Thin Line (3 page)

The sidewalks were void of life except for two women who appeared to earn their living through dubious means. They walked toward me, coming from the
direction of the café. Despite the cold, they wore skirts short enough to reveal the goods they had to offer to potential buyers. Their worn faces
indicated weather conditions would not dictate their work schedule. Had they passed the cop? Had the cop spotted the women while Bear and I mused about
life as we drank bitter coffee on a frigid patio? Were two old hookers the reason the cop received the call?

In this city? Not likely.

Presumably, the call had no bearing on me, or the prostitutes. The cop could've been checking in. Nothing more.

The women passed, and the only other traffic I spotted raced by on four wheels. After a quick glance around the dim corridor, I pulled out my phone and
called Bear.

"Hello?" a woman said.

"Who's this?" I backed away from the window.

"Alexis," she said. "Are you the big guy who was drinking coffee out in the cold?"

"No. I'm the tall, good-looking guy that was with him."

"Haven't had anyone here that matches that description today, sir." Her smile resounded in the playfulness of her voice.

"You're right. Can you keep the phone behind the counter? We'll be back this afternoon to get it."

"Yeah, sure, but come before five. OK?"

"Why five? You close then?"

"No. I leave then."

I ended the call and tucked the phone away. The woman's proximity to our target left me uneasy. She was ten years younger than Taylor, and came across as
too interested. The likelihood of her having anything to do with the man we were to assassinate was virtually nil. But to me, that meant there was a
chance.

And that gave me reason to pause.

Over needless worrying.

I pulled the phone out once again. Removed the battery and SIM card. I thought about breaking it in two and discarding the pieces in different locations,
but instead shoved it back in my pocket.

A large man crossing the street in front of the brownstone caught my attention. It was Bear, and he wasn't being followed. The big man walked past the
target's building and continued toward me. By this point, Bear was likely aware of his missing phone and now was keeping himself visible.

I descended the stairs and exited the building. Bear spotted me as I came down the entryway steps. I nodded. We continued walking on opposite sides of the
street, toward the brownstone.

FROM A SPOT under a sycamore tree on the other side of the street, I watched Bear's silhouette disappear behind the frosted panes of the building's front
doors. There was no sign of movement from the darkened windows that lined the structure in uniform fashion. Hard to tell. Years of neglect had left them
covered with dirt and grime. Aside from our target, the intel indicated no one had lived in the place since the mid-nineties. Only the homeless and
transient, a constant stream of in-and-out, and not the folks one would expect to tidy up on their way out. They also weren't big on washing windows. These
days, most of them knew their stay at the brownstone wouldn't be a long one. When the main tenant returned, he'd run the remaining squatters out of the
building.

I'd determined earlier that the exterior showed no signs of being fitted with surveillance equipment. Didn't mean it wasn't there, but I couldn't see it.
We found it odd. Brett Taylor was a top agent. And from what we'd been told, he'd been involved in some shady dealings recently. At the very least, his
instincts should have told him someone would come to pay him a visit sooner rather than later. He possessed the skills and had the resources to outfit the
building with not only cameras, but a defense system as well.

Heightened awareness was the buzzword for the day.

A second floor window sat right of center, opened wider than a crack. Through the crevice, Bear gave me an OK sign. After a quick check of my surroundings,
I stepped to the curb. A late-model white Chrysler driven by a woman who could barely see over the steering wheel passed in front of me. I stepped into the
exhaust and crossed the street. Bear had left the front door open. I tapped it with the toe of my shoe and stepped over the threshold.

Cool, stale air coated with the same disgusting odors from earlier greeted me. I didn't react the same way. Guess I'd adjusted. Maybe it had aired out a
bit.

The cone of light spread out in front of me dwindled to a line as the door closed behind me. I pulled a pen light from my coat pocket and scanned the floor
ahead. It would have been a waste of time to focus on things that had obviously been left behind by recent guests. Instead, I picked a path and moved
toward and up the stairs, using the light to scan the walls and ceiling for cameras. Stripped wires hung down a foot or so along the wall in a few spots.
Maybe there was no surveillance because it never lasted. When Taylor was out of town, uninvited guests took anything they could get their hands on.

The ones that didn't want to be invited back, at least.

Bear waited at the top of the stairs. He held an RF scanner in his left hand and a pistol in his right.

"Anything?" I said.

"Flat," he said. "What floor is this guy supposed to be on?"

"Third." The front door whipped open and slammed shut. I switched off the light, retrieved my pistol and crouched down to get a view. The door jerked open
and closed a few more times.

"Front must've come through."

I nodded. "Earlier than I thought."

"Hope the snow holds off a little longer. Don't want to stay in the city tonight."

"You know our luck."

"Unfortunately, I do."

"Anyway, been up yet?"

He shook his head, said nothing.

"Let's go, then."

Bear stepped aside and waited for me to take the lead. I panned the pen light floor to ceiling. My pistol followed. There were more bare wires hanging from
the walls. I checked the area in front of me before every step. We had to watch out for any trigger that could set off an explosive. I remained vigilant
despite the fact that I had been through the building earlier; failure to act otherwise could have terminal results.

The RF detector beeped twice. The green light on the meter flashed red at the same time. We stopped two steps from the third floor. I cut the flashlight.
Darkness fell upon us. Not a single trace of light permeated from the cracks surrounding doors or the gaps underneath. The device in Bear's hand beeped
again, its red light casting a quick, ominous glow over my partner's face.

"It's the door in front of us," he whispered.

I switched the flashlight on and scanned the door and wall. There was nothing on or surrounding it. Same as earlier. I thought back to the building plans
Frank had shown us a week ago. The apartment had a simple floor plan. No hallway or foyer. The only room closed off from the rest was the bedroom, which
had an attached bathroom. There would be little guesswork once we were inside. That made the job easy. What made it difficult was the target.

I recalled my initial meeting with Frank Skinner. The documents I'd reviewed in his office. Brett Taylor was more than a killer; he could infiltrate any
group, get close to any person. And when he'd earned their trust, they died. He had never failed. Overconfidence had gotten the better of him, though, and
he'd handled things too loosely in his latest dealings. The government takes care of those who do its dirty work. But don't ever cross that line.

If Taylor knew we were outside his door, then we were dead men walking. Didn't matter if we turned around to leave. Best-case scenario was one of us would
get out alive. The reason we'd sat on the job for ten days was because we wanted to do this at a time when it was to our advantage. Taylor had spent close
to twenty hours traveling to get home. Bear had followed him the last eight, then watched him enter the building. The assumption was that while we were
drinking sub-lukewarm coffee, our target was relaxing, getting comfortable in the only place he could, and falling asleep.

Now we had to find out if our assumption had turned out the way assumptions normally do.

I took point and moved to the door. The air in the hallway was cooler than the stairwell, moving from left to right. I traced the door where it met the
frame. Taylor hadn't left a marker. Some guys might leave their apartment or hotel room and use a piece of tape on the door and frame, or tape a piece of
hair there, or place something over the knob. If the door was opened while they were out, the tape would break, the hair would snap, whatever they put on
the doorknob would be on the floor, and they'd know their location had been compromised. Such a device would tell us that Taylor had left or was waiting
elsewhere for us.

I found nothing, and it didn't ease my nerves.

Holding the flashlight between my teeth, I reached out and turned the doorknob. It gave with ease. I gestured for Bear to join me before turning the knob
completely and inching the door open.

Warm air laced with lemon-scented disinfectant flooded into the hallway. It washed over my face, neck, and hands. The chemical odor singed my throat and
lungs. Overhead lights cast a warm yellow glow throughout the space. The only thing obstructing my view was a wide leather couch, but unless Taylor was on
it, or lying on the floor on the other side of it, he wasn't in the room.

With a nod to Bear, I crouched down, pushed the door open further and entered. Knowing that the big man had my back made the effort easier.

The apartment opened to a kitchen lined with modern cabinets and stainless steel appliances. The clocks on the stove and microwave flashed the time, which
was off by an hour and change. It wasn't uncommon for the power to go out in a building this old during a cold spell. But I had doubts that the city's
electrical grid had caused the disruption that led to the clocks resetting.

I gestured for Bear to enter and covered him as he did so. He moved past the kitchen into the living room. I focused on the bedroom door while he circled
the furniture and checked the windows. There was no draft inside, so I didn't expect them to be open. After he finished, we both focused on the bedroom
door. Bear performed the same checks I had made on the front door, and then motioned me forward.

On a silent count of three, Bear threw the door open. I stepped forward and swept the room, finally settling on the motionless body lying on the bed.

A PILLOW COVERED the man's face. The sheets underneath were soaked in crimson. The guy had been stripped of his clothes. Cuts along his legs indicated his
pants had been cut off hastily. Someone had been concerned their DNA had been left behind. The smell of disinfectant was stronger in here than the other
room.

Bear stepped past me and walked to the side of the bed. He stared down at the corpse. "Somebody already did him in?"

"Let's check the bathroom."

I covered Bear as he kicked the door open. The restroom was clean, compact, and empty.

We turned back to the bed, and Bear said, "You gonna do the honors, or should I?"

I shrugged. "You're closer."

Bear reached down and grabbed the pillow. He took a deep breath, then pulled it off.

"Christ," he said.

"That's not our guy," I said.

"Not even close."

There was a single hole in the man's forehead. Blood coated the skin around it and had trickled down either side of his head and pooled in his blond hair
and on the sheets. I didn't have to lift his head to know the back of his skull had been blown out.

I touched the guy's chest with the back of my hand. "Still warm."

"Wasn't even two hours ago I saw our guy enter the building. We've maintained a visual on it every minute since?"

"Every room, Bear. I found no way out. I checked every single room, except this one. There's gotta be a way out in here."

"Or Taylor hasn't left. Maybe he…hell, I don't know, man. Think he knows?"

I shook my head. "No way he's still here, not leaving a mess like this behind, and especially not if he knows about us."

Bear said nothing when I turned toward him.

"This was him letting us know he was aware we were coming for him."

"Think he spotted me?"

"Probably."

"If he's got any connections, it won't take him long to figure out who I am."

"Most likely."

"Then he'll figure out who you are, Jack."

"Undoubtedly."

Bear leaned forward. "So who's this guy?"

"A bum that didn't get out in time? Best guess, anyway." I turned and walked toward the living area. "And I'd put money down that Taylor saw us enter. I
wouldn't doubt that he either has someone waiting for us outside, or they're on their way."

We wiped down any surfaces we might have come into contact with inside the apartment. Didn't bother with the rest of the building with the exception of the
handrail leading to the third floor. Below that was a breeding ground of fingerprints and DNA.

Outside the building, a sheet of white limited our visibility. The moment was rife with tension. Anyone could be across the street, in an apartment, window
cracked, rifle aimed at our chests. The reduced visibility made it impossible to verify the safety of our surroundings. It'd be nice if it worked both
ways, and to an extent it did. But all the shooter had to do was verify that the door opened.

Remove any threat regardless of the danger the actions presented to the public.

The first hundred feet were the worst. My heart pounded against my chest like a pent-up bull ready to explode through the gate. I searched through the
white veil, but the exercise was pointless. To make it worse, Bear had crossed the street and was walking opposite me.

Recalling maps I studied earlier, I knew that none of the alleys running between the buildings would offer us an escape route. So we hurried toward 6th
Avenue, and turned north. After traveling another block, I crossed the street and met up with Bear.