Free The Innocent by David Baldacci

the problem. The driver, a heavyset black man of about fifty, rose and started down the aisle.
    When he saw Robie’s gun, he stopped and put his hands in front of him.
    The same old woman screamed and clutched at her robe.
    “What the hell do you want?” exclaimed the driver to Robie.
    Robie looked down at the unconscious man. “He was attacking the girl. I stopped him.”
    He looked at the girl for support. She said nothing.
    “Would you like to tell them?” Robie prompted.
    She said nothing.
    “He was trying to kill you. You nailed him with pepper spray.”
    Robie reached over, and before she could stop him he’d ripped the canister from her hand and held it up.
    “Pepper spray,” he said in a confirming tone.
    The other passengers’ attention now turned to the girl.
    She looked back at them, unfazed by their scrutiny.
    “What’s going on?” asked the driver.
    Robie said, “The guy was attacking the girl. She pepper-sprayed him and I finished him off when he didn’t back down.”
    “And why do you have a gun?” asked the driver.
    “I’ve got a permit for it.”
    In the distance Robie heard sirens.
    Was it for the two bodies back at the building?
    The man on the floor groaned and started to stir. Robie put a foot on his back. “Stay down,” he ordered. He looked back at the driver. “You better call the cops.” He turned to the girl. “You have a problem with that?”
    In response the girl rose, grabbed her backpack from the overhead bay, slipped it over her shoulders, and walked down the aisle toward the driver.
    The driver put up his hands again. “You can’t leave, miss.”
    She drew something from her jacket and held it in front of the man. From where he was standing behind the girl Robie was blocked from seeing what it was. The driver immediately retreated, looking terrified. The old woman screamed again.
    Robie knelt down and used the fallen man’s belt to efficiently tie his hands and ankles together behind his back, completely immobilizing him. Then he followed the girl down the aisle. As he passed the driver he said, “Call the cops.”
    “Who are you?” the driver called after Robie.
    Robie didn’t answer, because he could hardly tell the man the truth.
    The girl had worked the lever to open the bus door and stepped off.
    Robie caught up to her as she reached the street.
    “What did you show him?” he asked.
    She turned and held up the grenade.
    Robie didn’t blink. “It’s plastic.”
    “Well, he didn’t seem to know that.”
    Those were the first words she had spoken. Her voice was lower than Robie would have expected. More grown-up. They moved away from the bus.
    “Who are you?” asked Robie.
    She kept walking. The sirens drew closer and then started to fade away.
    “Why did that guy want to kill you?”
    She picked up her pace, moving ahead of him.
    They reached the other side of the street. She slipped between two parked cars. Robie did the same. She hustled down the street. He picked up his pace and grabbed her arm. “Hey, I’m talking to you.”
    He didn’t get an answer.
    The explosion knocked them both off their feet.

CHAPTER

16
    R OBIE CAME TO FIRST. He had no idea how long he’d been out, but it couldn’t have been very long. There were no cops, no first responders. It was just him and a bus that was no longer there. He gazed over at the skeleton of burning metal that had once been a large piece of transportation equipment and thought that, like a plane crashing nose first into the earth from a great height, there could be no survivors.
    This area of D.C. was deserted at this late hour and there were no residences nearby. The only people wandering out to see what had happened were obviously homeless.
    Robie watched as one old man dressed in ragged jeans and a shirt turned black by living on the street stumbled out onto the sidewalk from his home of cardboard and plastic trash bags inside a doorway. He looked at the bonfire that had once been a bus with