Part 39 (2/2)
Gabe had the drop on him. He hooked the crowbar around the man's ankle and yanked back; at the same time he smashed the guy with the flat of his palm just above the small of his back.
The man flipped forward and went down hard. The gun was knocked from his hand. Gabe shoved a foot down on his back, grabbed his collar, and pulled up, arching the man's back so he could barely breathe, much less maneuver.
”Show me a badge or I'll kill you,” he said.
The man struggled, stunned, beneath him. He was a little springy black guy with an infuriated look in his eyes. He reached for the gun. Gabe struck his arm with the crowbar and hauled up harder on his collar.
”I'm Gabe Quintana. I'm the one who called the cops about the rendezvous. Show me a badge or I break your neck. In four. Three. Two.”
”I'm Nico Diaz,” the guy choked out. ”I'm with Kanan. We're-f.u.c.k, man, we're here to get his family back.”
The Tahoe stopped in the pickup zone at the top of the Oval. Vance put it in park and left the engine running.
Calder turned to Jo. ”Okay, this is it. Murdock, let her out.”
”What? She'll run.”
”Not if we point our guns at her head.”
”She'll still run.”
Calder sighed in annoyance. ”Tie her up. The back of the car's full of camping and fis.h.i.+ng gear. Find something. And one of your plastic zip ties.”
Murdock kneeled on the seat and leaned into the far back of the Tahoe. He grunted and came back with a coil of white nylon rope.
”Put your hands up,” he said to Jo.
She raised them in the air. He looped the rope around her waist. Then he took a heavy-duty zip tie from his jacket pocket, the kind police officers used for plastic handcuffs. He ran it around both halves of the rope and pulled it tight, cinching the rope around the outside of her sweater. He reached down and tied the ends of the rope to the support struts for the front pa.s.senger seat.
”Set,” he said.
Calder looked at Jo. ”Get out. Stand on the sidewalk in front of the car. Hands up. Call Ian's name and let's see what happens.”
Murdock opened his door. Anxiously Jo climbed over him and hopped out into the cold night air. The engine was rumbling. Exhaust poured from the pipe and swirled around her feet.
Murdock stared at her through the door. ”If you try to run, one of two things will happen. You'll be shot, or Vance will put the car in gear and we'll drag you to death.”
Slowly, hands up, Jo walked toward the front of the vehicle. Murdock played out the rope like a fis.h.i.+ng line. She was the lure.
Pinned to the ground beneath Gabe's foot, the man called Diaz spoke through gritted teeth. ”You called the cops?”
”Kanan's here?” Gabe said. ”How the h.e.l.l-”
”Text message. It listed the time and place for the rendezvous.”
A chill came over Gabe as fast as if he'd jumped into a freezing ocean. He said, ”'Exchange: Kanan's wife and son for Slick. Stanford quad. Top of oval 9 pm.'”
”Yes.”
”G.o.dd.a.m.n it. G.o.d-” He stepped off the man's back. ”Who'd you get the message from?”
Diaz sat up, hand to his throat. ”The sarge found it on... f.u.c.k, man, who did you send the message to?”
Gabe pulled out his phone. He had three messages from the SFPD. He called the station. ”It's Quintana.”
He looked past the trees. The Tahoe had stopped at the top of the Oval.
”Mr. Quintana, yes-we've been trying to reach you. Lieutenant Tang isn't responding and we have no report of a hostage situation at Stanford.”
The chill washed over him like a wave. He glanced at Diaz. ”The cops never got the message. G.o.dd.a.m.n it.”
He hung up and dialed 911.
Diaz got to his feet. He pointed at the top of the Oval. ”Look.”
In front of the Tahoe they saw Jo standing in the glare of the headlights, hands up.
”We have to do something. Fast. Come on,” Gabe said. ”Where's Kanan?”
”In my truck, parked back in the brush on the far side of the Oval.”
”Can you call him?”
”No, his phone is set to activate at ten P.M. What are you planning to do?”
”Improvise. We have to get the cops. And we can't let that Tahoe drive away before they show up.”
They took off through the shadows, circling toward the Tahoe. The emergency operator came on the line.
”What is the nature of your emergency?”
”I'm at the top of the Oval at Stanford and I hear a woman screaming for help. Somebody's being attacked,” Gabe said. ”Hurry.”
He ran with Diaz through the trees.
Jo stood in front of the rumbling Tahoe, hands in the air, rope leading from her waist to the open back door of the vehicle. In the blaring headlights, her shadow stretched across the ground before her like a black scarecrow. The vast campus, the inviting warm stone of the quad, the gleaming promise of the church, the landscaped flower beds in the center of the Oval all dimmed. Her world seemed circ.u.mscribed by the glare of the headlights.
”Ian,” she called.
She heard no response. Of course she didn't.
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