Chase Baker and the Seventh Seal (A Chase Baker Thriller Book 9) by Vincent Zandri Page B

the opening and out of the room.
    Moshe is back up on his feet, one arm wrapped around Itzy’s shoulder as we go for the door. Itzy goes to unlock the deadbolt, but it won’t release. It’s stuck.
    “Shoot the son of a bitch!” I bark.
    Itzy aims the Uzi at the lock.
    “I don’t want to risk making a whole lot of shrapnel that can kill us as easily as bullets.”
    “Do something,” I press. “Shoot around the lock.”
    He shoots, the bullets making a circular pattern around the lock. The lock does not fall to the floor, but instead, the upper half of the old wood door explodes into splinters of wood. Raising his right leg, he kicks the bottom portion of door open, just as the Mohawked bandits enter the store. They shoot, but we’re already out the front door, doing our best to blend in with the hordes of people who occupy the street on their way to pray at the Temple Mount.
    Making an immediate ninety-degree turn to the right, we head back in the direction of the Damascus Gates.
     
     
     

 

    CHAPTER 22
     
    Sirens blare.
    Green and blue uniformed soldiers of the Israeli Army push and shove their way through the crowd. I’ve returned my weapon to its shoulder holster inside my bush jacket while the Hasidic brothers have concealed their Uzis under their long coats.
    Moshe is leaving a trail of blood that is, thankfully, obscured by the many people coming and going in the marketplace. I’m hoping his femoral artery hasn’t been hit. But then, I’m not sure how badly hurt Moshe is. We need to get him to a hospital, or, the very least, to someone who can help him. Or for certain, he’ll bleed out.
    We push ourselves through the gate and reconvene directly outside it. Moshe’s face is pale compared to the black locks that hang down along both sides of his face.
    “We’ve got to keep moving,” he says, the pain evident in his voice. “The soldiers are everywhere.”
    Just one quick glance proves how right he is. Israeli soldiers and police are everywhere. Packs of them are barging into the market through the gate, their black Tavor assault rifles gripped in both bands, pushing people aside, young and old alike.
    Magda points to the cobbled pavement. “He’s leaking like a sieve,” she points out.
    “Any idea where we can get him patched up without someone making an inquiry? An inquiry sure to be followed by an arrest.”
    She nods. “I think I know someone. But we’ll need to grab a taxi. It’s a good bit away on the West Bank.”
    “There’s a taxi stand at the top of the stairs,” Itzy says. His voice is filled with tension. Impatience. I’ve only just met them, but one thing is certain, he and Moshe are close. Closer than close. “We’ve got to go.”
    The three start their climb up the marble steps to the taxis parked on the side of the street. I follow, but not before once more feeling that strange, cold sensation shooting up and down my backbone like a cold electric current along a naked wire. I turn, and for the flash of an instant, spot a woman with a black shawl wrapped around her head and shoulders. She turns to me, eyes me with bright, steely cold eyes. Blue eyes. The look stabs me in the heart.
    Vanessa.
    For the flash of an instant, I’m tempted to go after her. But my feet feel as if they are planted not on solid stone but, instead, in curing concrete.
    “Chase,” Magda shouts. “Please, we must go.”
    I turn to her. “Coming!”
    I turn back towards the gate and Vanessa. But she’s gone.
    Disappeared. Like a ghost.
     
     
     

 

    CHAPTER 23
     
    Jogging up the stone steps, I see that Magda has already secured us a taxi. I pile into the front passenger seat. The only seat available with Moshe sprawled out in the back seat, and the other two doing their best to find a place to sit without doing further damage to his injured leg.
    Magda barks out an address to the taxi driver. He speaks something to her not in Israeli but in Arabic. She responds to him.
    “You know