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Tom turns in panic, goes the other way, dragging Denise with him.
Mike Patel is honking the horn, driving slow, the crowds he’s caused flowing around him, some banging on the van’s sides.
He’s breathing hard, the bullet-resistant vest constricting him, overheating him. This isn’t the plan—this wasn’t supposed to happen!
More sirens.
Who was that Brit back there? How did he know he would be here?
The streaming and running crowds seem thinner on Greenwich Street. He makes a left, surges forward.
Flashing lights.
Up ahead, two NYPD police cruisers are blocking his way forward at the intersection of Greenwich and Vesey Street.
Cops are running this way.
Shit!
Mike shifts the van into Reverse, hits the gas pedal, goes back down Greenwich Street. More pounding and thumping on the sides of his van.
He’s got to get out of here.
Got to.
He manages to turn so he’s heading back up Fulton Street toward West Street, which is a larger avenue.
There has to be a way out of here.
Has to be.
He hits the accelerator, going faster through the well-dressed men and well-groomed women—the same kind of people who called himPaki, Paki, Pakiback in Birmingham.
A thump.
The front end of the van bounces over something.
Mike grips the steering wheel tighter, sees a narrow opening in front of him—a man running toward a girl—and mashes the accelerator down as hard as he can.
The crowd surges and moves and—
Tom loses his grip on Denise.
“Denise!”
He hears her screaming and crying, he can’t see her, he’s lost her, he can’t see her.
There she is!
A brief opening in the crowd, like a dark cloud suddenly opening up and a shaft of light blessedly descending.
He runs forward and scoops her up, then hears the racing of an engine, turns, and sees a flash of white.
Pain and black.
Freddie races up Fulton Street, pushing his way through the panicked crowds, chasing Mike Patel in his van—having tracked him through his supposed last day in America. He whispers an agonizedDamn, damn, damnas he sees Freddie mow down a woman, another woman, a man holding a child, and two more men. The crowd moves in front of Freddie and he can’t see the van for a few seconds, but then the son of a bitch is on West Street, heading north, and the crowds are thinner.
But even then—
