth and whipping its long tail from side to side. Blaine knew he could not possibly move before it was upon him. Panthers were in many respects the most dangerous jungle cats, the best fighters, and the most precise killers. He was certainly no match for Kitty, even though he might have been able to disarm the woman. Once she returned, though, there’d be two forces to contend with. So if he was going to move it had to be fast. But how?

He remembered he still had the tranquilizer pistol loaded with one more dart in his right pocket. If he could extract it and fire before the big cat was upon him… . No, even if he scored a perfect hit, the panther would have the second it needed to find his throat. Blaine had to buy himself that second, as well as shoot.

He knew Kitty would lunge at the first sign of motion. But if the motion was deceptive it might be fooled long enough for the tranquilizer to work. Blaine heard Lydia Brandywine’s voice speaking to someone over a phone. He knew the conversation wouldn’t last much longer.

Blaine braced his legs. He was depending on the big cat to be just as quick and deadly as legend had it, so when it attacked he could make the lunge work in his favor. He pushed his legs hard on the floor and tossed his body backward, giving the chair all his weight. As expected, it toppled over. The cat lunged but failed to adjust to his tumble backward. Its leap carried it short, buying him the second he needed.

The tranquilizer gun was in his hand, and he fired as the cat regained its footing and came for him. The slightest fumble would have meant death, but the dart shot out with a
fssssssst
and thudded into the animal’s extended shoulders. The cat didn’t falter and kept coming. The huge jaws opened wide and lowered over him, teeth bared and breath hot and dripping, and he closed his eyes in terror, latching on to the beast’s throat instinctively.

But the panther was already limp with the weight of unconsciousness. Blaine heard Lydia Brandywine’s heels clicking fast for the library and lurched back to his feet. She had his gun and he was out of darts. He had another weapon, though.

As she crossed through the double doors, McCracken hoisted the sleeping panther up by its neck and let its feet dangle above the floor. It took all his strength and he felt his shoulders popping from the strain. Lydia Brandywine lurched into the room and steadied the gun with both hands a dozen feet before him.

“The gun’s a Brin-10, Mrs. Brandywine,” Blaine said ever so calmly. “Packs quite a wallop. Difficult to keep steady. You might get lucky but then again you might not. Kitty’s only stunned now but miss your first shot and I’ll break her neck. Miss your second and I’ll break yours.”

“No!” the old woman screamed, more out of concern for the cat than herself.

“I’m an animal lover myself, Mrs. Brandywine. Never think of harming one unless I have to. She’s just sleeping now. Still breathing,” he said, making sure to display the contracting chest. “See? But that will change if you don’t drop the gun and slide it over here.”

Lydia Brandywine’s old hands shook uncontrollably for a few seconds before she let the gun drop.

McCracken held fast to the cat. “You called someone. Who?”

“The party that hires me from time to time.”

“To do what?”

“Search out rare, precious gems and then furnish detailed descriptions. The cat, you’re hurting her!”

“No I’m not. You did that with the crystals you saw at Earnst’s?”