“No.” The car filled with light again as the BearCat followed in pursuit. He twisted in his seat for a rear view. “Shit.”
“One-Lincoln-Forty. Ten-thirteen, officer pursued by heavily armed suspects in armored vehicle. Moving north on William, passing—” She called over the wind to Rook, “What’s our cross?”
“Wall Street — No, Pine, Pine.”
A short burst of automatic gunfire flashed from the passenger side of the assault truck and took Heat’s side mirror clean off. She steered sharply to the right, then left, then right again to become a weaving target. “You hit?”
“Stop asking me. I’ll let you know.”
Back on the two-way. “One Lincoln-Forty, taking automatic fire. Ten-thirteen, William and Pine. Do you read?” Nothing but garble. She might be getting heard, but there was no way to know. Heat ditched the mic and said, “Hang on.”
A restaurant-linen-and-uniform delivery truck started to inch into the road across their path with its flashers flashing, driven by someone who must not have been able to see in the cyclone. Nikki whipped the wheel to the left and her vehicle responded, clearing the front of the truck, with Rook’s door taking a mean, shrieking scrape as she passed. Behind her, through the gale, she heard the throaty blast of the BearCat’s horn as it got blocked.
“Ha-ha, denied,” said Rook. “Where now?”
“We keep going to One PP. When we reach Fulton, I can cut up to — forget that.” Ahead of her, a car had struck a light pole that toppled and jutted across the intersection, barring the street.
“Can you squeeze by on the sidewalk?”
“Not sure,” she said, squinting through the sideways rain. “Don’t want to get wedged.”
“I dunno, might make it.”
“And also might get wedged.” They both made another rear check and saw no headlights. “Plan B.” Heat turned a right down Platt.
“Whoa, check it out.” A small car floated sideways past Rook’s window. “Now there’s something you don’t see every day.”
“Not liking this, Rook,” she said in a low voice. “Not liking this.” The tide had risen significantly, coming up the top of her wheels.
“Maybe we should have risked the wedge instead of driving where? Toward the river?”
“Um, not helpful?”
“Just observing.”
“Just driving.” The engine became swamped and died.
“Not anymore.” While she tried to restart, the sky to the north lit up with a huge blue flash followed by another. “Lightning?”
One second later, the entire block fell into pitch darkness. The two-way crackled with multiple calls about an explosion at the Con Ed station on Fourteenth and advisories that all of Manhattan was blacked out south of Grand Central. Rook said helpfully, “I have a little squeezy flashlight on my key ring.” He indicated the backseat. “I’m thinking Mr. Cristóbal won’t miss us if we get out and walk to—” He stopped short as the car blazed with daylight.
The BearCat roared back, charging toward them. “Out, out, out,” called Nikki, but the flood had risen halfway up the doors and the resistance from water pressure made them impossible to push open.
Bang!
The impact threw them hard against their seat belt straps and deployed both airbags. Still conscious, Nikki wiped a trickle of blood from her nose and shook off the stupor from her face crashing into the inflated sack. Beside her Rook was coming out of it, too. Behind them the three-hundred-horsepower Caterpillar diesel revved. The BearCat rode high enough not to be bothered by the up-tide. Six tires securely gripped the wet pavement and the assault vehicle pushed them forward by its reinforced front-impact grill.
Helpless to do anything but go along for the ride, Heat pulled the hand brake to no avail. The black machine shoved them slowly but relentlessly off the street and down the ramp of a parking garage. In the fearsome blare of the BearCat’s head lamps, they saw their fate ahead of them. Submerged cars bobbed on the incline. The whole place was inundated by tidewater and filling fast.
White-water rapids cascaded down from street level into the underground garage, which had already filled enough to swallow the dozen or so cars they could see floating around them. Heat’s plain wrap banged to a stop when it crunched against the tangle of autos blocking the ramp. Still, the BearCat’s engine revved louder and louder, pressing them in place. Their attackers’ strategy was clear and chilling: to brace them there, trapped, to drown in the rising tide.
It wouldn’t take long. With the back windows blown out, the flow had already begun to gush over the side doors with impunity and both of them sat with water above their laps. “Can you move?” she asked.
“Yeah.”