Bullseye (Michael Bennett 9)

“We’ll take the right flank,

you take the left. Call me when you get on the luxury level. And don’t call for backup yet. This guy’s slippery. He’ll know if something’s up with security.”

“Hold up a second,” I said. “What are you going to stop him with? Your new scarf?”

“Don’t you worry about us,” Leroux said, patting his wife’s bag as they moved out of the row, into the aisle. “Let’s just get up into position before he figures it out.”

Chapter 70

From the deck of the luxury balcony, they heard the Yanks down in the section beneath cheering as one of the Leeds players got a yellow card for a hard tackle.

“Oh, I hope he didn’t rip his panties,” the drunken has-been rock star yelled as he hurled a plastic cup of beer at the blue-clad crowd beneath. “Piss off, ya useless lot of bearded hipster wankers.”

All the men out on the now crowded balcony started laughing at that. Then Terry’s arm was around the British assassin’s shoulder, and he put his over the shoulder of the rock star, and it was like a time machine. As if they were all seventeen again, jumping up and down with a “Leeds, Leeds, Leeds!” chant.

Terry pinched the waitress’s ass as he grabbed another bubbly. The British assassin drained his champagne and took a breath and drank it all in, there in the cold above the crowd.

This was the life. One more trigger pull, and he’d get the sour he’d been sucking all his life out of his mouth, once and for all.

He felt it a second later, right as he placed his empty on the tart’s tray. It was like a tingle along the nape of his neck, a sixth sense.

He glanced around left and right, down into the crowd below, without moving his head.

There were eyes on him.

Of all those eyes, someone was watching him. It was impossible that he knew it, but it was true. He was a watcher, and he knew. He could feel it. He’d seen it happen often enough to targets. The glass would come on them, and they’d suddenly run, dive, duck. There was something psychic between a hunter and his prey.

Now he was the one being spotted.

He looked down to the left, on the stairs two sections below. A guy was heading up them. A guy in a suit, cop all over him.

He sucked in a breath. Felt the hard beat of his heart in his chest as he held the breath.

He’d screwed up. Big-time. They shouldn’t have come here. He needed to get out.

Now.

He slowly stepped back inside. He got his wife’s attention, and then he touched his ear, giving her the bug out signal. They had planned contingencies to split up and regarding where to meet later. At least they weren’t looking for her.

Her eyes widened with a rare expression of fear, and then he was moving for the door.

There was no one yet out in the luxury level hall. The level had its own private elevator on the left, but that would be the first thing they’d be onto.

On his right, he saw a waitress go through a staff-only door. Following her, he saw that there was a small kitchen and wet bar behind it and another door on the other side of the room.

“Sir, can I help you?” the waitress said by the sink as he crossed the room.

He kept going. The new door led to a narrow, slightly curving back corridor. There were garbage bags in a gray plastic rolling bin on the right. As he hurried toward it, he saw the stainless steel threshold of a freight elevator just beyond it.

He poked his head in. Except for a mop and a yellow rolling bucket, the elevator was empty. Better yet, the car’s security key was in the console. He stepped in and turned the key and hit the Main Level button.

The elevator spilled him out into the great hall by gate 6, where he had come in. He faced the cavernous space and headed for the gate, walking steadily toward the dozen stadium security guards standing there.

He swallowed as he got closer and saw that there were two NYPD uniformed cops standing with the guards. He took a breath as he approached and forced himself to glance at them. They weren’t on their radios. They didn’t seem any more alert than usual.

A sudden roar from the crowd boomed out low and muffled in the high-ceilinged concourse.

It’s okay, he mentally coached himself. Just walk out. They don’t know yet. Fifty meters. You can do this. Just calmly walk past them.