Silent Assassin(46)

“Copy that,” said Bishop.

Morgan watched as the man approached the restaurant and peeked inside through the front windows. He examined suspiciously all the people on the street and the restaurant, including the members of the tac team, but must have either been satisfied by what he saw, or been desperate enough to risk it, because he went inside.

“Visual,” said Bishop in a whisper. “Waiting for the trade.” There were a few seconds of silence, then Bishop spoke again. “He’s getting up. Front exit.”

Diesel and Spartan began converging toward the restaurant to intercept him. They reached the door almost simultaneously, just as it opened. Their quarry, who walked out holding Stuart’s briefcase, seemed to notice what was happening almost immediately. He tried to back up into the restaurant, but bumped right into Bishop, who grabbed him by the arm. He seemed to reach into his pocket with his free hand, but Bishop took his wrist before he managed to grab whatever he was reaching for.

“There’s nowhere to go,” Morgan heard Bishop say over the comm. “We know you’re desperate. If you come with us and cooperate, we can protect you.”

There was a moment of hesitation, and then Morgan heard the man’s voice in his earpiece. It was hushed and filled with terror. “No one can protect me.”

“I guarantee you’re better off with us than alone,” said Bishop. Then he said, in a markedly less friendly tone, “Do you really need more enemies at this point?

“Who are you?” he asked.

“The good guys,” Bishop said. “The guys who are willing to offer you protection if you cooperate.”

“And if I refuse?”

“You really don’t want to refuse,” Spartan said, and the way she said it almost gave Morgan chills. She could be very convincing when she wanted to be.

There was a moment of hesitation, and the man, apparently weighing his options, said, “Okay. I’ll come.” His voice sounded small and defeated.

They began walking out of the restaurant together. However, at that moment, a silver Mercedes blocked Morgan’s view. It seemed to slow down, and for some reason that set off alarm bells in Morgan’s mind. Not fast enough.

Four shots sounded, and the Mercedes peeled out. As it sped away, Morgan saw the man they had come to collect on the ground, his face a bloody mess, legs twitching on the pavement. Rogue had staggered back, clutching his chest, but there was no blood on his shirt—the vest had caught it. He’d be fine. But the Asian man, the one they had come to take in, was dead, and with him died their last lead. Except—

Morgan turned his head just in time to see the Mercedes turn the corner.

They had one chance to catch the killer.

Morgan turned the key in the ignition, and the engine rumbled like the low growl of an angry lion. He stepped on the accelerator, maneuvering hastily out of his space, and then stepped on it. The GTO lunged, doing zero to sixty in just under five seconds.





CHAPTER 23


New York, January 28





Morgan wove through traffic as he followed the Mercedes SLK around the corner. He drifted on the turn, narrowly avoiding a car on his left, and then floored the accelerator.

The Mercedes had already reached the next corner, and Morgan saw it just as it disappeared, turning left. Not that he needed to see the car to know where it was going. The guy in the Mercedes could drive, and he wasn’t going to put those fancy skills to use in Manhattan traffic. There was only one direction he could be going where he could use his skills behind the wheel to get away. He was going toward the West Side Highway.

Morgan dodged traffic, trying to shave off precious seconds from his lag behind his quarry. Four city blocks went by in a blur. He turned screeching onto the West Side Highway, and saw the Mercedes speeding, about ten cars ahead. Morgan weaved through the intervening cars, horns blaring as he cut drivers off. But the Mercedes was doing the same, widening the gap between them. Morgan gripped the wheel and floored the accelerator, and the GTO’s engine roared.

As he drove furiously, dodging cars as they came at him in a deadly game of tag, Morgan couldn’t help but feel this heightened awareness, the rush of the chase. This was his inner predator taking over. It was Cobra asserting himself over Morgan. It was thrilling beyond anything else. The speed got his adrenaline pumping and made him hyper-aware of what has happening in front of him. This was driving. This is how this car was meant to be used.

“Cobra, come in,” said Bishop through the comm. “What’s your position?”

“I’m on his tail,” said Morgan. “West Side Highway. Can’t talk.”