Silent Assassin(105)

“Got anything?” Spartan asked into the comm.

“No sign of any disturbance,” said Bishop.

“All clear,” said Diesel.

“Nothing here,” said Morgan.

“Or here,” said Spartan.

Spartan and Bishop were on the other side of Fifth Avenue, with Diesel on the same side as Morgan. There was no way to cross Fifth Avenue with the parade happening, so they had to make sure that all points along it on both sides were accessible.

“We got one!” Shepard exclaimed. “Holy shit, we got a hit!”

“Where?” demanded Morgan.

“Sixth Avenue,” he said. “Between Forty-ninth and Fiftieth Streets.”

“That’s on my side,” said Morgan.

“All agents, converge on Sixth Avenue, between Forty-ninth and Fiftieth,” said Bishop. “Diesel, I want you on the corner of Forty-ninth and Sixth, and Cobra, on the corner of Fiftieth and Sixth. We are not going to let him slip through our fingers.”

“He’s wearing a long black overcoat,” said Shepard. “Looks like he’s got brown hair now, and his forehead is bandaged up, but that’s him all right.”

Morgan got to the corner of Fiftieth and Sixth and scanned the crowd. This was going to be hard. There were plenty of people in normal street clothes, and his Novokoff’s were about as common as you could get for New York City. He watched for the faces.

“I don’t see him,” he said.

“That’s a negative here too,” said Diesel.

“Doesn’t matter—I’ve got another hit,” said Shepard. “He’s on Rockefeller Plaza, moving towards the parade.”

“On it,” Morgan said. He had to ditch the bike—traffic was barred from getting any closer to the parade, and he wouldn’t be able to move very far anyway. He parked it illegally and ran off into the crowd before a police officer noticed.

“Okay,” said Morgan, “I see him.”

“Don’t let him see you,” said Bishop.

“Not planning on it,” said Morgan.

Morgan made his way through the crowd, going as fast as he could without knocking anybody down or drawing too much attention to himself. He drew near, and spotted Novokoff facing the parade among a throng of people. No possibility of a clean shot here.

Novokoff reached into his coat, and drew something out. Morgan saw that it was a detonator, a red button with a clear plastic cover with a thick black antenna on a black handle. There would be no time to think on this one. He had to take action.

Morgan drew his gun and fired two shots up into the air.

Immediately people around him screamed and began to back away in every direction, parents shielding their children and everyone moving as fast as possible away from him—and Novokoff. The Russian had only time to turn around and look at him wide-eyed before Morgan, now with a clear view and civilians out of the way, fired off a shot.

Novokoff’s hand gushed red, and the detonator went tumbling to the ground. Morgan aimed again, this time at Novokoff ’s leg. His knee buckled, and he fell kneeling to the ground. He tried to get up, yelled out in pain, and stumbled back down.

Several police officers had drawn their weapons and were ready to fire. Morgan drew his fake FBI badge and held it up, holding his gun by the muzzle and up where they all could see. “Counterterrorism!” he yelled. “This man has a bomb. I need you to form a perimeter around this area. Get people away from here.”

“You got it, sir,” said the policeman, and turned his attention to the crowd.

Morgan looked back at Novokoff. He was squirming in pain, trying to reach for the detonator, which was a few feet out of reach.

“You’d better stop,” said Morgan. “I can hit a fly in the air from this distance. Your brain will be splattered all over the pavement before you come within a foot of that thing.”

Novokoff turned to him and gave him a wide bloody smile. “Will that make you happy? To get your revenge? To see me destroyed?”

“I’m here to stop you from causing an epidemic in this city,” he said.

“Then I’m afraid you are out of luck,” he said, wincing in pain. This bomb will go off, Agent Cobra. I anticipated this possibility, and put the bomb on a timer. It will not be long now.”

Diesel came forward and crouched down over Novokoff while Morgan held his gun to his head. He pulled Novokoff’s jacket open carefully. Bombs were strapped to his torso in a tangle of wires. On the outside were at least five sizeable vials of a white powder—the fungus. Any detonation would send it flying into the air in every direction, and there was no telling how many people would be infected.