Frames Per Second (20 page)

From there, he could hijack a car just the way he was going to hijack the trolley car.

Ben took the camera from his eye.

He looked at the people inside the trolley.

College students. Near the front, an Asian woman looked out the window tiredly. Behind her was a young mother with two preschool kids who were slapping their hands on the window.

The driver. A middle-aged white man with a tough, square face. The sort of guy who might fight back.

Ben saw the running man cock the gun; saw it with the sort of eye for detail that was truly Ben’s talent. Everything else fell away. Ben saw the little tattoo on the back of the man’s hand as he thumbed back the hammer on the revolver. Ben felt he actually could hear the click of metal on metal, although that was impossible over the racket of the trolley.

The man’s eyes slid over Ben but then came back to the camera. His eyes widened as if in recognition, and then the gun was on Ben himself.

Someone shouted, maybe Brace, and the gunman looked over at them and fired a shot. He didn’t miss a step, he kept running alongside the trolley, just about to pass Ben on the way to the door near the driver. Ben saw the door was loose already, partially open. Nothing that would hold up against a good shove.

The guy was less than twenty feet from Ben now.

Calabro and Brace were yelling, but the first of the SWAT team was just rounding the corner.

Ben dropped his shoulder and charged the man.

It surprised the guy and he bounced off the moving train, saying, “Huh!” He spun and tripped.

Ben went for the gun, but the guy was too quick. He yanked it away and cracked Ben across the face and then turned to face the cops, the train still running behind him, his back inches away from that moving green wall.

The guy fired three fast rounds at the cops and they dropped to the ground. Ben expect a fusillade in return, but the cops held off, probably because of the people in the train.

Maybe because of him.

The guy turned as soon as the train went by, starting across the tracks. He fired immediately at an approaching car that was already slowing for the intersection ahead. The bullet starred the windshield and the car veered hard to the left and collided with the one beside it.

Ben leapt out and grabbed the man by the legs, taking him down.

A dumb move because the guy still had the gun. He rolled onto his back, and sat up with the pistol steady in his right hand.

Ben shoved himself back, and then there was an explosion of noise, a metallic screaming sound that couldn’t have come from him, but somehow felt as if it did.

Minutes later, Ben told Sarah that he was damn lucky. He told Brace, and then Calabro. For a couple of minutes there, Ben was telling anyone who would listen.

They all agreed with him, looking down at the bloody wreckage of the man that none of them would ever get to question.

Because neither Ben nor the gunman had figured on the oncoming train.

CHAPTER 22

“WE’VE GOT A TERM IN THE POLICE BUSINESS FOR THAT STUNT YOU pulled,” Calabro said to Ben. “We call it ‘Fucking up.’“

Ben and Sarah were back at the new police headquarters, sitting in an interrogation room. The smell of new carpets and fresh linen-white paint competed with the sweat stink from the previous confrontation.

Detective Brace had disappeared to make a phone call.

A tall man wearing an impeccable gray suit entered the room without knocking. Calabro seemed to know him but didn’t like him.

“Agent Ludlow, FBI,” he said to Sarah and Ben. Ludlow was clean shaven, with an otherwise handsome face pitted by ancient acne scars. Right now, his face looked thunderous. He said to Calabro, “That was a goddamn important arrest for us. You assured us you had the team that could bring him in and we let you have him.”

“Screw your important arrest,” Calabro snapped. “I got two SWAT team members in surgery right now. I got to deal with this reporter’s interference, who
you
Feebies tipped off.”

Ludlow said, “The way I hear it you guys were losing him and Harris here kept him from making a train full of juicy hostages. The way I hear it your two SWAT guys got taken down on the roof by one man with a handgun.”

“Yeah, well, you hear shit,” Calabro said.

Ludlow snorted. “That’s a cogent argument.”

“Fuck your cogent argument,” Calabro said. “This interfering bastard—”

“Find another scapegoat,” Ben said. He had calmed down considerably on the drive back. “You fucked up and you know it.”

Calabro leaned forward, his cigarette breath badly masked by wintergreen mint. “Don’t count on your press pass to stop me from kicking your butt.”

“Boys, boys,” Sarah said. “This isn’t getting us anywhere.”

Just then, Brace slipped back into the room. He put his hand on his partner’s shoulder. “Calm down, Tony.” Brace looked at Ben, his black eyes shining with animosity. “I just gave your editor a call, tell him the effect one of his employees had on an arrest. It sounds like you’ve been screwing up on a coupla fronts. Tells me you hit him, right in front of the kids, huh? I gave him a name on the Sudbury police department. He’s looking into getting a restraining order, keep you away from him and the family. I think he’s got a shot.”

“Jesus Christ,” Ben said. He sat back in his chair, stunned.

Sarah looked at him sharply. When he looked back at her, she seemed to withdraw slightly, her face closing down.

There was a brief silence, with both cops smiling with grim satisfaction.

It was Ludlow who broke it. “I don’t see what that’s got to do with anything,” he said. “Let’s get back on track. There’s the physical evidence in the suspect’s room. Let’s work together here and make some sense of it.”

Calabro rolled his eyes. “Is that what they teach in ‘media relations’ at the academy these days?”

Ludlow said, mildly, “Seeing as the bomb may well have been meant for Mr. Harris here, that he has already been assaulted once, and that Lee Sands drew a bead on him right in front of you, our feeling at the FBI is Mr. Harris should be regarded as the target—not our adversary.”

Sarah jotted down Sands’s name. She said, “What about that physical evidence? Does it point to Johansen or McGuire?”

Brace and Calabro looked at each other and Calabro grinned. “Keep your eyes peeled for the evening news. Or maybe we’ll do an exclusive with the
Boston Globe.
Either way, your interview is over.”

Kurt’s secretary, Lisa, smiled wanly at Ben when he and Sarah got back to the office. “Kurt wants to see you,” Lisa said. “He’s in the conference room.”

Huey appeared. “Kurt told me to process this last roll right away.”

When Ben gave it to him, he practically scuttled off. He looked over his shoulder, grinning.

Ben looked around the newsroom. He could see it in the studied casualness of the others: the way Ed Liston gave a smile that was more of a grimace before turning; the way Lucien talked on the phone with his eyes following Ben.

Sarah caught it all. “You want me to come and back you up?”

Ben shook his head. “The agenda’s longer than what happened to Sands.”

As he started away, she caught him by the elbow. “Listen, I’m having a hard time seeing you as someone on the wrong side of a restraining order.”

“You and me both.”

Ben looked through the window of the conference room. Kurt stared back at him impassively, a notebook and a blue personnel folder on the table in front of him. Ben said, “But I’ve given some reason, I’m afraid.”

Sarah took out her business card, and jotted an address on the back. “Tell me about it. That’s my home address. Dinner at seven.” She squeezed his hand. “Good luck in there.”

Ben sat down opposite Kurt.

Both waited in silence momentarily, simply looking at each other. There was a noticeable bruise on Kurt’s cheekbone, his lip was swollen, and there was a small bandage on his forehead.

“What’s this about a restraining order?” Ben said.

Kurt didn’t answer the question. Instead, he said, “Maybe this thing with Johansen has made you feel that you
are
the news. The police tell me that your showboating resulted in the death of a suspect and put innocent lives in danger.”

Showboating.
Ben felt his face flush. “You haven’t even asked what happened and you accuse me of that?”

Kurt’s lips curled slightly. “What’s clear here is that we’ve got personal as well as professional issues that aren’t going away.

So I’ll put it to you bluntly. Take the assignment I offered you before. Go out and do the logging story in Oregon.”

Ben shook his head. “I can’t do that, Kurt. I’ve got to follow this up.”

“I’m not asking you, I’m telling you.”

“You’re telling me because you want me out of your life.”

Kurt released a sigh. “You’re not leaving me any choice. Your next option is to resign now, and stay away from the family at least until this business with Johansen is settled. Otherwise, I’ll go after you through the court system. For your assault on me, my attorney tells me we have an excellent chance of securing a restraining order.”

Ben said quietly, “You know damn well what happened last night wasn’t just a one-way street. You threw the first punch.’’

“My word against yours.”

“Jake knows what happened.”

“And Jake wants you to go away.”

“Bullshit. Are you that insecure? For Christ sakes, you and Andi are already married.”

A dull red flush moved up Kurt’s neck to his face. “We’re not here to talk about me. It’s your career that’s the issue. I’m prepared to offer you a two-month severance package if you resign now. Time to work on that book of yours.”

From the folder, he gave Ben a signed release giving him permission to use those photographs Ben had done on work-for-hire basis for the magazine. “As you can see, we’re prepared to be generous.”

He held the severance package agreement, and then put it back in the file. Basically waving it in Ben’s face. “However, if you fight us, you get nothing. You’re not union, you’ll have no recourse.”

“Nonsense. There are plenty of attorneys that’ll take on a wrongful termination.”

Kurt shrugged. “You might get back on staff—but you’ll never get the prime projects again, I can assure you. I suggest you accept that we’ll all be better for it if you just move on.”

“You must have been doing some serious lying to Reed and Andi to get them to go along with this.” Even as he said this, Ben knew he could expect no help from Reed. As publisher, he was far more concerned with advertising pages than he was with editorial. He would leave any such staffing decisions entirely to Kurt.

“Reed doesn’t like reporters getting killed,” Kurt said.

“Since when did either of you hesitate to send me where it’s hot? You remember Biafra or Sarajevo? Or that it was you who assigned me to Johansen? This is all part of my job and if I’m not complaining there’s no reason why you should.”

Kurt shook his head stubbornly. “You seem intent on putting yourself and others in harm’s way. Sarah could’ve been killed out there today. You think her daughter should lose both her parents for you?”

Ben spread out his hands on the table. It was a little hard to breathe. “Watch yourself, Kurt.”

“You threatening me again?”

Ben said, tightly, “It’s not clear yet who killed Peter or why.”

“It is to the police.”

“What’d they tell you? They said there was physical evidence.”

Kurt shook his head. “We’re not here to discuss that.”

Ben slapped his palm on the table. “Don’t play games with me on this, Kurt! You had Huey waiting by the door to make sure you have my shots for your story, the least you can do is tell me what you heard.’’

“Of course
Insider
will cover it,” Kurt said. “And those photos were shot for a story you were following up in our behalf. There’s no question they fall under our work-for-hire arrangement.”

“What about McGuire sending Dawson to my place?”

“I don’t know,” Kurt said. “That’s for you to take up with the police.” Abruptly, he shifted topics, adopting a frank, confidential tone. “Look, it’s true that Andi would rather we don’t go for the restraining order if you’ll agree to stay away. But she’ll go along if you don’t.”

“That I’d need to hear from her directly.”

“Not at this moment. You’ve got a decision in front of you right now, before you leave this room.’’

“I’m not leaving town and I’m not resigning,” Ben said.

“All right.” Kurt sat back. “That’s your choice.” He opened the blue folder to pull out another typewritten letter. He signed it and tossed it across the table to Ben. “In which case, you’re fired. I’ll have Security walk you to the door.”