The Guardian (31 page)

The fence, however, was more solid. Notwithstanding its wretched appearance, it was well-constructed, and the car jolted as it hit. Cianna saw the hood buckle near the right headlight. For a
moment she thought they were not going to make it through, but after the initial impact, the gate snapped and the metal pole that held the fence in the ground broke off. The car burst through and
onto Columbia Avenue, a quiet two-lane street that followed the contours of the harbor’s shore, separated from it only by Day Boulevard, a larger four-lane thoroughfare directly on the shore,
and a greenway of grass and trees that ran between the two roads.

Cianna was thrown back into the passenger seat, and her foot came off the accelerator. Akhtar strained to keep control of the steering wheel as the car bounced and jostled on Columbia, but
managed to turn the wheels sufficiently to keep the car from slamming into a tree. Cianna’s relief at the near miss was short-lived, though, as she heard the car behind them burst through
what was left of the fence and crates.

‘They’re still on our tail!’ Saunders yelled, as he leaned over the back of the rear seat and squeezed off several rounds. Cianna saw the car behind them swerve, but it, too,
stayed on the road.

‘Faster!’ she hollered at Akhtar. He hit the gas again, and the car gathered speed. Cianna looked behind them and saw that the other car was gaining, nevertheless. ‘Can’t
this thing go any faster?’ she demanded.

‘Not with that on it,’ Akhtar responded, nodding toward the front of the vehicle.

Cianna looked out the front windshield and understood instantly. The pole that had held the fence in place had sliced through the front bumper and become lodged in the grill. She could hear it
dragging on the street as the car struggled against it. ‘Can you get it off?’ she asked.

Akhtar had no time to respond before the pursuing car slammed into the back of the rental, snapping her head back. She heard Saunders fire off two more rounds, and then recognized the sound of
automatic gunfire. She ducked her head down and grabbed the wheel, yanking it to the right.

The front wheels collided with the curb and the car jumped onto the greenway, mowing down carefully landscaped shrubs as it cut over toward the more heavily trafficked boulevard. Horns blared as
the car skidded into two oncoming headlights before quickly finding the right side of the road. Cianna looked over and saw the other car weaving through an intersection to get over onto the highway
after them. There was a loud popping sound, and Cianna looked at the hood to see the pole come free and disappear beneath the speeding car.

‘That should be better,’ she said.

‘Not much,’ Akhtar said, nodding at the hood. The pole was gone, but now there was steam coming out of the front of the car where it had been only a moment before. ‘We will not
outrun them with that,’ Akhtar said. He looked at her, then in the rear-view mirror at Saunders. His expression was one of defeat. ‘They cannot be allowed to have the Cloak,’ he
said. ‘That is of the greatest importance.’

‘I agree,’ she said. ‘If you have any suggestions, we’re all ears.’ As she said this, the other car swerved into the lane behind them and accelerated into them.
Akhtar maintained control.

‘You two must get out,’ he said after a moment, his face serious.

‘As tempting as that is,’ Cianna said, ‘I don’t think it’s going to happen. This car’s not going that slow.’

‘We’re not leaving the Cloak,’ Saunders shouted from the back seat just before firing two more shots.

‘No, I agree,’ Akhtar said. ‘You are taking it with you.’

Cianna looked at him in disbelief. ‘What are you talking about?’ she demanded.

‘You said it yourself, Mr Saunders,’ Akhtar said. ‘I must choose whether or not I will trust you. I have decided that I will.’

‘I’m not sure that will help us at this point,’ Saunders said, ‘but it’s a nice gesture.’

They were approaching an intersection, and Akhtar spun the wheel hard to his left. The car cut through the intersection, leaving a long thick trail of rubber as the tires screamed. He held onto
the wheel and guided the car back onto Columbia, headed in the other direction. Cianna could see that the other car was still following them, but it had lost ground.

‘I will find a way,’ Akhtar said. ‘A moment is all it will take. Just long enough to slow down in a place where they cannot see you. You two jump out and take the Cloak with
you. I will drive on, and they will follow me.’ Cianna turned back to him, still incredulous. ‘It is the only way the Cloak will be safe.’

Cianna looked behind her at Saunders. He nodded. ‘It’s the best chance we have to keep the Cloak out of their hands,’ he admitted.

‘There is a place up ahead,’ Akhtar said, ‘where there are thick trees and bushes between the two roads. I will cross onto the grass just before that. We should have enough
space that they will not be able to see us for several seconds. That is when you must jump. I will slow down as much as I can, and then try to outrun them.’

‘You’ll never outrun them with the car in this condition,’ Cianna said.

He nodded. ‘I will give you as much time as I can, but it will not be long. You must get out of here quickly. They will come back when they realize you are no longer in the car.’

‘What will you do when they catch you?’ Cianna asked.

Neither Saunders nor Akhtar said anything for a moment. ‘I took the policeman’s gun,’ Akhtar said after a while. ‘I will use that.’

‘They have machine pistols, and there are three of them,’ Cianna said. ‘You have a much better chance of surviving this if we stick together.’

‘But the chances of protecting the Cloak are better if we split up,’ he said. ‘I have known my whole life that I have one task in this world, and one alone. That is to protect
the Cloak. It has been the great honor of my family for three hundred years. If I am martyred for that cause, I will die a happy man.’

‘No martyr really dies happy,’ Cianna insisted. ‘It’s a myth.’

He smiled bravely at her. ‘You have not heard the descriptions of the afterlife for martyrs in my religion?’

‘You don’t really believe all that, do you?’

His smile disappeared. ‘I believe that my country will be better off if Fasil is prevented from returning with the Cloak. My country will not survive another reign of the Taliban. You must
jump when I tell you to?’

Cianna looked back again at Saunders. ‘We have to,’ he said. He turned back around to spot Sirus’s car. It was gaining ground again. Saunders took aim and fired off a shot, and
the pursuing car shimmied as one of its headlights exploded. It kept coming, though.

‘The trees are coming up here!’ Akhtar advised them. ‘Get the Cloak and be ready.’

Saunders picked up the sturdy box and held it under one arm. Both he and Cianna put their hands on the door handles. The car hopped and shook violently as Akhtar guided it over the median curb
once again, and it slowed naturally on the soft grass. Akhtar spun the wheel so that the car followed the tree-line on the Day Boulevard side of the divider, and the lights from Sirus’s car
disappeared behind the tree. The car was in a skid as it made the turn, slowing it even more, and Akhtar had only to tap on the brakes to get their speed under twenty miles an hour.
‘Now!’ he shouted.

Cianna opened the passenger side door and dove out of the car, careful to keep her knees and elbows bent in a classic paratrooper’s landing position. Even at under twenty miles an hour,
the ground came rushing up at her, and her limbs readied for impact. As soon as felt herself hit, she allowed her body to roll with its momentum, not trying to stop it, but letting the energy of
the fall spend itself as she tumbled toward the trees. As soon as she felt the momentum abating, she dug her knees in to stop the roll.

She looked around and spotted Saunders just a few feet off. He still had the box under his arm, and had managed to protect it through his fall. ‘Quick!’ he called to her.

They both scrambled toward the trees and threw themselves under the surrounding shrubs. Just at that moment, Sirus’s car roared by, directly in Akhtar’s tire tracks. The right fender
passed within a few feet of Cianna’s face concealed under the bushes, and for a moment she had a terrible feeling that they had not moved fast enough. If anyone in the car had seen them dive
from the car, they would surely stop and the final battle would be waged here by the highway. She looked around and considered their defensive options if that were to come to pass. It was
unnecessary, however. Sirus’s car kept moving, and picked up speed as it came out of its turn.

Cianna waited for a few seconds before getting to her feet. She looked around the trees and saw the chase continuing, and even from her distance it was clear that it wouldn’t last
long.

‘He’s not going to make it,’ she said quietly.

‘No, he’s not,’ Saunders agreed.

‘They’ll kill him.’

The cars disappeared around the curve of the road. A moment later the sound of metal tearing on concrete ripped through the air. There was yelling and gunfire, and an explosion rocked the
waterfront. Just over the trees, they could see the orange-yellow fireball rise into the sky. There was more shouting and gunfire.

Cianna took a step toward the mayhem. ‘We need to help him.’

Saunders shook his head. ‘No one can help him now.’

‘You’re just going to let him die?’

Saunders had no response. ‘We need to find someplace safe.’

Now it was her turn to say nothing.

‘Cianna!’ he said. She looked at him. ‘Unless we want his sacrifice to be in vain, we need to get off the street. Is there anyplace we can go? Anyplace they wouldn’t know
about or wouldn’t think of?’

She thought about it for a moment. ‘Yeah,’ she said. ‘There is one person left in the world I can call. He’ll help me.’

The James J. Curley Community Center stood like a gargantuan balustrade along the shoreline on Day Boulevard. Built by Boston’s legendary four-term mayor during the
height of the depression, at a cost of over $400,000, it was a monument to the power of persistence. Curley was first elected to public office as an alderman while he was serving a prison term for
fraud, and spent over a year of his final term in prison for influence-peddling, before President Truman issued a full presidential pardon and returned him to office. The community center that
bears his name and shelters the beach along the Old Harbor in Southie now offers yoga, Pilates, and classes on first-time home ownership.

That night, it also offered brief shelter for Cianna and Saunders. They stood in the shadows of its broad columns as Cianna made a phone call. She knew the number by heart, and she knew what
emotional buttons to push to achieve the desired result. Appeals for assistance were particularly persuasive to some people, and none more than Milo Pratt. She might even have felt guilty about her
manipulation if it hadn’t been for the fact that she did, in fact, need help. Desperately.

Seven minutes after she clicked off her cell phone, the dented Nissan Sentra pulled up in front of the community center. Cianna and Saunders hurried from their cover and slid into the car,
Cianna in front and Saunders in back once again. She turned as soon as she was in the car and gave the driver a tense smile. ‘Thanks, Milo,’ she said. ‘You’re a lifesaver.
Literally.’

His concern showed on his face. ‘Is everything okay?’

‘No,’ she replied. ‘It’s not.’

‘What’s going on?’

‘I can’t tell you. I know that’s a shitty thing to say when you came out to help us, but believe me, you don’t want to know anyway, okay? Can you trust me on
this?’

He looked skeptical, but he didn’t argue. ‘What do you need?’ he asked simply. That was why she had called him. She knew that, when pushed, he would ask no questions. That was
his strength and his weakness. Milo Pratt believed implicitly in the goodness of others, particularly those for whom he felt some responsibility. Notwithstanding the deceit he witnessed every day,
he remained trusting. She supposed it was the one thing that kept him going in his work.

‘We need a place to stay.’ As she said the word
we
, she could see Milo glance in his rear-view mirror at Saunders. ‘This is—’

Saunders cut her off. ‘Just call me John,’ he said. She turned to look at him. ‘It’s easier that way,’ he said simply.

‘Okay, this is John,’ she said to Milo. ‘We need to get out of sight for a little while. Can we use your apartment?’

‘Of course,’ he said. He paused a beat, and said, ‘Just let me just get this straight: you need a place to take your John for the night? Do I have that right?’ She shot
him a look, and he gave her an impish smile that almost made it look as though he had a chin. ‘Are you moonlighting? If you need cash, I could have loaned you money.’

‘Shut up, and drive,’ she said.

‘I’m just saying . . .’

She rolled her eyes and looked out the window as the shoreline ran past them. Inside, though, she was grateful to him. It was the closest to a smile she’d managed in two days.

Milo drove them to his apartment on H Street, up the hill, away from the water, toward Boston. The houses were packed tight on narrow streets in this section of town, and that
made Saunders nervous. He would have preferred to be away from people. And yet he knew that hiding in plain sight was often the best strategy at times like this.

Milo’s apartment was a second-story one-bedroom with an efficiency kitchen. He kept it neat, and it was comfortable for its size. Saunders catalogued six other units in the house, taking
note of where their entrances were.

‘Can I get you anything?’ Milo asked them, playing the perfect host. ‘I have water and OJ. Or I can whip up some tea?’

‘You have any Scotch?’ Saunders asked as he parted the shades on the bow window that hung over the street. It was quiet out there, and he pulled the shades.

‘Milo doesn’t drink,’ Cianna replied for the host, a little defensively.

‘No, Milo doesn’t,’ Milo said. ‘But Milo has friends who sometimes forget that.’ He dug into a cabinet under the sink and produced a liter bottle of Jack
Daniel’s Sour Mash. ‘A gift from one such forgetful friend,’ Milo said and he showed off the bottle. ‘I meant to get rid of it, but haven’t gotten around to
it.’