Cindy sniffled. “We all did. It was one of the more interesting memos to come through the office in a long time. We all looked at it and speculated about what was going on. When I talked with Joe about it last night, he told me his theory that it wasn’t what it looked like. He’d seen some other memo about using four Emergency Service members in plain clothes. He thought it was some kind of operation to catch the sniper.” Cindy blew her nose into the wet paper towel.

  I couldn’t help but glance around the room as she spoke, wondering who else could be a suspect. No one jumped out at me.

  CHAPTER 101

  WE WAITED WHILE Cindy Tavarez composed herself on the couch. Another analyst, an older woman named Rochelle Lynch, joined us. I got the impression that Rochelle was a senior analyst. She also had a clear head. I gave the two of them a moment to discuss the issue and to look through a printed-out roster of analysts.

  I noticed that ASAC Robert Lincoln hadn’t gone anywhere. He stood back and let us conduct the interview, but he clearly wanted to be in the loop. That made me nervous as ever with the FBI.

  I felt jittery, like I had to do something. Anything. That happens in homicide cases when things take weird turns and you’re not sure how to proceed. Joe Tavarez showing up at a trap we’d set intending to catch him definitely qualified as a weird turn. I wanted to figure out who the Longshot Killer was and stop him right this minute.

  Rob Trilling started to make notes next to the names Cindy and Rochelle were going through. All the analysts had been with the FBI for years. A couple of the younger ones weren’t in the office yesterday. When they came to the name Darnell Nash, both women paused.

  I said, “That’s the guy who served with Joe in the Army, right?” Before Cindy even nodded, everything clicked into place. I remembered Joe telling me that Darnell may not have been a sniper in the service but that he could shoot really well.

  I blurted out, “Is Nash here?”

  Rochelle Lynch answered. “He’s in the building. I noticed he came in a couple of hours early, but that’s not unusual. Sometimes analysts take care of personal business and make up for it with extra time.”

  I sprang up from the couch and looked at Lincoln. “Can you call Nash, get him to come here without scaring him?”

  Lincoln started to speak, then something outside caught his eye. He did a double take, said, “Too late. He’s definitely scared.” He pointed out the window.

  I stepped forward and saw Darnell Nash getting into a white Ford Focus, then backing out of the parking spot.

  I spun and almost yelled to Trilling, “Nash is trying to run! Let’s see if we can chase him down.”

  Lincoln kept a calm tone as he said, “You’ll never catch him if you parked out front. My car is the second from the door. Follow me.”

  We didn’t hesitate to fall in behind the FBI assistant special agent in charge.

  CHAPTER 102

  I’D ALWAYS ASSUMED Robert Lincoln was a little older than me, but you couldn’t tell by the way he moved. He raced through the maze of halls and had to wait for us to catch up when he bolted down a flight of stairs.

  We burst out into the same lot where I’d seen Darnell Nash jumping into a Ford Focus. I followed Lincoln to a brand-new Chevy Tahoe. I hopped into the front passenger seat and Rob Trilling slid into the back seat.

  As he started the SUV, Lincoln said, “The only reason Nash even has a car in this lot is because he’s handicapped. He’s missing the lower portion of a leg. Besides, I doubt he wanted to walk around Manhattan with a rifle.”

  I said, “The one time I talked to him, he told me he’d stepped on an IED.”

  Lincoln said, “That’s more than I know about him. Aside from meeting him on his first day and saying hello in the hallway, I’ve never really interacted with Nash. I can’t tell you if I think he’s good for the shootings or not. But he’s certainly not helping himself.”

  I had to grudgingly admit I was impressed at how Lincoln remained calm even as he peeled out of his parking spot, darted through the lot, then spurted out onto the street. Amazingly, he soon managed to get Nash’s Ford Focus within sight.

  I could tell by the way Nash was driving that he wasn’t trying to evade us. He didn’t even know we were behind him. That was a testament to Robert Lincoln’s ability and experience. He had to have been some kind of great street agent years ago to be this smooth behind the wheel. Maybe I’d misjudged the guy.

  I saw the Focus turn and said, “Did you see him turn right?”

  Lincoln kept an even, calm voice as he replied, “I see him. I see him. And I’m going to pull an old Baltimore police trick.” A block before where we’d seen Nash turn, Lincoln took a right down a narrow side street. The move paid off when at the next block Lincoln paused and we saw Nash drive right past us.

  Lincoln said, “He may not know anyone’s following him, but he’s being careful. That kind of round-the-block turn is one of the oldest counter-surveillance tricks in the book.” He let one more car pass and fell in behind the Focus again.

  Lincoln stayed cool as he said, “Nash just signaled to turn left.” He glanced over his shoulder and slid into the left lane. Then he suddenly jammed on his brakes and muttered, “Dammit. Busted.”

  Nash had purposely stopped instead of turning to see if any cars were following him. Not a bad move for a guy who wasn’t a full-time drug dealer. Now we were stuck and he’d clearly seen us.

  Darnell Nash punched the gas and squirted around the corner. By the time Lincoln brought the Tahoe around, we could see the Focus making a crazy U-turn and heading toward the East River.

  Lincoln leaned down and flipped a switch that activated the hidden blue lights at the top of his windshield. His siren started to blare from under the hood. We made the U-turn as easily as Nash. Confused drivers tried to move out of our way, but we were stuck in heavy traffic.

  Once we were moving east, Lincoln called back to Trilling, “There’s a lockbox directly behind your seat. The combination is 2-5-8-1. I assume you know how to operate an AR-15.”

  I caught the quick smile slipping across Trilling’s face. Now we were playing a game that he understood.

  CHAPTER 103

  I ABSOLUTELY HATE high-speed chases. I’m not crazy about the FBI either. Now I found myself in a high-speed chase with an FBI agent.

  I don’t like the feeling of being a passenger during a car chase. Despite what people see on police shows, high-speed chases are relatively rare but wildly dangerous. It seems like someone always gets hurt: either the suspect fleeing, the cops chasing, or some innocent bystander.

  Darnell Nash took a left turn and then another right. Lincoln got on the radio and started calling for help.

  After a few moments, Lincoln said, “He’s headed toward the Battery Tunnel.”

  I had to brace myself as Lincoln took a right turn a little sharply. For a moment, I thought we might be tipping over. If it weren’t for the heavy traffic, we would’ve caught the underpowered little Ford easily. I had no idea where Nash was headed.

  We came out of the tunnel on the other side of the river with a sprawling construction site to our right. It looked like a giant bomb had hit South Brooklyn. Half of the site was filled with cranes and machines working in a pit far below street level as construction workers laid the foundation for a huge new building.

  I heard Trilling ask from the back seat, “Where’d he go?”

  Lincoln slowed the Tahoe and cut off its lights and siren. Heavy traffic continued, but I didn’t see any sign of the Ford Focus in the lanes up ahead.

  Trilling asked, “What’s that over there?” He pointed between the two front seats. I followed the line of sight from his finger to what I now realized was the Ford Focus. All I could see was a little of the trunk and roof, but it looked like it was parked on the far side of the construction site.

  Lincoln said, “He tried to avoid lane closures and cut through the site. Looks like he got stuck.” As Lincoln exited the highway and turned onto a street running alongside the site, he got on his car’s radio and again called for any FBI agent in the area to come over and help.

  I looked across the construction landscape and realized there was no way to drive across there easily. But we might make it on foot with fewer delays.

  Lincoln pulled over and we all jumped out of the Tahoe. No one needed to tell us to take cover immediately. Based on some of Darnell Nash’s previous shots, there was no question he could hit one of us from across this hectic construction zone.

  Trilling held the AR-15, which had a short scope on it. He checked the magazine and made sure the rifle was charged. On either side of Trilling, Lincoln and I crouched behind a mound of construction debris. A broken plastic pipe stuck me in the ribs.

  Lincoln said, “I’m afraid we’re trapped here until more help arrives. I wouldn’t recommend trying to move from the safety of this cover.”

  Trilling was looking through the scope at the far side of the construction site. He said, “I see him at the base of the pylon on the left side of the site. It doesn’t look like any of the construction workers have even noticed him.”

  Lincoln asked, “What’s he doing? He should be trying to get away.”

  “Just standing there. I think he’s seen the Tahoe and he’s looking for us on the site.”

  I said, “He knows we’re not going to take a shot at him for just standing there. We can’t say the same thing. We can’t just sit here. He may decide to shoot one of the construction workers instead.”

  Trilling, still looking through the scope of the rifle, said, “I’m open to ideas.”

  I said, “Good, because I have a plan.”

  CHAPTER 104

  ROBERT LINCOLN, Rob Trilling, and I crowded together behind construction debris. I peeked around the edge of the pile and across the site. The site had workers spread out as well as working in groups. Not an ideal situation.

  I said, “I’ll cut around to our right and try to stay out of Nash’s sight all the way across the construction zone. You should be able to see me most of the way. When I get to the far side, I’ll see how hard it’ll be to charge him.”

  Once I started explaining my plan out loud, I realized it had some serious flaws. The biggest one was the risk that I might be shot in the head.

  Lincoln said, “You won’t even make it that far. That’s exactly what he’s waiting for us to do.”

  “I don’t see any other choice. I’m concerned that he’s going to get agitated in a minute and just shoot a construction worker.”

  Lincoln said, “I’m going to make a fake run to the left. I’ll draw his attention. That’s when you go.” Before I could even respond, he sprang to his feet and started jogging toward the left side of the site.

  I was seriously reassessing the FBI ASAC. My initial impression that Lincoln was an administrative geek could not have been more wrong. This guy had balls the size of Trenton.

  Trilling scrambled back to his position where he could see Nash. He looked through the scope for a second, then called out, “Nash has got his rifle up! Take cover. Take cover.”

  Lincoln reacted quickly. He ducked down and jumped to his left. Just as he landed behind a heavy concrete block, I heard the report of Nash’s rifle. My head snapped to the left, and I could see dirt and dust kicked up by the bullet just a few inches from where Lincoln was crouching.

  That was my signal. I sprang up and started racing to my right with my body bent in half, trying to keep whatever I could between me and Nash.

  I saw some of the construction workers on the east side of the site start to panic. Lincoln was on the run again and shouting for the workers to take cover.

  I followed suit and started yelling the same thing on my west side of the construction site. Most of the workers just stared at me as I scurried past with my head low. They hadn’t heard the rifle shot over the sound of the heavy machinery.

  Nash fired again. I wasn’t sure where the bullet was aimed. But the construction workers on my side of the site heard it this time. They all scrambled, desperate to find cover.

  I sprinted onto an original stretch of sidewalk that skirted this half of the giant lot, giving up some cover for speed. When I was about a third of the way around the construction site, I saw a woman lying on the sidewalk behind some kind of metal container, holding a toddler in her arms. I slid in next to her like a base runner trying to beat a play at home plate.

  She was crying as she held a little girl close to her chest.

  My badge was hanging around my neck, so she realized I was a cop. I asked, “Are you hurt?”

  She shook her head. Her black hair flew in every direction as a gust of wind hit our position.

  I said, “You’ll be safe here. Just stay right in this position. I’ve got to run to the far end of the site.”

  As I tucked my legs under me to get a running start, the young woman reached out and grabbed my arm. “Please don’t leave us alone.” Her voice was shaky.

  I gently moved her hand. “Trust me. You stay right here and this will all be over in a couple of minutes.”

  “Do you promise?”

  “Swear to God.”

  I did a quick peek over the top of the container. I didn’t see anything except running construction workers. I stuck my head up a second time to get a better look. It was about then that Robert Lincoln jumped up on the other side of the site and waved his arms.

  I couldn’t take my eyes off him. Then another shot rang out from the far end of the construction site. Lincoln went down. It looked like he’d been hit. I shook my head, wondering what had just happened. But he’d bought me two seconds to scramble up and start running again.

  I made it another thirty yards down the sidewalk. Now I could look to my left and see the area where Nash was hiding. I saw the flash from the barrel of his rifle. But he was shooting downrange.

  Then I heard another rifle shot. It had a different sound. I looked over my shoulder in time to see Trilling fire the AR-15 a second time. Whatever he was doing to make Darnell Nash keep his head down was working. I decided to grab a lot of real estate with an all-out sprint.

  By now, most of the workers were either off-site or hiding in safe positions. That might make my job a little easier.

  I stopped behind a post a little wider than a telephone pole. It looked like the post was used to guide the big trucks as they backed into the site. As I took a second big gulp of air, a bullet struck the post just above my head.

  Instinctively, I dropped to the ground. Not that it did me any good. The next shot hit the ground only an inch from my right leg. Dirt and debris flew up onto my chest and face.

  I didn’t need a third shot to tell me this wasn’t the place to take a break. I did a burpee back onto my feet like an Olympic athlete and continued to run hard to the end of the construction site.

  Now it was Trilling’s turn to fire again.

  CHAPTER 105

  I’D MADE IT all the way to the far corner of the construction site when Rob Trilling fired again twice. Not quite a double tap but two shots in quick succession. I saw them both impact a pile of rubble in front of Darnell Nash.

  I could only see Nash intermittently. Occasionally his head popped up or he moved back enough that I could see him behind the pile of debris. He was a little farther from me than what I’d originally thought. And it was all open space between us. As soon as I started moving in Nash’s direction, all it would take would be a casual turn of his head and I’d be in deep shit.

  Trilling took another shot, which made Nash duck down and cover his head. I realized it was time.

  I couldn’t afford to hesitate. I just started running hard. And I mean hard. My long legs covered a lot of ground, but it didn’t mean I wasn’t terrified the whole time. I wondered whether I could cover the distance before I took a .308 round in the face.

  As I got closer, I could see around the beam that had blocked my view before. Nash had his rifle up, resting on a wooden truss. He was focusing through the rifle’s scope and didn’t notice me racing toward him until the last second.

  For the record, the last second is always the most important one in a situation like this.

  As soon as Nash noticed me, he turned to point his rifle, but I was already leaping off my feet and sailing through the air. My shoulder knocked the barrel of the rifle before he could point it at me. I hit him with the full force of my body weight. We slammed backward into a fifty-five-gallon drum filled with something liquid. We hit the sealed barrel hard enough to make the liquid slosh inside.

  Now we were in a close-quarters scrum. It felt like we were in a pit even though we were just on the shale-and-gravel ground. Somehow the rifle ended up between us, pointing almost straight up in the air. It was wedged between a couple of boards, and we both reached for it at about the same time.

  Nash got his hand around the trigger guard, so I wrapped my arm around his. I’d rather have him locked against the rifle than punching me in the face. As we wrestled, the rifle went off. It was shocking to hear the sound of the high-powered rifle so close to my head.

  I raised myself off the ground into a squat. Now I had my hand around the barrel of the gun and ripped it from Nash’s grasp. I let the momentum carry me and tossed the rifle twenty feet away.

  Then I squared off against Nash.

  CHAPTER 106

  I WASN’T PARTICULARLY happy about fighting a younger man, a former Marine who looked like he’d stayed in pretty good shape despite his titanium leg. The way Darnell Nash had his body turned told me he understood the basics of a fistfight.

  But I had experience. I’d been in actual street fights. People had tried to stab me, hit me with pipes, slash me with broken bottles, and once someone even tried to choke me with a garden hose. Nash had learned to shoot in the military and worked a desk job at the FBI.