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She pushed through the grouping of bones, ripping muscle and tendons and ligaments, which unraveled like sprung springs, cracked the patella, and torqued the femur and fibula backward to angles they were never intended to go. The man screamed and crumpled to the ground, holding his ruined leg.
When you took out the knee, you took out the fight. Men, even trained ones Michelle knew, often aimed for the head, believing their superior strength would make it a knockout blow. But the head was problematic. The skull was thick, and even if you broke someone’s jaw or nose they would not necessarily be incapacitated. Not so with the knee. No one could fight effectively on one leg, and no one could fight at all when in that much pain.
Michelle used her elbow, cocked at a forty-five-degree angle where it was at its strongest position, to deliver the putdown blow to the man’s head. She dug out the man’s cred pack and earbud and jerked the power pack running to the bud from his belt. Last, she ripped open his shirt. All she saw was white skin. No body armor. That was good to know.
She put the bud in her free ear and listened to the stream of chatter as she kept moving forward. It was clear they were on to her presence. Reinforcements had been called in. She heard some names go back and forth, none of which she recognized. And no one identified what agency, if any, they were with. She looked at the ID card and the badge she’d taken from the man. They seemed official but it was an organization she’d never heard of. There were so many now, and when you introduced the staggering number of private contractors into the equation, things got very confusing very fast.
She turned off the power box and spoke into her own mic. “Sean, three down, but they’ve called in reinforcements. What’s your status?”
“Coming up on Columbus Circle. Where are you?”
“Somewhere behind you. Once you get to the circle, get in a cab and go.”
“And you?”
“I’ll meet you at the train station like we planned.”
“Michelle, I’m not leaving you out here—”
“Sean, don’t play the gentleman. We don’t have time. See you in twenty.”
Then she heard the click of the hammer on the gun being pulled back. And then another. One at four o’clock, the other at seven. One foot away, max. They had screwed up with their tactical positioning. Too close to her. Way too close.
Michelle closed her eyes, framed it out in her head.
Four o’clock target was to her right, her natural path of movement. Pivot on left foot, bend her torso downward in the same direction, as her right leg delivered a side kick to the man’s right knee, effectively crushing it. Then reverse her pivot, duck, roll, while the man is going down, flailing, screaming over his ruined limb and unwittingly providing cover for her against the other shooter. Gun out, one-handed shot, pistol held sideways, aiming between the gap of her human shield at the other man, who would have instinctively moved to his left as his partner crumpled in the same direction from Michelle’s strike. No body armor, so torso shot to incapacitate, then one to the head for the kill. Elbow to the neck of four o’clock, who would get to live, and she’d sprint on to Columbus Circle.
It was all doable. Fifty-fifty, maybe sixty-forty her way if she hit all her marks at the exact right moment.
Calculation was complete, except for one variable. Sean would be safe by now. Had to be. Safer than she was in any event. She opened her eyes.
Before she could move, however, the pistols fired.
CHAPTER
58
SEAN HEARD THE SHOTS and turned back toward the park and away from the cabstand at Columbus Circle. Panicked, he spoke into his mic. “Michelle? Michelle, are you okay?”
No answer.
“Michelle!”
Silence.
Sean turned to run back into Central Park.
People seized him.
“What the—” He grabbed his gun.
There were two men.
“Move, move,” one said into his ear.
“Who the hell are—”
“Kelly Paul,” the second man hissed into his ear. “Now move.”
