“Well, there are certainly enough bikes available if we need one,” Steve commented, trying to sound optimistic. Bicyclists were coming and going along with a host of in-line skaters and joggers. “Best of all, I don’t see any cops.”

Curt was looking back beyond the gilded equestrian statue of General Sherman to the area around the Pulitzer fountain in front of the Plaza Hotel. The area was jammed with a confusion of people, cars, buses, and hansom cabs.

“This is goddamned impossible,” Curt complained. “I knew that once we lost sight of him it would be like finding the proverbial needle in the haystack.”

“If I follow him on a bike, what do I do if I catch him?” Kevin asked.

“Lots of luck catching him!” Curt said. “The guy’s a pro.”

“He might stop,” Steve said. “You never know.”

“That’s true,” Curt admitted. “So give Kevin one of the Glocks. But more importantly, give him your phone so he can keep in touch with us.”

Steve swung around and handed the gun and the phone to Kevin, who eagerly pocketed them. “You want me to go out and get a bike now?”

“No!” Curt said. “We’re not doing anything unless we see the bastard. Actually I think we’re going to have to fall back to plan B. The more I think of calling him and saying we’re Yuri, the better it sounds.”

“Holy shit, there he is!” Steve said, frantically pointing to a bicyclist who’d just swept past them no more than ten feet away.

“You’re right!” Curt said. “Kevin, you’re on!”

Kevin scrambled forward and climbed out of the door Steve had exited. Without a moment’s hesitation he took off at a run. Steve climbed back into the van.

Curt and Steve watched as the husky Kevin vaulted over the police sawhorses, despite his heavy Doc Marten boots, and ran directly at a bicyclist who’d stopped at a water fountain. The man was still on his bike with one toe in its clip, but he was leaning over to drink. He was sporting all the proper cycling paraphernalia, including the helmet, tights, and padded gloves.

Kevin didn’t hesitate. Without a word, he grabbed the bike and snatched it from under the man, upending him.

Kevin threw a leg over the bike and was about to take off when the bicyclist recovered enough to get a grip on one of the cycle’s handlebars. Kevin responded by balling his big hand into a fist and laying the man out cold.

“Oh,” Steve gushed. “Now that was a punch!”