Читать книгу Sam Bourne 4-Book Thriller Collection - Sam Bourne - Страница 58

FIFTY-ONE

Monday, 12.13am, Manhattan

Will’s first instinct was to observe. He was used to watching, seeing how things unfolded. So it took a beat and then another before Will realized that he could not just watch. He would have to stalk the stalker.

He was wary. Hardly anyone was around; he would be noticed. So he kept far back, walking as quietly as he could. He cursed the black leather shoes he was wearing: they made too much noise. He tried to prevent his heels making contact with the sidewalk, to dampen the sound.

But the man in front seemed to be in a hurry as he charged down Henry Street. Not running, but a brisk walk that allowed no time for looking back. That emboldened Will; he walked faster, taking pains to keep just less than a block between them.

The stalker was carrying a black leather bag at his side, the strap worn like a sash crossing over to his opposite shoulder. He was neat and self-contained, moving nimbly. Will was no expert, but he would have been surprised if this guy did not have some connection with the military.

By now he had crossed Clinton and Jefferson. Where was he going? To meet a getaway car? If so, why had he not been picked up earlier? Maybe he was walking towards a subway station. Will cursed his limited knowledge of New York: he had no idea if there was a station near here.

Without warning, the man suddenly looked back. Will saw the movement of his head and, without even thinking, moved off the sidewalk towards the steps of the tenement block he was passing. At the same time he reached into his pocket and pulled out his keys. What the stalker would have seen was a man entering his own apartment building. He walked on; Will let out a deep sigh. He had been holding his breath.

By now the man ahead was turning a sharp right. Will tried to position himself so that he would not be caught in his field of vision.

‘Yo, Ashley! You got my phone?’

Will had not seen them coming, but there they were, right in front of him. Three African-American teenage girls, filling up the sidewalk. Will tried to slide past, but they were in the mood for some fun.

‘What’s the hurry, handsome? You don’t like how we look? You don’t think we look fine?’ At this the other two were screeching with laughter. He looked over their heads, to see the stalker heading down a side street towards East Broadway. He was hard to make out.

‘Yo, I’m over here, honey!’ It was the leader of the pack, now waving her hand in Will’s face. If he had been born in New York, he was sure he would have shoved them aside with a curt, ‘Get the fuck out of my way.’ But even here, on a mission to prevent a murder in the dead of night, he was still an Englishman.

‘Excuse me, I have to get past. Please.’

With that, he weaved around Ashley and company, hearing more whooping and calling behind him. ‘My friend says you can have her number!’

Will now broke into a run, desperate to catch up. He reached the junction and turned right, scanning the street up and down in search of his quarry. There was a couple making out on a stoop. But no sign of the stalker.

He could see only two non-residential buildings; the man might have fled into either one of them. He certainly could not yet have reached East Broadway or else Will would have caught sight of him. Will slowed down, checking over his shoulder, aware that this was exactly how to walk into an ambush. After fifteen paces, Will gave up: he had clearly lost the man he had needed to follow. He must have escaped into one of these two buildings, on opposite sides of the street. Will was near enough now to see what they were. One was the Church of the Reborn Jesus, but the other was a synagogue – affiliated to the Hassidim of Crown Heights.