The man stepped up right next to Temir Marat, folded his hands across his waist, and casually slipped his right hand under his dark linen coat.
It was subtle, but not too subtle. Marat immediately picked up on the man right next to him. He moved like a cat.
I could clearly see the Russian mobster as he pulled his blue steel SIG Sauer P220 semiautomatic pistol. It was an ugly thing, out of place in a nice restaurant like this.
But Marat was smooth as he turned and used both hands to block the gun before it could come up. He locked the man in close, with the pistol pointing almost straight at the floor.
The killer struggled with the gun under the power of Marat’s grip. I could tell he was also struggling with the shock. He’d thought this would be easy.
Marat head-butted him, then ripped the gun right out of his hands. Now the woman got involved, reaching into her Louis Vuitton purse to pull out an identical pistol.
Marat reacted immediately, jerking the dazed man right in front of him as the woman pulled the trigger, shooting her partner twice in the chest.
Marat shoved the motionless man toward the woman. The dead weight knocked her off balance.
This all happened before I could even reach the bar. Everyone was looking around, startled by the two gunshots. The echo had made it difficult to pinpoint. This guy really did have skills.
I was a few feet away from the bar when the female hitter regained her balance and had Marat in the corner. The man with the two bullet holes in his chest was dead on the white tile floor. His blood was swirling into dark red pools and running along the grout lines.
Marat didn’t have his pistol up yet. He was at the mercy of the female hitter.
I kept coming full speed and threw my entire body into the hitter. It was just a gut reaction.
We both hit the tile hard, but I landed on top of her.
She was out cold, the pistol loose on the floor.
Marat gave me a faint smile, raised the pistol to his forehead, and saluted me before disappearing out the door.
Darya appeared at my side as I was kneeling to make sure the woman was breathing properly.
I said, “Watch her.” Then I was on my feet and out the door.
As soon as I hit the open area beyond the restaurant, I had my head on a swivel. There weren’t many people out. Then I caught just a glimpse of someone running. It was the way his head bobbed up and down, and the blue and red of the Rangers cap.
He was running south, along the water. I drew my Glock and started to run the same direction. I fell into a measured pace, not knowing what I might have to deal with once I caught this unusual suspect. At least he wouldn’t surprise me with his abilities this time.
The park was flat and relatively empty as it got closer to the street. I would see him if he moved away from the water.
Just as I paused by a cement column that depicted the construction of the World Trade Center, I heard a gunshot. The bullet pinged above my head on the column.
Great. Now this was a gunfight.
Chapter 29
I crouched on the other side of the column and brought my pistol up. There were several low concrete shapes in the park designed to be artistic and give people a place to sit and rest.
I crouched low and ran to the first of the cement structures. It wasn’t until I dropped behind it that I realized Marat was just beyond, crouching behind a closed food kiosk.
I leaned from behind the cover and popped off two quick rounds, hoping to scare him out of his position. Instead, I was met with two quick rounds back at me.
I knew the gunfire had to attract attention and if I could just hold him in place, help would be on its way soon. But I still wanted to take this guy alive. A patrol officer rolling up on a gunfight wasn’t going to take that kind of care. I wouldn’t blame any officer that fired a weapon in this situation.
I popped around the edge and fired twice more. Just to let him know I was here and I wasn’t giving up. That’s when he used his skills once again. Most people, when they are being shot at, will find cover and stay there. Marat started to move as soon as I fired the two shots. He came low and fast from his cover along the edge of the cement block I was behind.
Next thing I knew, he was right in front of me. I turned and raised my pistol, but he had already twisted and slapped it hard. Then his foot came off the ground in a blur and struck me in the side of the head. I was dazed as I pitched over.
But he didn’t want to fight. He just wanted me to stop shooting. He turned and sprinted away toward a series of decorative concrete walls designed to block the wind and give people something to look at. It looked like a tiny maze.
Once again, after I cleared my head, I was running after him as quickly as I could.
I slowed as I came to the walls. I had my pistol up and scanned the whole area, hoping to get a glimpse of Marat. I entered the little maze carefully.
As I came to the last wall, expecting to see Marat in the wide-open space between here and the Clipper City Tall Ship anchored in the water, I spotted some movement out of the corner of my right eye. Just a blur.
Unfortunately, the movement was Marat’s fist as it connected with the side of my head. I had to look like a cartoon character with my face twisting under Marat’s fist, my eyes spinning, as I tried to protect myself. I thought I was losing consciousness as I dropped my gun and heard it clatter against the rough cement. Then I steadied myself as I bounced off one of the six-foot-high concrete walls.
Marat was on me in an instant.
He threw his whole body into mine, knocking me flat on the ground. Then he picked up my pistol and flung it hard toward the river.
Marat said, “Just stay here. I still have a pistol.” He held up the SIG Sauer like I needed some kind of visual cue.
Now he was jogging away again. He thought he had disarmed me. That was his mistake.
Chapter 30
I hate to admit that I sat on the hard cement for a few seconds just to gather my wits. This guy could’ve killed me several times over. Why hadn’t he?
Now I had an advantage. He thought I was unarmed. I reached down and drew the Smith & Wesson model 36 revolver. I wasn’t crazy about going up against a man armed with a .45-caliber semiautomatic while I just had a five-shot .38, but there was no way I could let this guy disappear.
I knew he’d been headed south, so I got to my feet and started to jog unsteadily toward the masts of the Clipper City Tall Ship I could see in the distance.
It was cold and dark, so there were few people in the park or near the ship. I spotted his Rangers cap about halfway between me and the ship. He was walking fast, trying not to draw attention to himself. I knew he was trying to get out of the area. That’s what I’d do.
As I closed the distance, I suddenly felt like the .38 in my hand was a BB gun. Where the hell was my backup?
I scanned for cover to get behind before I shouted for him to stop. A drop of blood from a cut on my forehead slipped into my eye. I felt like I’d been run over by a Volkswagen.
The best cover I could find was a heavy, freestanding billboard that advertised tours out of the mouth of the Hudson. I stood behind it, raised my revolver, and sighted from the groove near the gun’s hammer to the front sight, with Temir Marat’s body taking up my entire sight picture.
I shouted, “Police—don’t move!”
He froze.
I spoke loudly and enunciated carefully. “Put the gun on the seawall!” He was right next to the low wall with the open water beyond it. If he tried anything, he had to pull the gun, turn this direction, and then find me in a split second. I liked my position.
Marat just stood there, facing the water. I could still see his hands hanging at his side. There was no telling what a man like this was thinking or how far he’d go.
I shouted again, “Put your pistol on the seawall!” I waited a moment and added, “Do it now.”
He never moved his hands as he stepped up onto the seawall and spu
n to face me. This is not what I wanted to happen. I didn’t want him to have a chance to survey the area and see where I was standing. But I didn’t feel I could pull the trigger when I saw both of his hands clearly, and didn’t see the gun at all.
He glanced over his right shoulder as if he were thinking about jumping in the river. It wouldn’t be the first time a suspect tried it. Most people overestimated their swimming ability.
I shouted, “Don’t do it, Temir!”
That caught his attention. He just stared at me.
“That’s right, I know your name. I know everything about you. I even visited your aunt and uncle in Weequahic. Aunt Vera and Uncle Konstantin.”
He was listening. It was a nice change from him punching me.
I stepped out from behind the sign and started to walk slowly toward him. My pistol was still up as I said, “You didn’t attack the parade because of a jihad. You’re not even Muslim. You’re Russian Orthodox like the rest of your family.”
Now I was only about ten feet from the seawall. After what this guy had done to me in two different fights, I wasn’t about to get any closer.
I was careful how I phrased my next statement. “I think I know who you’re working for. We can protect you. All you have to do is surrender.”
His right hand twitched and eased toward his jacket’s front pocket.
I said, “Don’t do it.”
The hand froze about halfway to the pocket.
“Surrender and we can work this out.”
Then Marat spoke. His voice was even and he clearly had an accent, but his English was good. “If I surrender, you can ignore the people I killed?”
I just stared at him for a moment. I had no answer.
Marat said, “Neither can I.” His voice had a catch in it. “I had to do it. They have my wife and daughter.”
“Is that why you said hawqala?”
“I didn’t know if anyone would pick up on it.”
I kept the pistol trained on him. I was still expecting someone to come help me shortly.
Marat said, “They told me I had to do this one job. Drive the truck into the parade, then detonate the explosive they had built into the truck. That was my first clue they’d abandoned me. When I hit the detonator, it was supposed to give me thirty seconds to escape. Then there was no one waiting to drive me away like they were supposed to. They’ve been trying to kill me ever since. Now it looks like they tricked you into doing their dirty work.”
All I could say was, “Who? Who is trying to kill you? Who do you work for?”
He looked like he wanted to tell me. Like he knew it was over. He started to speak, then hesitated.
His right hand moved. That’s when I heard two gunshots.
Chapter 31
As soon as I heard the shots, I couldn’t keep from turning to see where they came from. Behind me, partially hidden by a wooden bench, Darya Kuznetsova kneeled with the other Russian mob hitter’s pistol in her hand.
I spun back to Marat. He seemed to be frozen. Somehow, in that split second, his right hand had reached the gun in his jacket pocket. Now he held it loosely with the barrel pointed to the ground.
He looked at me and tried to speak. That’s when I noticed the two red stains expanding on the front of his jacket. Both were close to his heart.
The pistol dropped onto the seawall. Marat stood for a second longer, then toppled over into the river.
I raced to the seawall and leaned over to look at the dark water. The tide was going out and there was a serious current. But there was no sign of Temir Marat. The swirling black water would hide anything more than a few inches below the surface.
Darya joined me at the seawall. She carefully placed the pistol next to the one that had dropped out of Marat’s hand.
I looked at her and simply said, “Why?”
“I thought he was going to shoot you. You have no idea what men like that are capable of.”
“I’m starting to get an idea.”
“He would’ve shot you.”
I said, “That’s bullshit. He’s one of yours. You’re just trying to cover his tracks.”
Darya shook her head and said, “He’s not one of mine. I had nothing to do with anything this man was involved in.” She was convincing. Then she said, “And I really thought your life was in danger.”
Two patrol cars pulled up to the edge of the park and the four patrol officers started jogging toward us with their weapons drawn.
I immediately set down my revolver, pulled my badge from my back pocket and held it in my right hand. To be on the safe side, both of my hands were above my head before they got too close.
Darya took my lead and raised her hands as well.
A female patrol officer who was leading the pack charging toward us recognized me. “Do you need a hand, Detective Bennett?”
Immediately, I felt relief wash through me.
It was over. Maybe not the way I wanted it to end, but the manhunt for Temir Marat was finished.
Chapter 32
Two hours later, I was sitting on the same seawall where Temir Marat stood when he was shot. My feet dangled over the seawall as I watched the search for Marat’s body.
A crime scene was set up where Marat had been shot. The three pistols, mine and the two mobsters’ SIG Sauers, were still sitting in the same place on the seawall.
Several harbor boats, two NYPD boats, and the Coast Guard rescue ship were shining lights and casting nets into the murky water.
Someone sat down next to me, and I was surprised when I turned my head to see that it was Dan Santos.
He just sat there watching the water with me for about half a minute. Neither of us said a word.
Finally, I said, “How did your interview with Darya go?”
Santos said, “About how you’d expect. She claims she followed you from the restaurant to help you catch Marat. She picked up a pistol from the floor of the restaurant that came from one of the people trying to kill our suspect. When she found you facing Marat, she thought he was about to shoot you so she fired first.”
“But did she say anything about Marat’s motive or who he worked for?”
“C’mon, Bennett, give the FBI some credit. As soon as we figured out how hawqala had been used in other bombings, and consulted some counterparts at the CIA, we had a pretty good idea what was going on.”
“Did you suspect what Darya was up to while she was working with us? I mean, she never intended for us to get our hands on Marat.”
Santos smiled and said, “Did you ever see me do, or say, anything classified in front of her?”
I said, “Maybe you’re not the dumbass prick I thought you were.”
Santos laughed and said, “Once again you’re underestimating the FBI. I’m not a dumbass, but I am a prick. Sometimes you have to be in this line of work. Especially when you deal with the NYPD every day.”
The only answer I had to that was, “Touché.”
Chapter 33
I’ll admit to being a little uncomfortable when Darya asked me to grab a cup of coffee after we were released from the shooting scene. But curiosity got the better of me and I agreed to slip into a coffee shop right at the edge of the financial district.
We sat in silence as I made a show of stirring my coffee until she finally said, “I have no idea why it is important to me that you know I had nothing to do with the attack.”
I just nodded. My grandfather had taught me that running your mouth without thought is always a bad idea. When I was a kid I believed he followed all of his own advice.
Darya said, “There is nothing about this incident that I agreed with. I shouldn’t even have to say that I’m against terrorism. I’m against any government trying to trick other governments. And I was against the way my government chose to handle the whole situation. And if you repeat anything I say here, I’ll simply deny it. I just felt like you had earned an explanation.”
“And you didn’t want me to think you were a cold-blo
oded killer.”
She shrugged and said, “Frankly, I prefer you think I’m a killer than a liar.”
I stared at her, trying to get a feel for her sincerity. She really was striking with those deep-blue eyes and high cheekbones. No matter how I focused, I couldn’t get a clear read on her.
Darya said, “I’m pretty certain Dan Santos will never deal with me again, but I would love to hear who hired the two Russian mobsters and tipped them off that I had arranged a meeting with Temir through a mutual acquaintance. If you were able to talk to the woman who survived, is that something you might be able to find out for me?”
I just smiled. There was no way I was going to commit to helping her on anything until I knew more about what had happened during the investigation. I was in a weird no-man’s land between the FBI and an official envoy from Russia.
I drank about half my coffee as we sat there and watched the few people on the streets at this time of the night.
Finally, I asked the one question that had been on my mind. “Will the US see any other fake attacks?”
“Not from Russia. Who knows what others have in mind. It’s too easy to bend public opinion. Why should a government make a good-faith effort to do the right thing about terrorism or any other hot-button issue, when one incident like the attack on the parade will galvanize the population?”
“What about you? Are you going to stay in New York?”
“For a while. I like it here. I’m starting to understand American police politics and I am certain there will be more incidents where we all have to cooperate.”
“I’m afraid of the same thing.”
Darya surprised me when she reached across the small table and grasped both of my hands. “I am your friend, Michael. In time, I hope you learn to trust me. I think we could each help the other in a number of ways.”
I couldn’t deny the logic, but wasn’t sure I grasped her entire meaning.
She released my hands and stood up. I immediately stood as well. She stepped toward me, rose up on her tiptoes, and kissed me on the cheek. Then she whispered in my ear, “We’ll meet again.”