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"The coordinates are corner Rue Perignon and Avenue Deschamps. Deschamps is a very small side street. Sending coordinates!"
She glanced at the coordinates as she ran, and veered left to get on track, knowing that every possible police officer would be joining in this race. This was the final stretch, the chance for them to catch Goldenface, who'd finally shown himself.
All she cared about was getting there before he managed to escape, and hopefully without any loss of life or injury.
Please, please, let this go down successfully, she thought. As she ran, opening her phone to check the coordinates, abandoning her cover, she wondered how he'd looked. Wondered what had happened and who he was.
And then the words she dreaded.
"He's on the run! He's going!"
Breath hissed into her lungs. No, she thought. Please, no. Not now, not when they were so close to catching him.
"Which way?" anxious voices were asking. It was Sierra, at her operations desk and mapping out the action who was able to clarify, her voice calm.
"Operator nine is running north. So that's where the suspect is fleeing. He's heading in the direction of Rue Percival. Description?" she asked.
There were a few moments of breathless silence, and then the policewoman replied.
"Metallic. He was dressed - like a robot. Like steampunk. I thought he was a machine. Very good disguise."
"Okay, Steampunk. Metallic. Robot outfit. Did you see which way he turned on Rue Percival?"
"No. Too far behind." But the policewoman sounded as if she was doing her best to catch up.
Juliette knew that from her current direction, she'd come in on the south end of Rue Percival. She didn't know if that would be helpful or not. If the killer was running north, then no.
"We're north. Heading to the north side," Lucien confirmed.
So he, Wyatt, and the police backup would be that way. She'd be on the opposite side, and from their layout, Juliette wondered uneasily whether she might be the only one who was able to get there in the time.
If so, then she'd better run faster, she told herself, forcing doubt aside.
She wasn't going to catch this guy by being hesitant or worried. She had a chance if she could get there as fast as she could and then, hopefully, be the one to stop him if he was fleeing that way.
Here it was. Rue Percival. Juliette sped down it, her breath misting lightly in the cooling night air, her eyes peeled for anything resembling the description.
But all she spotted as she ran was an old woman walking her dog, a couple of teenagers talking on the street corner, and a few cars passing.
No metallic figure. No robotic figure. No one at all.
Had he already escaped? Or was he still around here? There were no cross streets. So if he was coming down, then she would meet him.
She continued, and then, in the gloom, ahead of her, she saw a strange, gleaming sight. A figure, running hard. Undoubtedly this was the man described.
"Seen him," she said breathlessly. "Heading south."
Then there was time to do nothing more than close in.
He was tall and gangling. He was wearing a mass of striped black and silver, and there was silver face paint obscuring his features. He stopped to look back, and she could see his chest heaving with the effort.
She could get him. Even as she raced ahead, Juliette was triangulating the distance to make sure she'd end up in the right place.
He was very distracted about what was going on behind his back, clearly fleeing the pursuers from the north side, and that put her in a much better situation. She was able to get close, as he turned and ran headlong again, coming straight toward her.
Now, she thought. Now, do it.
She leaped into his path. She knew what she had to do. Obstruct him, trip him, stop his forward movement.
