looked back and saw a car slammed into a fire hydrant, saw the windshield was streaked with blood, his blood. But he was alive, he could move. He didn’t know where they were, and maybe they’d have a hard time getting to him through the growing chaos of mangled cars, blaring horns, and throngs of people running.
A moment later he was alone in another alley next to a Korean restaurant, the smell of kimchi and the fetid odor of garbage from the two dumpsters mixing with the smell of blood on his face. He ran behind the far dumpster, pulled off his hoodie, and ripped off a sleeve to press against his nose. It ached fiercely, probably broken. His breathing was ragged and too fast. He tried to calm down, but it was hard. He was afraid and he hurt all over. He kept the sleeve pressed hard against his nose and waited. His ribs hurt and his left hip felt like it had been twisted sideways, but he could still move. He looked to see blood running down his leg, and just seeing it, recognizing his leg was hurt, made the pain blast through him. He ripped off his other sleeve and made a tourniquet, tied it above the wound. He didn’t know how bad his injury was, only hoped to stop the bleeding. He stood there, panting, trying to deal with the pain. In twenty minutes he had gone from thinking he’d be having a cup of coffee with a nice woman he’d met at Langley who’d never shown up at the café she herself had chosen, to running for his life. Was it all a setup? She’d been part of a plan? He realized he knew next to nothing about her except he’d thought her pretty and very nice. But he’d been lucky, he’d gotten away, only to run full-tilt into a spinning car and bounce over the hood, and maybe that was lucky, too. Wonder of wonders, he hadn’t broken all his body parts, only his nose, and hopefully the cut on his leg wasn’t bad. Yes, he’d call that big-time luck. He wiped the blood from his face, hoped he wasn’t only smearing it enough to scare people.
He knew he had to leave the alley. The man and woman must have seen him flying over the hood of that car, and they were probably still looking for him, maybe thinking he’d been too injured to get very far. They’d come again, work their way through the chaos to find him. It had to be about his work, a foreign government, maybe. What could they possibly want from him that was worth a kidnapping in broad daylight? Or worse. There were CIA protocols to follow, an emergency number to call. But someone had betrayed him, maybe someone at Langley had set him up. Would they be the ones who came for him? Who could he trust?
Justice felt pain building in his ribs, felt his leg throb, and his nose was on fire and still bleeding, but he wasn’t about to go to an ER, that would be the first place they’d look. He thought of calling his wife, but no way would he put her and their kids in danger. He could hunker down at home, it was empty, his family wasn’t there, but they’d know where he lived. So he was on his own until he didn’t hurt so much and had time to think this through. He had to move, but Justice knew he couldn’t make it far on foot. He called an Uber and set the pickup point on a street three blocks away, and thankfully saw the driver would be there in five minutes.
Blood kept oozing out of his nose. All he could do was keep pressing hard as he slipped through the crowds of people leaving work, all hurrying, many of them focused on their smartphones, none paying him any attention. He kept looking back, but no one was following him. He’d lost them. He began to feel hope.
3
* * *
Four blocks away, Savich was walking to his Porsche after a hard workout, his muscles pumped and warm, and feeling pleased with himself. He was whistling, tossing the key fob into the air, catching it. He felt good, but he always felt good after working to his limits. He looked at his Mickey Mouse watch. Sherlock would be arriving soon, he had to get home to get the lasagna together. He