The moment the woman backed up and then pulled past Noah on her way out of the parking lot, Noah slipped the Ford Fusion into the newly vacated spot.
As he turned off the ignition, he noticed something odd. The black SUV that had been behind him had pulled forward and had now stopped, effectively blocking him from pulling back out if he was so inclined. Noah turned around, confused as to why the vehicle would stop as it did and worried it might be an episode of misdirected road rage over the parking place, something he’d been told that happened in Boston on occasion. What he saw made his blood run cold. A man had exited out of the vehicle’s passenger seat even before the vehicle was completely stopped and was now running around its rear. Noah immediately recognized him. It was the African American who had been tailing him around Boston. In the next instant, a man Noah assumed was the Caucasian leaped from the driver’s seat. As the African American came along the driver’s side of Noah’s car, his colleague went to the passenger side.
Noah reacted by reflex and hit the door-lock button to make sure the doors were secure. He then fumbled with his cell phone to get it out of his pocket and try to get the battery back in. There was no doubt in his mind. He needed to dial 911.
“Open the door!” one of the men shouted. “FBI!” Someone pounded on the top of Noah’s car.
Noah turned and looked up into the face of the African American who was holding an FBI badge against the car window. Looking in the opposite direction, he saw the Caucasian was doing the same with his badge. Thinking he had no choice with law enforcement involved, Noah reached for the door release handle, but as he did so he heard his phone indicate it was on.
Another glance at the African American’s face made Noah hesitate. There was an expression of anger that seemed inappropriate for the situation. Instead of opening his door, Noah hastily began punching 911 into his phone.
Before Noah was even finished with the three digits, there was the sound of shattering glass and small shards rained down along the side of his face. Looking up, Noah could see that the African American was using the butt of an automatic pistol in an attempt to punch through the driver’s-side window. Luckily, the window was resisting, but it wasn’t going to last. In desperation, Noah threw his torso to the right to extract his left leg from beneath the steering wheel. Placing his foot against the door and releasing the lock at the same time, Noah straightened his leg with as much force as he could possibly muster. The door slammed against the African American, pinning him for a fleeting moment against the neighboring car.
In the next instant Noah was out of the car. His only hope was to get inside the hospital and let hospital security deal with these two men, whether they were real FBI agents or not. But he didn’t get far. Although the African American had been momentarily stunned, Noah was aware he’d recovered quickly enough to get a hold of Noah’s shirt, slowing Noah enough so that the Caucasian was able to come around the back of Noah’s car and join the melee. The Caucasian grabbed Noah’s neck with his right hand and Noah’s arm with his left. Despite Noah’s attempt to free himself, he was forced down onto the hot, dusty pavement face-first.
Noah tried to cry out for help, but a hand was roughly clasped over his mouth, holding his jaw tightly closed. In the next instant Noah’s arms were wrenched behind him and his wrists clasped with handcuffs. A moment later he felt a sharp, stinging sensation in his buttocks, followed by a sudden localized pain. As a physician, he knew he’d been injected. Within seconds he felt like he was falling, and then blackness.
—
“SHIT,” KEYON SAID through clenched teeth. “He’s feisty!” He and George together hoisted Noah up to his feet using their hands under Noah’s armpits. Once they had him upright, they started toward the Suburban. Keyon had to walk awkwardly with his legs apart, since Noah’s trick with the car door had caught him in the testicles. Noah was semiconscious from the powerful tranquilizer and would have fallen into a heap had he not been supported. A few people either going or coming from the hospital had stopped to watch the rapidly unfolding spectacle. They were all dumbfounded. It had happened so quickly and unexpectedly.
“FBI!” George called out, holding his fake badge up for all to see. “Everything is under control here. Sorry for the scene. This man is wanted in a half-dozen states.”
Reaching the Suburban, Keyon and George quickly got Noah into the backseat and buckled him in with the seat belt. Noah’s head lolled forward.
“Do you think he should be kept upright?” George said.
“How the hell am I supposed to know?” Keyon complained.
“That was a walloping dose we gave him. What’s that going to do to his blood pressure?”
“Oh, all right,” Keyon said with resignation. He lifted the shoulder strap over Noah’s head, leaving the waist belt in place. Noah slumped over on his side. “Satisfied?”
“Hey, we both know that if this bastard was delivered as damaged goods, we’d most likely be out of a job.”
42
THURSDAY, AUGUST 17, 10:38 P.M.
Noah became aware of his surroundings gradually, just the opposite of how he had lost consciousness that morning almost twelve hours ago, something he wasn’t going to learn until later. The first thing he realized was that he was on a much more comfortable surface than the macadam he’d been on when the proverbial lights went out. With his left hand he could feel it was a bed. His right hand was shackled over his head, and when he tried to move it, the binding cut into his wrist. He tried to open his eyes, but they refused to open, even when he strained to use his forehead muscles as an additional aid.
Forcing himself to calm down and relax, he took a few deep breaths. It was a good ploy. A moment later his eyes opened on their own, and he found himself looking up at a plaster ceiling. Raising his head, he could see he was in a narrow, elongated bedroom that was tastefully decorated with chintz curtains and flowery wallpaper. A moment later he realized he wasn’t alone. There was a man dressed in a dark suit in a nearby club chair, his face hidden behind a newspaper.