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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?”
