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“It’s here, Ned,” I called back to him. I saw how they’d made it out. A window was open. I could see water a few feet below.
“They went into the Intercoastal,” I called up to Mahoney. “They’re in the water!”
Chapter 104
I JOINED THE FRANTIC search in the waterway and the rest of the neighborhood, but it was already dark. Mahoney and I raced up and down narrow estate-lined streets. Then we drove along nearby Las Olas Boulevard, hoping that someone had spotted two men in soaking-wet clothes. But no one had seen the Wolf or his bodyguard.
I wouldn’t give up. I went back to the Isla Bahia estates area. Something was wrong. Why hadn’t anyone spotted two men fitting that description? I wondered if they had diving gear in the cellar alcove. How thoroughly had the Wolf planned his escape? What precautions had he taken?
Then I let my mind go in a different direction: He’s arrogant and fearless. He didn’t believe we’d find him and come here to take him down. He didn’t have an escape route! So maybe he’s still hiding in Isla Bahia.
I passed my ideas on to HRT, but they’d already begun to go door-to-door at the estates. There were now dozens of agents and local police combing the exclusive neighborhood in Fort Lauderdale. I wouldn’t give up, wouldn’t let the others quit. Whatever drove me—perseverance? stubbornness?—had paid off before. But we didn’t find the Wolf, or anyone who’d seen him in Isla Bahia.
“There’s nothing? No sign? Nobody saw anything?” I asked Mahoney.
“Nothing,” Mahoney said. “We found a cocker spaniel on the loose. That’s it.”
“We know who owns the dog?” I asked.
Mahoney rolled his eyes. I didn’t blame him. “I’ll check.” He went away and came back after a couple of minutes.
“It belongs to a Mr. and Mrs. Steve Davis. The Davises live at the end of the street. We’ll bring them their dog. Satisfied?”
I shook my head. “Not really. Let’s the two of us return the dog,” I said. “I don’t know why a dog would be loose this late at night. Is the family home?”
“Doesn’t look like it. The lights are off at the house. C’mon, Alex. Jesus. This is hopeless. You’re clutching at straws. Pasha Sorokin is gone.”
“Let’s go. Get the dog,” I said. “We’re going to the Davis house.”
Chapter 105
WE HAD STARTED TOWARD the Davis house with the brown-and-white cocker spaniel when a report came over the two-way: “Two suspicious males. Heading toward Las Olas Boulevard. They’ve spotted us! We’re in pursuit.”
We were only a few blocks from the shopping district and got there in minutes. The cocker spaniel was barking in the backseat. Fort Lauderdale police patrol cars and FBI sedans had already formed a tight ring around a Gap clothing store. More patrol cars were arriving, their sirens screaming in the night. The street was crowded, and the local police were having trouble stopping pedestrian flow.
Mahoney drove up to the blockade. We left a window cracked for the dog. He and I jumped out and ran toward the Gap. We were wearing flak jackets, carrying handguns.
The store lights were blazing. I could see people inside. But not the Wolf. Not the bodyguard either.
“We think it’s him,” an agent told us when we got up close to the store.
“How many gunmen inside?” I asked.
“We count two. Two that we know about. Could be more. There’s a lot of confusion.”
“Yeah, no shit,” said Mahoney. “I get that impression.”
For the next few minutes nothing useful happened—except that more Lauderdale patrol cars arrived on the scene. So did a heavily armed and armored SWAT unit. A hostage negotiator showed up. Then a pair of news helicopters began to hover over the Gap and surrounding stores.
“Nobody’s answering the goddamn phone inside,” the negotiator reported. “It just rings.”
Mahoney looked questioningly at me and I shrugged. “We don’t even know if it’s them inside.”
The negotiator took up a bullhorn. “This is the Fort Lauderdale police. Come out of the store now. We’re not going to negotiate. Come out with your hands up. Whoever’s in there, get out now!”
The approach sounded wrong to me. Too confrontational. I walked up to the negotiator. “I’m FBI, Agent Cross. Do we need to back him into a corner? He’s violent. He’s extremely dangerous.”
The negotiator was a stocky guy with a thick mustache; he was wearing a flak jacket, but it wasn’t secured. “Get the fuck away from me!” he shouted in my face.
