He went to draw the gun, but Robie had already taken it from his waistband and pulled down his pants at the same time. The man tripped over his fallen trousers.
The man on the right pulled a knife and then watched in amazement as Robie first disarmed him and then laid him out with three quick punches, two to the right kidney, one to the jaw. Robie added a kick to the head after the man smacked the pavement.
The third man did not move.
The tall man exclaimed, “Shit, you a ninja?”
Robie glanced down at the Sig he held. “It’s not balanced properly and it’s rusted. You need to take care of your weapons better or they won’t perform when you want them to.” He flicked the weapon toward them. “How many more guns?”
The third man’s hand went to his pocket.
“Drop the jacket,” ordered Robie.
“It’s raining and cold,” the man protested.
Robie put the Sig’s muzzle directly against his forehead. “Not asking again.”
The jacket came off and fell into a puddle. Robie picked it up, found the Glock.
“I see the throwaways at your ankles,” he said. “Out.”
The throwaways were handed over. Robie balled them all up in the jacket.
He eyed the tall man. “See where greed gets you? Should have taken the Benny.”
“We need our guns!”
“I need them more.” Robie kicked some water from the puddle into the unconscious man’s face and he awoke with a start, then rose on shaky legs. He did not seem to know what was going on, and probably had a concussion.
Robie flicked the gun again. “Down that way. All of you. Turn right into the alley.”
The tall man suddenly looked nervous. “Hey, dude, look, we’re sorry, okay? But this is our turf here. We patrol it. It’s our livelihood.”
“You want a livelihood? Get a real job that doesn’t involve putting a gun in people’s faces and taking what doesn’t belong to you. Now walk. Not asking again.”
They turned and marched down the street. When one of the men turned to look back, Robie clipped him in the head with the butt of the Sig. “Eyes straight. Turn around again you get a third one to look through in the back of your head.”
Robie could hear the men’s breathing accelerate. Their legs were jelly. They believed they were walking to their execution.
“Walk faster,” barked Robie.
They picked up their pace.
“Faster. But don’t run.”
The three men looked idiotic trying to go faster while still walking.
“Now run!”
The three men broke into a sprint. They turned left at the next intersection and were gone.
Robie turned and headed in the opposite direction. He ducked down an alley, found a Dumpster, and heaved the jacket and guns into it after clearing out all of the ammo. He dropped the bullets down a sewer grate.
He did not get many opportunities for peaceful moments and he did not like it when they were interrupted.
Robie continued his walk and reached the Potomac River. This had not been an idle sojourn. He had come here with a purpose.
He drew an object from the pocket of his slicker and looked down at it, running his finger along the polished surface.
It was a medal, the highest award that the Central Intelligence Agency gave out for heroism in the field. Robie had earned it, together with another agent, for a mission undertaken in Syria at great personal risk. They had barely made it back alive.
In fact, it was the wish of certain people at the agency that they not make it back alive. One of those persons was Evan Tucker, and it was unlikely he was going away, because he happened to head up the CIA.
The other agent who had received the award was Jessica Reel. She was the real reason Evan Tucker had not wanted them back alive. Reel had killed members of her own agency. It had been for a very good reason, but some people didn’t care about that. Certainly Evan Tucker hadn’t.
Robie wondered where Reel was right now. They had parted on shaky ground. Robie had given her what he had believed was his unconditional support. Yet Reel did not seem to be capable of acknowledging such a gesture. Hence the shaky parting.
He gripped the chain like a slingshot and whirled the medal around and around. He eyed the dark surface of the Potomac. It was windy; there were a few small whitecaps. He wondered how far he could hurl the highest medal of the CIA into the depths of the river that formed one boundary