“Stop!” I had to shout to be heard over the storm. “Step away from the river and let go of him.” I leveled my gun and descended the hill through the thick snow.
Chekov didn’t move.
As I got closer I could see that Ellory’s face was a smear of blood, but he was conscious. Ellory was missing his weapon, and I had to assume Alexei was armed.
“I’m with the FBI.” I approached them carefully. “Hands away from your body.”
“Drop your gun, Agent Bowers,” the suspect called, keeping his voice calm.
How does he know your name?
Maybe Ellory told him.
It doesn’t matter. Deal with that later.
“I need you to drop your gun,” he repeated. Surprisingly, he didn’t sound out of breath despite the fact he’d just come down this hill, running through knee-deep snow-and then fought and subdued a police officer. “Or I will throw him in.”
That was a direct threat on a law enforcement officer’s life. I could take the shot. I could No.
Too close to the water, they’re too close “Help me!” Ellory yelled.
By now I was close enough to see why he wasn’t standing on his own: his left leg was buckled, bent sideways at the knee. With the strength of the current, if Alexei did throw him in, I doubted Ellory would be able to regain his balance on his own. He’d be dragged under the ice downstream.
However, if I shot Alexei, both he and Ellory would end up in the river, and from this distance I’d never be able to get to Ellory in time to pull him out before the current swept him toward the ice. The only way to save him was to buy time, play Alexei, and hope backup arrived quickly.
But in the storm, how’ll they find you?
I had no phone or radio with me, no GPS signal for the state patrol to track. Alexei had been attentive enough earlier to disable the police cruiser’s GPS, so I anticipated he would’ve also taken care of Ellory’s cell phone and radio by now-probably tossed them into the river. If that were the case, there was no way for backup to find us in time to do any good.
The strip of oil-black water roiled behind them as it rushed downstream.
“I need you to put down your gun, Agent Bowers,” Alexei called again.
Think, Pat. Think.
Fierce snow gusted through the air between me and the other men, blurring everything, making it all seem like a wicked watercolor dream.
I eyed down the barrel of my SIG, evaluating if I could get the shot off without sending Ellory into the water, and I decided to give Chekov one more warning. “Step away from the river, Alexei. I won’t tell you again. Pull the deputy away from the water and hold out your hands. I’m a federal agent and I will shoot you if I have to.”
“Then Ellory will drown,” Alexei replied. He didn’t sound rattled at all.
We both stood our ground.
“I did not kill the Pickrons,” he called unexpectedly.
“I know.”
A pause. “How?”
“You’re a professional-you wouldn’t have used a rifle in the close quarters of the house or wasted any shots. Now step away from the water.”
He didn’t move, just said, “I have no quarrel with you.” Most of his words held a generic Midwestern dialect, but when he said the word quarrel, I caught the faintest hint of a carefully buried Russian accent.
Time, buy more time.
“Who killed the Pickrons, Alexei?”
Rather than replying, he dragged Ellory even closer to the riverbank. “Drop the gun,” he repeated. “Or Deputy Ellory is going in.” Everything this man said was matter-of-fact. No sadism or malice in his voice. All calm. Controlled. Business as usual. “His left kneecap is shattered. The current will take him under. Do it now, Agent Bowers.”
“Don’t let him!” Ellory cried. His eyes had flicked toward the water and the ice that stretched past a bridge over the river a hundred meters downstream. I believed Chekov was telling the truth, that he would not hesitate to kill Bryan Ellory if he thought it would increase his chances of getting away.
Alexei glanced toward the river. “Time’s up.”
“Wait!”
Hastily, I calculated my options, but there weren’t any good ways to play this.
I noted a tree beside me, its girth, its height, memorized the branch pattern and location on the hillside so I’d be able to find it again, then I tossed my SIG toward its base and held up my hands, hoping Alexei wouldn’t shoot me.
“All right,” I said. “Now walk away from the river and let him go.”
“Step away from the gun. Come closer.”
I did, until I was less than ten meters away from him and at least fifteen meters downhill from my SIG.
“There’s no need to hurt him. My gun’s up the hill. Listen”-I gestured toward Ellory-“he’s hurt. Let me help him.”
Alexei ignored me, edged closer to the water. “I’m sorry to have to do this-”
“No!”
“-but you’ll have to believe me when I tell you it’s necessary-”
“Don’t!”
Get there, Pat. Now!
I sprinted forward.
But before I’d even taken three steps, Alexei had yanked Ellory’s jacket backward, sending him flying into the raging black water of the Chippewa River.