He froze next to Haram blinking in stunned disbelief. Taxi vans didn’t simply disappear. They did not roll off on their own. Nor were they usually stolen from cab stands on busy midtown streets in broad daylight. With five other cabs at the stand.

When one left the cab with the wireless key in his pocket, the reasonable and firm assumption was that the vehicle would stay put.

Plus, he was double-parked. A thief would have no way to know the cab he had pulled alongside was his cousin’s, who happened to be inside the Share Punjabi buffet eating lunch with him. Far more likely that the driver had only stepped out for a minute to pick something up and would rush back so as not to block the other cab from pulling out. Even the most skilled and brazen car thief would choose an easier target of opportunity. He would not want to risk the cabbie showing up before he could drive away.

And so Abdul stopped outside the restaurant’s front door. Stunned. Frozen. Disbelieving.

Then he felt Haram’s hand clamp around his arm and tug. He had swiveled his head around toward West Fifty-Fourth Street and was pointing in that same direction with his other hand, his finger furiously jabbing the air.

“Look!” he said. “Is that yours?”

Abdul turned, and his jaw dropped.

It was his cab. In the bus lane, moving slowly toward the corner.

He took off running after it.

Grigor inched toward the men at a slow crawl. His heart rate was even. His breathing was quiet and regular. They were only a few yards ahead of him now, nearing the corner of West Fifty-Fourth Street.

Still as a viper eyeing its prey, he watched as the men stepped into the street. There were a few pedestrians crossing ahead of them, but no one around them. Offering him a clear, open lane.

Grigor slid forward...and then heard the shouting behind him. It was muffled by the taxi’s rolled-up windows, but loud enough for him to pick up its excited tone. He glanced into the rearview mirror and saw the taxi driver in the white skullcap running toward him, waving his arms frantically in the air, a second man close behind.

Icy calm, Grigor toed the gas to speed up a notch, pulling away from them. Just up ahead, the corner traffic light was changing, the signal about to go from red to yellow to green. He saw Musil and the analyst hurry to make the light, turn and step out into the crossing.

This was his moment. He pressed the gas pedal to the floor.

The weaponized taxi van accelerated rapidly, heading toward them straight as a missile.

Two seconds after that, it struck.