Page 104 of NYPD Red 7: The Murder Sorority

“You must be so upset about your bike,” she said. “Is the insurance going to cover it so you can buy a new one?”

Theo fielded the question, and then Megan started to talk about her first bike, aHarley-DavidsonStreet Glide.

“What the fuck?” Kylie said. “What’s with the small talk? We know she’s here to pump him for information. Why doesn’t she start pumping?”

“I know,” I said. “He’s eighteen. It’s not like he needs any foreplay.”

“I don’t like this, Zach. Something’s not right here. What is she up to?”

Theo also knew that he wasn’t there to talk about motorcycles, so he changed the subject. “I really appreciate you talking to Mr. Diehl on my behalf,” he said. “Thanks.”

His statement didn’t require an effusive response. A simple “you’re welcome” would have been enough. But instead, Megan threw her arms in the air. “Are you kidding?” she said, wrapping them around his neck and pulling him close.

That’s when we heard the shot. My eyes had been on Theo, so I couldn’t tell where it came from, but I knew the bullet didn’t hit him.

“The food cart!” Kylie yelled.

Thehot-foodvendors all use propane to cook. The shooter was a pro. He knew that a bullet, even an incendiary round, wouldn’t blow up atwenty-gallonpropane tank, so he’d aimed at the hose that connected the tank to the grill, and cut it clean through. The hose began bucking and thrashing as the gas spewed out.

I knew it would only be a matter of seconds before the fuel reached the open flame on the burners. The vendor knew it, too. I’d never seen him before, but I knew one thing about him: He was a veteran. The strip of concrete in front of the museum steps is so coveted that the city issues licenses for that space only to men and women who have served their country.

His military training saved lives. He didn’t try to extinguish the flames on his stove. There wasn’t enough time. Instead, he yelled, “Bomb! Run! Bomb! Run! Run! Run!”

The crowd, already in a panic after the gunshot, ran.

The explosion was deafening. The cart burst into flames, shooting plumes of fire in all directions. Dozens of people were thrown to the ground, rocked by the concussion or brought down by flaming debris. Thick clouds of smoke filled the air, and then a city bus, one of thosesixty-foot-longmonsters with the accordion center, desperately trying to maneuver past the chaos, crossed in front of Kylie and me and blocked our vision.

I grabbed my radio. “Central, this is Red Unit. Priority.”

No response. I tried again. And again. But the airwaves were jammed. There had to be hundreds of 911 calls coming from the people who had been outside the museum. Hundreds more coming from people in the nearby apartment buildings, inside the buses and cars on Fifth Avenue, and those in the museum who were probably now on lockdown.

Communication was cut off. I needed an army of cops, but I couldn’t get through to the dispatcher at Central.

I switched to the closed channel we’d designated for the operation. “This is Red Leader. Talk to me. What have we got, guys?”

“Zach, it’s Sarah Herman. I was at the top of the museum steps, eyes on traffic. A blue Chrysler was in the bus lane and slowed to a stop onEighty-Secondeven though the light was green. I didn’t see the gun, but I saw the muzzle flash. I could tell by the angle that Theo wasn’t the target. I started racing toward him when the explosion happened. One of the bystanders running in the other direction bowled me over, and by the time I got up, the Chrysler had pulled up half a block and stopped in front of the fountain on the south side of the steps. Megan had her hands on Theo’s neck, shoved him in the back seat, and jumped in behind him. I tried to get to them, but it was bedlam, and the car took off before I could get to it.”

I keyed the radio. “Anyone have eyes on the subject?”

“Zach, it’s Louie Ziffer. I’m on the roof ofOne-Thousand-OneFifth, directly across the street from the museum steps. I had eyes on the kid. Megan wrapped her arms around him just before the gunshot. I lost them in the smoke screen for about twenty seconds; then I saw them get in the car. The driver cut through the park atSeventy-NinthStreet, and I lost him. We had three mobile units in position, but as soon as that explosion detonated, a lot of drivers abandoned their cars and ran for their lives. The entire area around the blast zone came to a complete deadlock. No amount of lights and sirens could get our guys rolling. I kept trying to get through to Central but—”

“I know,” I said. “It’s a clusterfuck. Keep trying to call it in and give them a description of the vehicle.”

I looked up, and Kylie was at my side.

“We had her!” she said. “We knew Megan was the shooter, but we had no idea she was onto us. She gamed us, Zach. We had her, and she played usbig-time.”

I didn’t know if we ever reallyhadher. But I didn’t want to debate the point. All I could think about was the fact that Megan Rollins was acold-bloodedkiller. And right now she had Theo.

CHAPTER 69

Sixty-threepeoplewere taken to the hospital with cuts, bruises, burns, or broken bones. More than a hundred others were treated on the scene. But thanks to the quick action of acombat-trainedmarine, nobody had been killed.

Within minutes of the explosion, the entire city was on high alert. Fifth Avenue was on lockdown fromSeventy-SecondStreet to Ninetieth. Park and Madison Avenues were closed except for emergency vehicles. The PC, the mayor, the governor, and the media were all asking questions.

I had only one.

Where was Theo?

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