Backfire

“Keep those legs moving, Savich. I heard your cell ringing; leave it alone. Two more flights, then we’ll get ourselves a nice suntan. It’s actually sunny today, and would you believe it this time of year in San Francisco?”

“Yes, it’s remarkably pleasant.” Savich could hear her breathing. She couldn’t be as fast as he was any longer, no matter how trained up she was. Only one more floor. Should he try for her on the stairs?

He took another quick look back. She was walking three steps below him, her gun steady on his back. “What you looking at, Savich? Are you wondering about your little sweetie? I’d have to say there isn’t much hope for her, Joe—Xu—is a remarkable man. Can you believe that, a real live spy for the Chinese right here in San Francisco, California? He never told me what he took, only that he’d had some problems. Everyone has problems, I told him, and I took care of him. I like him, he’s a gentleman and he said thank you to me for it. So live and let live, I say.” She paused, panting a bit, then, “It’s sad, though, even though we’re supposed to hook up after the bomb goes off, I don’t know. I just don’t know.”

Did she realize she probably wouldn’t get out of the hospital alive? She sounded philosophical about it. Let her talk, Savich thought, talking would take more breath and a bit of her attention. He said, “You don’t think you’ll see him again?”

She surprised him. “Joe asked me to come to Beijing with him, but I can’t imagine such a thing anyway. I mean, all those people who don’t look like me or talk like me and would probably hate me on sight, you know?”

“Yeah, I know. The thing is, Charlene, I think Joe is in trouble with those people. He’s not going to China, no matter what he told you.”

“You think he’s lying to me? Well, he did say then that he was probably through doing what the Chinese told him to do, so maybe we’ll go to Tuscany—that’s a real pretty place in Italy where he told me he wants to buy a villa, become a local eccentric, he said, because he has lots of money saved.

“You’re slowing down, Agent. Yeah, I can see you’re thinking about jumping me. If you try it, I promise I’ll shoot you in midair. You got that? I’d rather follow the plan I had with Joe. I mean, we’re nearly to the roof, how about it?”

Less than one flight left. They heard a door open down a floor, heard fast footsteps going down.

“Lucky day for that bozo,” Charlene said. She glanced down at her watch again, breathing heavily.

“Here at last. Now we exit. The roof stairs are to the left, down the hall. Shove open the door and don’t move.”

Savich did as she said.

She was right behind him. He felt the gun pressed against his spine. They walked only six feet to another, more discreet door that led to the hospital roof.

They heard a man’s voice.

“Hey, what are you doing here? What’s going on?”

A young man wearing a nice blue suit came striding toward them, waving his hands. “You’re not supposed to be up here. Who are you?”

Savich knew Charlene wouldn’t hesitate to shoot him. He said quickly, “I’m Agent Dillon Savich, FBI. We need to check out the roof. We’ll be okay by ourselves.” Please believe me and turn around. Go back to your office.

The man seemed to think about asking to see his ID, but then he shook his head at himself, said, “Hurry it up. No one’s supposed to be up here. Security should have told us. Everyone’s on edge, I guess. Sorry, do what you’ve got to do.” He flapped his hand at them and walked away.

Charlene said, “Good dresser, but he’s got a whine in his voice. I wonder if he’s married. Bet he is and his wife can’t stand him, probably wants to walk out the door and take some loser lover—” She looked blankly at him for a moment. “Now move it. That’s right, you open the roof door.”

Another disconnect, Savich thought, but it hadn’t lasted long enough for him to make a move. He had to be ready when she did it next. She said, “Another dozen steps to the roof, then there’s a door latched on this side.

“I know what you’re thinking, but don’t do it, not unless you want to live five minutes less. And you really want to live, don’t you? Even if your little FBI wife isn’t breathing anymore, you still want those five extra minutes for yourself.”

He felt the gun shoved hard against his back.

He unlatched the roof door, thought about jumping out and diving out of her sight, but Charlene grabbed his jacket, stayed close to him.