“He could be anywhere,” said Odessa as they rushed down the final flights, back out into the first floor. It was still bedlam due to the ambulance crash. Police were on the scene, dealing with hospital administrators as they tried to restore order. Blackwood followed signs for the emergency room, which was still taking patients despite the presence of news media.

Odessa stopped to talk to a cop in the middle of the hallway. “Have you seen an elderly black man in a hospital gown go past here?”

The cop nodded. “Yeah, lady, like seven of them.” Then his radio squawked and he reached up to bring his shoulder-clipped handset closer to his ear in the crowded, noisy hall. “Holy shit!” he exclaimed in response to what he heard, and took off running for the door.

Blackwood looked at Odessa. They followed him outside, past the crashed ambulance, into the parking lot, running toward the street. They were just in time to see a police cruiser careen out of the lot, swerving wildly into a passing SUV, impacting it with a terrific crash, the SUV ramming into a parked mail truck and rolling backward across the two-lane street—where it was struck by another vehicle unable to brake in time.

The police cruiser avoided the pileup, fishtailing down the street with roof rack lights spinning, its siren wailing into the distance.

A few cops ran into the street toward the accident to assist victims. Others, like the cop from the hospital hallway, jumped into their vehicles to start a pursuit—the cruiser obviously stolen—but the multiple-car accident blocked both lanes of the avenue, preventing them from giving chase.

Blackwood and Odessa moved into the street, watching the cruiser getting away, swerving in and out of traffic.

Blackwood said, “We must follow him!”

As they looked up the street, a black Rolls-Royce with gunpowder-gray styling nosed out of a cross street just beyond the pileup.

Blackwood said, “Good man, Lusk!”

Odessa ran with him, past the traffic accident, hurrying to the idling Phantom. They leapt into the back and Mr. Lusk pulled away before their door was closed.

Mr. Lusk said, “The driver of that police vehicle…”

“Yes,” said Blackwood. “It’s Agent Solomon.”

“His eyes…they weren’t right,” said Mr. Lusk.

“Get after him,” said Blackwood. “Do not let him get away.”

The Phantom’s engine rose from a purr to a growl, lifting the vehicle forward. The cruiser moved with great speed, but its lights and sirens made following it easy—as did the trail of cars left in its wake, either parting for the onrushing police vehicle or run off the road by it.

They raced through Jackson Heights, passing collisions and weaving around fender benders on the trail of the screaming car. At times they would see the blue lights spinning ahead; the Phantom was neither gaining on the police cruiser nor losing ground.