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And without a word, she disconnects his call.
Chapter103
I HEARit before I can see it—my airborne savior and salvation. I break from the narrow stretch of trees and start running.
The noise of the approaching blue-and-white Bell 429 helicopter with the New York Police Department seal on its hull approaches, but even the sound of its engines can’t drown out the yells and shouts coming from the police officers who’ve spotted me running across the greens.
I wave with both arms—my stolen 9mm Beretta bouncing up and down in my waistband—and Lisa Bailey up there must see me, for the NYPD helicopter swerves and then flares out for a descent.
I hear barking.
Glance back.
Dogs—for real?
Yeah: two Belgian Malinois have been let off their leashes and are running after me with full strength and righteous fury.
Damn it!
The helicopter is on the ground, the stern rotor facing to my left, the main hull to the right, and a familiar face is peering at me through the side pilot window. Never have I been so happy to see another woman.
The roar of the chopper’s engines drowns out the shouts and the barking dogs.
Close.
Closer now.
I duck my head, the prop wash hitting me hard, and skid to a halt as I reach the hull. I grab the door handle and tug it open, imagining sharp teeth about to sink into my calves. Then I toss myself into the rear passenger compartment as Lisa lifts us up.
I roll on the floor, get up, and sit down in a rear-facing padded seat. I fasten the seatbelt, locate a headset with mic, tug it over my head.
Lisa’s voice comes to me, sharp and to the point.
“Where to?”
“Railway near the south side of Hoboken Terminal. Freight train heading north. Carrying chemicals. It’s been sabotaged. In about—”
I check my watch.
Damn it again.
“Twenty minutes, it’ll pass a southbound train on the adjacent tracks. They’re timed to explode at the same time, and when the chemicals mix…”
“Got it,” Lisa says. “Should be there in less than five. We’ll see if we can’t stop it.”
I settle back in the seat with blessed, sweet relief.
We just might make it—just might make it.
Through the helicopter’s side windows, I think I catch a glimpse of Staten Island, far away there in the south, and my sense of relief increases.
Thank God my family is safe.
Chapter104
TOM CORNWALLspots a familiar rusty blue Ford F-150 pickup truck coming down Fulton Street. He waves at his uncle John and the truck comes to a halt. John lowers the window and says, “All right if I drop off your cutie and get going? You know how I hate driving here.”
“Not a problem,” Tom says, and goes around the rear of the truck—with its faded bumper sticker that saysLIVE LONGER, EAT MORE FISH—and opens the passenger door, helping Denise out. She’s carrying her heavy, multicolored Vera Bradley backpack.
