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Once again, after I cleared my head, I was running after him as quickly as I could.
I slowed as I came to the walls. I had my pistol up and scanned the whole area, hoping to get a glimpse of Marat. I entered the little maze carefully.
As I came to the last wall, expecting to see Marat in the wide-open space between here and the Clipper City Tall Ship anchored in the water, I spotted some movement out of the corner of my right eye. Just a blur.
Unfortunately, the movement was Marat’s fist as it connected with the side of my head. I had to look like a cartoon character with my face twisting under Marat’s fist, my eyes spinning, as I tried to protect myself. I thought I was losing consciousness as I dropped my gun and heard it clatter against the rough cement. Then I steadied myself as I bounced off one of the six-foot-high concrete walls.
Marat was on me in an instant.
He threw his whole body into mine, knocking me flat on the ground. Then he picked up my pistol and flung it hard toward the river.
Marat said, “Just stay here. I still have a pistol.” He held up the SIG Sauer like I needed some kind of visual cue.
Now he was jogging away again. He thought he had disarmed me. That was his mistake.
Chapter 30
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 in 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 spun 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.”
