Page 70 of Witness 8

The back of my head was wet, blood running down my neck and into my shirt collar, my heart thumping in my temples.

Then, inexplicably, the weight lifted off me.

I sat up.

Harry was on the ground. He’d fallen into me, knocking me over. His shoulder must’ve hit my chest.

I looked down at the blood gushing from his stomach. He gazed up at me. Lake flung himself on the ground, planted both hands on Harry’s belly and cried out for somebody to call a paramedic. Blood, glistening in the sunlight, pooled over Lake’s fingers.

Everything was quiet.

Harry tried to talk. I took his hand. He coughed and more blood spat from his lips.

Suddenly, it wasn’t quiet any more. Bloch, still on her feet in front of me, was firing that hand cannon. Pointed up. At first, I thought she was shooting at the sun, then I heard glass breaking and chunks of masonry falling into the street.

She was shooting at a window, high on the building opposite.

I told Harry I loved him.

He squeezed my hand.

I told him to hold on.

He gripped tighter.

Lake was screaming at him to stay awake.

Harry’s eyes began to close.

Bloch reloaded, let out a howl of anger and grief and shock and then emptied another load at the building.

As the echoes of gunfire faded in the steel, concrete and glass canyons of Manhattan, I heard a siren in the distance.

Harry’s fingers went limp.

28

Mr. Christmas

The gunshot made him flinch.

At first, he didn’t know what had happened. He had not fired.

The man who followed Eddie Flynn out of the hotel, and stood behind him, was known to Mr. Christmas.

Gabriel Lake.

He had not realized Lake was working with Flynn.

His senses, his mind, bombarded with shocks, soon came back online.

The shot had come from his left. Up high. He shaded his eyes, looked up. A half-open window, twentieth floor of the building opposite.

Angel. The sniper.

He always dealt death from above. A perfect position. Elevated. A choice of exits. And firing from a position in line with the sun, to make it harder to spot him. Anyone looking at his point of fire would have to gaze into its fierce glare.

Mr. Christmas looked back at the street and the hotel entrance.