Catherine screamed and threw herself back against the door of the bank, and Rafe had figured out by now that there was no escape there, so he dove to the pavement. How he figured that out and why he dove where he dove he did not know. He wasn’t thinking, he was just acting. Later he wondered if he actually did know, somewhere in his animal brain, that by diving just where he dove, he would land next to Frank’s outstretched arm. Where Frank’s gun was still in his hand. Rafe looked up and saw Stavro jammed back against the door now with Catherine. And the man in the skullcap upon them, his knife hand moving. Rafe lifted the gun out of Frank’s hand and pointed it at the man in the skullcap and pulled the trigger. The bullet went dead center into the man’s back, and he pitched forward, falling onto Catherine, who screamed again and tried to wriggle away. Rafe climbed to his feet as she freed herself and the man fell flat on the ground and Rafe pointed the gun and shot him two more times and ran to Catherine, uncertain if he had shot her, too. “Are you okay?” he said. She was hunched down, leaning against the door, and she looked at him without speaking. He asked again, “Are you okay?” She nodded, still silent, and Rafe looked down at the man in the skullcap, who was lying still, his face planted on the steps to the door of the bank. Rafe leaned over and pulled the knife from his hand and tossed it into the street. He kept the gun pointed at the man, who still didn’t move. Then he looked around for Stavro.

And saw him running away fast, turning a corner, disappearing from sight.

Dead-Eye

DEAD-EYE

They met the next morning in Frank’s hospital room. The banker was elsewhere in the same building. The tourist was dead.

Sykes was standing next to the bed when Rafe walked in. Frank had a tube up his nose and an IV needle inserted between two knuckles. He turned with a slight grimace and said, “Dead-Eye Dick. Where did you learn to shoot?”

“I didn’t,” Rafe said. “Just pointed and pulled the trigger. Who was that guy?” That guy being the man in the white skullcap whom Rafe had shot three times.

Frank and Sykes exchanged a look. Then Sykes answered. “A terrorist. Working for the same people Stavro was working for. They were either angry that he had stolen their money or they figured out he was talking to us and wanted to make that stop.”

“Uh-huh.” Rafe came all the way into the room. He was looking at Frank. “You called him Mohammed. You knew him.”

Frank shrugged, which made him grimace again. “I get around.”

“The hokey-pokey guy,” Rafe said. “He was your source at the mosque.”