8.
I’m right behind her.
I drop down into the next room onto my black booted feet just as I make out the sound of Manion’s office door being kicked in. We’re standing in the dark inside someone’s office. An office that appears to be empty, if not for an odor. Not a foul odor but a pleasant one. Aftershave maybe. Like Old Spice. Stuff my old man used to splash on his face before church on Sunday. I’m picturing the face of my old man when the body hits me like I’ve somehow stepped in front of a speeding truck. I go tumbling back against the wall.
“Chase,” Anya screams.
“Find a light switch,” I shout.
The man who tackled me led with his shoulder. The classic football tackle. He might have even bruised a rib. But he’s not quick in retreating. I grab him in a headlock with my left arm while with my right, pull my automatic from its shoulder holster. I press the business end of the pistol against his skull.
“Don’t shoot,” comes a voice. The voice of an older man. He speaks English, but the accent is most definitely German.
I release him.
The overhead light comes on revealing my attacker. He’s a short, gray-haired and bearded man dressed sloppily in an old wool blazer and corduroy pants. Most definitely a professor. He’s even got a plastic pocket protector filled with pens and pencils plus a translucent six inch ruler.
“I thought you were a burglar,” he says, panting. “Or perhaps, a rapist.”
“You’ve got some spunk, Einstein, I’ll give you that. We’re the good guys. The bad guys are on the other side of this wall. Think you can call security for us?”
His eyes light up. He glances at my gun.
“I haven’t had this much fun since I earned my PhD in Physics forty years ago,” he smiles.
“We’re going to leave now,” I say, crossing the office and joining Anya at the door.
“Go, go,” the professor insists, picking up the phone on his desk, punching in a number. “I’m calling security. In the meantime, if they come through that vent, I’ll be waiting for them.” He raises up his free arm and makes a muscle under his jacket sleeve. Like I said, he’s got some spunk.
“Sorry for the intrusion,” I say.
“No worries. You made my day.”
He begins speaking into the phone in Italian. I take hold of the door opener, slowly twist the knob, pull the door open, poke my head outside into the hall. I look both ways for a man dressed entirely in black.
“All clear,” I say. “We’ll take the stairs.”
“Roger that, Chase.”
“Roger that?”
Holding her hand, we step out into the hall, and take it double-time all the way to the stairwell.
Down on the first floor, we head back out into the street.
People surround us on all sides. Students mostly, carrying books, canvases, sketch pads, knapsacks. Always moving about in pairs or groups. They stare at us with curiosity and perhaps even a little fear as they pass.
I grab Anya by the shoulders.
“We need to get back to my apartment while our tail is still busy upstairs with security. After that we’ll have to find another place to hold up. The apartment isn’t safe anymore now that I know you’re being followed.”
“I’m sorry. I just had no way of knowing.”
“Don’t be sorry. Goes with the territory. Sad thing is, that man probably isn’t the only one watching you.” Removing my hands. “Let’s move.”
“I’m right on your ass,” she smiles.
“Now who’s the pig, Anya Manion?” I say.
We run.
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