The Windy City Read online

  But then, the caller on the phone had asked her specifically if she knew him. Why? They had the safe house under surveillance. Did they observe him entering it and looking for her? Is that why they asked her if she was connected to him in some way?

  Impossible—Boone would not be foolish enough to come to the safe house. He was too smart. He wouldn’t take the chance. Except.

  Except for one nagging thing she could not reconcile or explain away.

  After the raid at Kitty Hawk, she had been flown to Number Three’s ranch in Texas in a private aircraft. It was a massive, sprawling spread in the middle of nowhere. After meeting with Number Three, she waited in a small guesthouse near the landing strip until the plane arrived to fly her to Chicago. Boone and his dog, Croc, had suddenly and without warning visited her in the guesthouse. There he had briefed her on the current status of their situation and informed her that Angela and Q were both safe.

  At first she had been grateful to Boone. He had taken a great risk to find her. He could have been caught or captured by any of Number Three’s security guards. And after seeing the boot prints, that fact began to nag at her. He hadn’t been seen or caught.

  How had Boone avoided Number Three’s security? With an old dog in tow?

  Malak closed her eyes and recalled the memory. She had just come out of the guesthouse bathroom and Boone was sitting in a chair. Croc was stretched out on the couch like he owned it. Boone claimed his tech genius had given him a small gizmo that scrambled or otherwise allowed him to avoid the camera surveillance. It was possible, she supposed. Boone had amazing gadgets at his disposal. But he still would have had to cross several hundred yards of open ground to reach the guesthouse. That seemed like an insurmountable obstacle for even the most fabulous technology.

  It was like he had appeared out of thin air.

  Now she wondered. What if his tech had failed? What if the device hadn’t scrambled the cameras and the ghost cell saw him inside the house? They would automatically be suspicious. Maybe that explained their interest in Boone.

  Malak had been so worried about Angela that she hadn’t given Boone’s sudden appearance in Texas the careful consideration it deserved. He had proven himself loyal and capable during the raid at Kitty Hawk. But now … too many questions.

  Her watch said 8:15 a.m. She needed to clear her mind of these extraneous thoughts. The Leopard must be ready to strike. Drawing several deep, cleansing breaths, she refocused on the task at hand. It was time for her to take her position at the fountain. Cutting through the gathering throng, she headed to the spot where she had been instructed to wait.

  There would be time to worry about Tyrone Boone later.

  Getting In

  I found Angela and Croc near the main entrance of the Hancock building. I was out of breath. A “few blocks away” in Chicago is a lot farther than it sounds. And finding Angela and Croc was easy because they looked like they were playing some sort of weird game.

  The game went like this. Angela kept trying to get close to the entrance of the building. And Croc kept getting in her way and preventing her doing just that. Angela would step to her right or her left—back up or step forward—fake right, then go left, and any other combination of moves she could think of. Nothing worked. Croc did not want Angela rushing into a potentially dangerous situation. And Angela was not going to wear Croc down. Furthermore, Angela was not enjoying the game. “Knock it off, Croc!” I heard her complain bitterly when I arrived. “I need to get inside.”

  “Are you guys playing tag?” I asked, coming to a stop and trying hard not to show how out of breath I was.

  “He’s really starting to annoy me,” Angela said. Croc sat back on his haunches; the fact that he was annoying Angela was not bothering him at all.

  “So I gathered,” I said. “Boone said he would be here in a minute and—”

  “We need to get inside and find a way to the roof,” Boone said from behind me. I jumped again. I really wished he would quit doing that.

  “How are we going to do that?” Angela asked, apparently not noticing he had just appeared out of nowhere. She must have been preoccupied with Croc and thought Boone had arrived with me. This time I noticed that Boone was breathing hard and his face was sweaty.

  “I don’t know yet,” Boone said. “X-Ray downloaded the building plans to my phone. He’s trying to crack the building security but it’s going to take him time. We need to find a way to the roof.”

  “Um. Boone?” I asked. “Can’t you just go to the roof? I mean like … you know … how you go places?”

  “Not right now. Not yet, at least,” he said, his thumb swiping over the screen of his phone as he studied the plans.

  “But I don’t—” I started to say.

  “Can we talk about this later?” Boone said. And he sort of snapped when he said it. Not like Angela does when she’s tense or mad at me. But there was a warning tone in his voice. Telling me to change the subject because he didn’t want to discuss it right now. Ever since we met Boone I couldn’t remember him ever sounding like that.

  I knew better than to press it. Angela gave me a wide-eyed look and was chewing on her lip. Which meant she really wanted to speak up but was holding herself back. She’d picked up on Boone’s mood too.

  The building was starting to fill up with office workers. Once Boone had quickly reviewed the building plans, we went into the lobby. This entrance of the building had a security desk, but instead of turnstiles or metal detectors everyone had to go past the guard station and insert a card into a slot on the elevator to make the doors open.

  “Can’t you just use one of your fake badges to get us access?” Angela asked.

  “Maybe. But not without raising a lot of questions. And if I used a police or Homeland Security badge, I’d have a hard time explaining why I have two teenagers and a dog with me,” Boone said.

  Then he said, “X-Ray, we need to get on the elevators. Can you help us out?”

  At first I thought he was talking to the air, because he wasn’t wearing a Bluetooth. We gave him a curious look, and he pointed to his ear. “New tiny two-way earbuds. A new X-Ray toy,” he said.

  He waited a minute. Then he said. “Okay. I understand. Keep working on the roof.”

  Boone shook his head. “He’s still hacking through the building security to get us up on the roof. We don’t have much time. But that appears to be the most likely place for them to strike from. So we need to figure out a way to get up those elevators.”

  The itch was growing stronger. The concert would begin soon. I envisioned Grant Park filling up with people. And then something really bad happening. I had to do something.

  A few seconds later, a large cluster of workers came through the entrance. Most of them had the plastic elevator ID cards pinned to their jacket pockets or blouses. I left Boone and Angela standing in their spot and headed toward the oncoming group.

  I pulled a deck of cards out of my pocket and approached a balding, middle-aged guy with a pass hanging from the pocket of his suit coat. He was staring straight ahead, lost in thought, a briefcase in one hand and a paper cup of coffee in the other. The expression on his face said the last thing he wanted was to be bothered.

  “Excuse me, mister,” I said, stepping in front of him.

  “What?” he said, his eyes finally focusing on me.

  “I lost my wallet and I need to get enough money for the El to get home. How about I show you a really cool card trick and you can give me a buck or two?” I said.

  “What? No … get out of my way, I’m late for work,” he said, trying to step around me.

  “It’ll just take a minute,” I said, fanning the cards in one hand. “Please, mister, I really need the money.”

  “No!” he said. “And shouldn’t you be in school or something?” He tried to step around me but I put my hand on his arm to slow him.

  “Please,” I said.

  “Let me go!” He jerked his arm away and stepped around me. �
�I’m reporting you to security.”

  I hustled back to Angela and Boone.

  “What did you just do?” Angela asked.

  “A little sleight of hand,” I said, holding up the elevator pass I’d lifted off the guy’s pocket while his attention was diverted.

  “We better hurry, though,” I said. “He’s going to report me. Once he finds out his pass is missing, they’ll probably deactivate it.”

  When we reached the elevator, I inserted the card in the slot and the doors opened. We all got on. Croc “insisted” on getting on first.

  “Where to?” I asked.

  “Top floor,” Boone said; “we’ve got to get to the roof.” It took a couple minutes for the elevator to reach the top floor. It’s a tall building. We arrived at the floor beneath the observation deck. The observation deck had its own special elevator and there was no roof access, according to the floor plans. That was probably to keep people from attempting to do exactly what we were trying to do.

  The door opened and Boone glanced down at his phone.

  “This way,” he said.

  We turned left out of the elevator and then left again at the first corridor and followed it to the end. There we found a door with a sign reading, “Roof Access. Emergency Personnel Only. Do Not Open. Alarm Will Sound.” The door was barred with a heavy stainless steel touch bar.

  “X-Ray, are you—?” Boone began.

  Before he could finish his question, there was a loud click and the door popped open. X-Ray scared me a little.

  Before us was a stairway. At the top of the stairway was another alarmed door, which X-Ray had taken the liberty of already deactivating.

  As we reached the top of the stairs, Boone pushed the door all the way open and we stepped out onto the roof of one of the world’s tallest buildings.

  The first thing you notice when you are on the roof of a skyscraper is the wind. Because at that altitude it is blowing so strongly, it nearly drives you to your knees. The second thing is that a skyscraper roof is a lot bigger and covered with more stuff than you would think.

  The surface of the roof was covered with a thin layer of gravel on top of asphalt. The top of the Hancock Center building had an unusual design. As we exited the door, we found that most of the roof surface was taken up by a large steel structure. Like a small pole barn sitting on top of the skyscraper. From the roof of that rectangular structure rose two incredibly large, tall antennas. Off to our right was a whole series of cooling units. Maybe half a dozen of them, whirring away. There was smoke coming out of them. And I could hear water running.

  “Is that smoke?” I asked. I was afraid that perhaps a fire had already started in the building and the sprinkler system had activated to extinguish it.

  “No, it’s steam,” Boone said. “Those units circulate water through the building for cooling systems. When the warm water is pumped up to the roof it can give off steam on a humid day like today.”

  The steam, the water noise, and the wind made the whole scene eerie.

  Between the thrum of the machines and the rushing air it was also really hard to hear.

  “Stay close,” Boone said. “Don’t get too close to the edges. The wind can gust strong enough to blow you right off if you’re not careful. We’re going to look for anything out of the ord—”

  He never got to finish because about two inches to the right of my head, the metal wall behind me was hit by something hard. Several times. A bullet had bitten into the metal surface and bits of shrapnel went flying. I felt them sting the back of my neck. Then a bunch more bullets came chattering along the ground from an automatic weapon. Concrete chips, gravel, and all kinds of fragments went flying everywhere.

  “Take cover!” Boone shouted.

  He didn’t have to say it twice.

  The Leopard Waits

  Malak went to the appointed spot and sat on the bench by the fountain. Just as she had been instructed. With her left hand she held the phone to her ear. Her right hand remained buried in the pocket of her hoodie, gripping the handle of her pistol. She studied the crowd. Every so often she nodded and repeated words like “yes,” “no,” “I see,” “really?” and “that’s true,” making it sound like she was holding a conversation. It would have been helpful to actually be talking with Ziv or even Callaghan. But the phone had come to her from the ghost cell. It might be monitored. She could not risk it.

  Her eyes moved rapidly behind her glasses. She was at an extreme disadvantage. The voice on the phone had been disguised. Malak had no idea if she was to meet a man or a woman. In her experience, most terror cells tended to be run by men. But she had met Miss Ruby in Texas and Elise had been Number Five. Obviously the ghost cell did not always follow convention.

  She shifted nervously in her seat. She looked quickly at the time. It was 8:32 a.m. It could be that her contact had been delayed. But she doubted it. Ziv had been right. This was a setup. If she had any sense, she should get up and walk away. But she had to wait. To be sure.

  Angela appeared in her mind’s eye. She was glad her daughter was out of danger. And Q as well. She hoped her concerns about Boone were unfounded. That right now Boone had them under guard at a hotel or other safe location. The thought made her feel good. She had only gotten to know Q a little bit, but she liked the kid. It would be good for her daughter to have a brother like Q. Maybe he would keep her a little more relaxed. A quirky, slightly goofy brother might sand off some of the rough edges of intensity Angela had inherited from her mother.

  The throng was pressing in all around her. It appeared as if thousands of people would be enjoying the concert this morning. Her cell phone now read 8:35 a.m. Something had gone wrong. The Leopard needed to concentrate. Stop thinking about Angela, she told herself.

  A man suddenly stepped out of the crush of people and wormed his way onto the bench next to her, seated to her right. Malak tensed and readied herself to attack, but before she could move the man spoke in a hushed voice. And she noticed his hands were buried in his windbreaker. He no doubt had a gun pointed at her.

  “Do not move,” he said. “Place the phone on the bench beside you. Very, very slowly remove your other hand from your pocket. I know you are holding a gun, do not even think about attempting to use it.”

  Malak turned her head to study the man.

  “Look straight ahead,” he warned her. “Don’t glance in my direction.”

  All she could tell from her peripheral vision was that he was medium height, wearing large sunglasses, a baseball cap and quite possibly a fake beard. Malak was momentarily frozen. Ziv, Callaghan, and everyone watching her would assume she had made contact. The plan had been for them to follow her. Number Two had said they would meet her and go to meet Number One. Then the team would take them both down. But something about this felt off to her. For a reason she couldn’t explain, she didn’t think this man was Number Two.

  “You must be Number Two,” she said.

  “Do not talk. Do not ask questions,” he said.

  “Do you know who you are speaking to?” Malak asked, her voice quiet but full of anger.

  The man, whoever he was, was well trained. He did not look in her direction.

  Nor did he respond to her taunt. At that point she realized something. They had not sent Number Two. The plan might still be to take her to a meeting place. But they had sent someone they felt confident would be able to handle the Leopard if she decided to show her claws.

  “When are we leaving to meet Number One?” she asked.

  “We are not going anywhere. We will sit here and enjoy the concert. When it is done, I will leave first. Then you will go. You will be contacted with further instructions. This is a test, to make sure you understand to do what you are told,” he said.

  “That was not the arrangement!” Malak fairly hissed at the man.

  “Lower your voice,” he said calmly.

  Malak stared straight ahead. It was difficult to remain still. Something was wrong. Ziv had been
right. They had never intended for her to meet Number One. She feared her cover had been blown.

  Because Malak was being watched, she had been unable to take part in a premission briefing. If she had, they would have come up with signals for her to give if she ran into trouble. A series of gestures she could make that would spring the team into action and take down the potential killer sitting next to her.

  The music was starting. It was getting loud. She was not wearing a wire. There was no way for them to hear her.

  A memory came to her. From the time she served with Pat Callaghan on protection details while they were still with the Secret Service. Whenever one of them had gone undercover, they had created a signal. It looked completely normal, but gave notice that something had gone wrong and the agent was about to take action and backup was required.

  “Well,” Malak said, “I guess we may as well enjoy the music.” As she spoke she stretched her legs out straight in front of her, crossing them at the ankles. She also crossed her arms. It put her in position for her next move.

  “Don’t make any sudd—” the man started to say.

  He never finished whatever he intended to say. Malak pivoted from her waist and drove her elbow into the man’s throat. It shattered his hyoid bone and crushed his larynx. Though the man was unable to breathe, he tried desperately to pull the gun from his pocket. She had counted on this. The smart thing would have been to pull the trigger with the gun still inside the pocket. But the brain’s instinct was to draw and then shoot. Malak stood and turned quickly in front of him. If he were able to fire a shot, she would need to use her body to try and keep the bullet from entering the crowd.

  But the man, as well trained as he was, was not the Leopard. She grabbed him by the ears and drove her knee into his face. She felt and heard the satisfying crunch of his nose breaking above the sound of the music. People next to her on the bench and others who had gathered near the fountain reacted in horror. Some screamed and moved away from her. But before a full-on panic could set in, Callaghan emerged from the crowd, followed by Uly. Callaghan held up a badge. “FBI!” he shouted, using one of the vast array of IDs he had his disposal.