Red Wolves

by Adam Hamdy

Reznor shook his head. ‘Shit,’ he said. ‘That explains it.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘How they could sell it so cheap,’ Reznor answered.

  ‘Who?’ Pearce asked.

  Reznor ignored the question and got to his feet. ‘We got a fuckin’ problem,’ he said to Scruffy. ‘Lock the place down and tell the guys to—’

  He stopped talking the instant he heard the rattle of automatic gunfire. Pearce felt the sharp edge of fear scrape his gut.

  Rasul had arrived.

  Chapter 64

  ‘Everyone up!’ Reznor yelled at his men. ‘And you,’ he said, turning to Pearce. ‘You’re coming with me. You’re leverage.’

  ‘They hardly know me,’ Pearce replied. ‘I’m expendable.’

  ‘We’ll see.’ Reznor nodded at Scruffy, who grabbed Pearce.

  It was an amateur move because it brought him within reach of Pearce’s fist, which came down like a hammer on the man’s clavicle. Breaking the bone required relatively little force, but generated a tremendous amount of pain. Scruffy yelped and doubled over, crying. Pearce grabbed his confiscated pistol from the man’s waistband and levelled it at Reznor.

  ‘Tell your men to stand down,’ Pearce commanded. ‘We can settle this peacefully.’

  ‘That sound peaceful to you?’ Reznor asked, indicating the gunfire that came from beyond the door.

  Pearce scanned the hostile faces of the East Hill Mob, but kept his weapon trained on Reznor. This situation had all the signs of spiralling out of control.

  ‘You need to leave, Scott,’ Leila said.

  ‘Working on it,’ Pearce muttered quietly.

  Ziad hung back as Rasul and the others fought their way into the warehouse. Fought was the wrong word, because the kitchen workers were civilians and it was more like a slaughter. When Ziad had lost sight of the Salamov gang and was satisfied no one would notice his absence, he holstered his machine pistol and ran back the way he’d come, through the lobby, past the dead men by the counter, into the car park and past the now unmanned gatehouse. He jogged down the street to a brown van with blacked-out windows, and opened the side door to be greeted by Awut, his taciturn housemate. The lithe Thai man was in his customary vest and shorts but a large tray-style remote control hung from his neck. Ziad had texted the man earlier in the day, letting him know Rasul would be launching an assault on the East Hill Mob and the notice had given Awut time to get ready. Ziad had no idea whether Elroy Lang and the Red Wolves had sold the East Hill Mob the stolen heroin, but the Thai assassin certainly knew all he needed to know about the gang’s operations.

  ‘Are they inside?’ Awut asked.

  Ziad nodded.

  ‘Good,’ Awut said. ‘Stand back.’

  Ziad moved aside and Awut climbed out of the van. He flipped a switch on the remote and Ziad heard something stir within the van. It sounded like a swarm of huge, angry wasps. Awut manipulated the remote control and five drones flew from the van, all linked in a data daisy chain, the trailing four precisely tracking the leader’s flightpath. Awut watched the remote’s inbuilt screen, which broadcast footage from the camera on the lead drone.

  Ziad couldn’t take his eyes off the insectoid devices as they buzzed over the wire fence and headed for the warehouse entrance, which he’d remembered to leave open as instructed. The speeding devices would deliver the first part of his revenge against the Salamovs.

  Chapter 65

  ‘Put the gun down,’ a voice said, and Pearce looked across the room to see a mountain of a man targeting him with an AR-15.

  Pearce kept his pistol aimed at Reznor’s face. ‘No can do.’

  The brief exchange was cut short when the security door flew open and the two gate guards were pushed inside by Rasul and his men, who burst into the room waving their guns and shouting wildly.

  ‘Execute him,’ Rasul shouted at Pearce when he caught sight of Reznor at the end of Pearce’s gun. ‘One of the others will tell us where our product is.’

  ‘This is turning ugly,’ Leila said into Pearce’s ear. ‘You want me to call the cops?’

  ‘No,’ Pearce said. He registered Rasul’s disappointment at being refused. ‘We can do this without anyone getting hurt.’

  Pearce heard a faint buzzing. It rapidly grew louder and he saw a flight of drones race along the corridor.

  ‘Shut the door!’ he yelled, but it was too late.

  The lead drone swept into the room and the others quickly followed. Rasul, Reznor and their men were puzzled, but Pearce knew exactly what the devices were; mechanical angels of death. He recognized the metal canisters that clung to their undercarriages, replicas of the one used in Ziad’s escape from Al Aqarab. Pearce looked around, searching for the man, but he was nowhere to be seen.

  ‘Run,’ Pearce yelled, grabbing Rasul and pushing him forward.

  Rasul hesitated and looked up in amazement as the canisters detonated.

  ‘Hold your breath,’ Pearce said, as white powder fell from on high.

  Most of the men didn’t hear him over the hubbub of panic and the sound of the drones, but Rasul and Reznor were close enough to heed the advice and took deep breaths before the dust settled on them.

  ‘Get out of there, Scott,’ Leila urged.

  Pearce bundled Rasul and Reznor forwards as men fell all around them, choking as the white powder did its foul work. Pearce tried to shut out the awful sounds of death as he ran along the corridor, trailed by the two gangster princes. He glanced over his shoulder at the gruesome sight of men falling, clawing at their throats, unable to breathe. Rasul and Reznor also registered the horror and their eyes bulged with fear. Pearce was worried about their clothes, which were covered in the lethal powder. He didn’t know how much was a fatal dose, and there was no way he could be sure he wouldn’t inhale some when his burning lungs finally forced him to take a breath.

  He sprinted through the warehouse, which was full of dead kitchen workers. Rasul and his men had executed them all. Pearce’s lungs were on fire, and his muscles were getting heavy and tight, but he couldn’t take a breath. He mustn’t. He made it through the lobby, where there were more bodies, and burst out of the building. He was about to start across the car park when he had an idea, but he was distracted by a terrible sound to his rear. He looked round to see Reznor had taken a breath and was now rooted to the spot, clutching his neck, gasping for air. Rasul was gripped by fear and his eyes were almost popping from their sockets with the desperate need to breathe.

  Pearce grabbed him and pulled him towards the edge of the car park. They ran to the high fence that separated them from the waterway. Pearce started climbing and Rasul followed. Every inch of Pearce’s body burned with the urge to take what should have been a life-giving breath, but he had to resist. He trembled and his vision shrank to a tunnel. He mustn’t pass out. He’d fall and his breathing would resume automatically, killing him before he ever regained consciousness. He was almost at the top of the fence, and Rasul was a couple of feet behind.

  Pearce reached for the metal bar that capped the wire, but he didn’t have the strength to pull himself over, and fumbled weakly.

  ‘Come on, Scott!’ Leila yelled in his ear. ‘You get over there! Yala! Ya hayawan. Move it, soldier!’

  Pearce wanted to laugh at Leila’s impression of a drill instructor, but he could only do that if he survived. With an almighty effort, he grabbed the top bar and hauled himself up and over the fence. He fell down the other side and hit the concrete bank on his way into the river. He swallowed the pain of impact, resisted the instinctive urge to cry out, bounced off the hard stone and plunged into the cold dark water below.

  Chapter 66

  Ziad looked over Awut’s shoulder as he piloted the drones through the warehouse. The video screen displayed nothing but twisted bodies. Rasul and his men had died terrible deaths, and Ziad felt a strange combination of pride and shame. His vengeance was justified, but he had become a monster. He wondered if Awut harboured such conflicted feeling
s. The man’s face was emotionless, focused like a concert pianist at a Steinway. Ziad had been partly avenged, and at the same time they’d removed much of the Salamov organization and most of the East Hill Mob, making the next stage of their plan a little easier.

  ‘I’m going to bring them back,’ Awut said, and Ziad produced a filtered surgical mask from his pocket and put it on.

  He was paranoid about being exposed to the toxin, but Awut was unconcerned and did nothing to cover his face. According to Elroy and Awut, XTX reacted with air to become inert and undetectable in a matter of minutes.

  Ziad watched the screen and saw another body outside. It was Reznor, one of the East Hill Mob’s leaders.

  ‘Did any escape?’ Ziad asked. It had been a confusing, macabre scene and he’d lost track of how many had died in the cloud of powder. ‘Go back and check,’ he told Awut.

  The pilot shook his head, and when he registered the sound of distant sirens, Ziad understood why. Awut flew the drones back to the van. There were no visible signs of the toxin on the machines, but Ziad was still cautious as he and Awut gathered them up and put them inside. Ziad climbed behind the wheel and Awut jumped in beside him and they drove away before the first police cars arrived.

  Chapter 67

  Leila was trembling. She’d experienced the horror of war, but what she’d seen in that warehouse was truly grotesque. She’d burned with furious will, turning her mind to Pearce, as though lending him her spirit might have helped him survive. Watching him flee, seeing the terror on Rasul Salamov’s face, the gruesome death of Reznor, Leila hadn’t drawn a breath until Pearce had tumbled into the murky water. She looked at the screen which displayed the transmission from his surveillance glasses. It was blank, and there was nothing on the audio channels. Had he lost the glasses? Were they at the bottom of the river? Was he dead?

  Leila couldn’t let herself think such a thing. She’d been here before, when he’d been taken by Black Thirteen. Pearce was the one thing in her life she could count on. He was the closest she had to a friend, but like everyone else she’d cared about, one day he’d be gone. Perhaps today was that day? She shook the thought from her mind, got to her feet, grabbed her cane and hurried from the motel room.

  By the time she arrived at Fontanelle Street, the Meals Seattle warehouse had become a major crime scene. When she’d seen the unfolding horror, Leila had ignored Pearce’s instruction and had called the police. They were still arriving when she turned up, a small army of them, accompanied by news crews who’d got hold of the breaking story. Leila was waved away from the scene by a uniformed cop, who indicated she should go back. She turned left, drove a short distance up an access road and parked by a loading dock on the very edge of the Duwamish Waterway. She climbed out of the Chevy and started towards the warehouse, scanning the sage-green water, which flowed north. She studied the banks for any sign of Pearce and kept an eye out for clues he’d survived. She saw a shape near the opposite bank. It was moving with the current and looked like the shoulder and neck of a man lying face down in the water, but as it drew level, Leila realized her desperate mind was playing tricks; it was a piece of driftwood.

  She carried on and was soon on Fontanelle Street. She skirted the gathering crowd and went east, keeping as close as she could to the river. She crossed the street and her path was blocked by the warehouse’s wire fence. To her right was the gatehouse, which was now staffed by two police officers, who were controlling the flow of police vehicles onto the site. Another half dozen uniformed cops were maintaining a perimeter, holding reporters and local gawkers at bay. Leila heard the mutter of rumour and speculation ripple through the assembled crowd. She walked along the fence line and leaned over the low wall that marked the riverbank. Pearce had hit it on his way into the water, and she tried to suppress her fears that it had knocked him unconscious. She looked along the length of the wall, but there was no sign of Pearce anywhere. However, she did see a face she recognized. Detective Evan Hill, the policeman who’d so rudely dismissed her questions about Richie Cutter’s death, stood by a mobile command unit and briefed four people in hazmat suits. By Leila’s reckoning, the toxin would have become harmless by now, but the police couldn’t have known that and were rightly being cautious. Leila had warned the 911 operator a chemical agent had been deployed on site.

  Beyond Evan Hill’s group, a pair of men in hazmat suits were erecting an isolation tent over Reznor’s body. When Hill finished his briefing, he watched the four officers enter the building, before he turned and took a deep breath. Leila recognized the gesture. It was a pause, a moment of calm before the next step in managing the crisis. She felt a pang of sympathy for the man, but that dissipated when he looked up and caught Leila watching him. She registered the recognition in his eyes. Time to go, she thought. There was nothing useful she could do here. Pearce was either at the bottom of the river, or he was long gone. She’d check the local hospitals and police reports for any information on people recovered from the waterway.

  Leila started walking back towards the car, but sensed commotion as she made her way along Fontanelle Street. She looked over her shoulder to see the officers at the perimeter listening to their radios. Her eyes darted beyond them, past the fence to Detective Hill, who was running in her direction, speaking into his handheld radio. Leila picked up the pace when she saw two of the officers spot her. They pushed their way through the crowd.

  ‘Hey, you!’ the nearest cop yelled.

  Leila pretended not to hear, and hurried on, but her legs wouldn’t give her the speed she longed for, and she realized her efforts were futile when she felt a strong hand on her upper arm.

  ‘Excuse me, miss.’

  The second officer took hold of her other arm. ‘You’re going to have to come with us.’

  ‘Why? What for? Am I under arrest?’ Leila asked, playing up her innocence.

  ‘Only if you resist,’ the first cop said.

  Detective Hill jogged over. ‘A good cop never ignores a hunch,’ he told Leila. ‘Something about you felt wrong. I called Il Giustizia, that magazine you said you work for. They’ve never heard of Maria Grattan.’

  Leila was puzzled. Il Giustizia was a fictitious magazine she’d set up with a fake website and a virtual office. If Hill had called it, the rent-a-receptionist would have responded with a standard script and said Maria Grattan was away on assignment. Leila studied the man, wondering why he was lying.

  ‘Take her in,’ Hill said to the uniforms, and they pulled Leila towards a nearby patrol car.

  Chapter 68

  Wollerton tapped the lid of his coffee cup and checked the clock behind the counter. He’d been waiting for two hours. He drained his tepid flat white, exited the small Starbucks concession, and retraced his steps through the arrivals hall, weaving through crowds of travellers.

  He’d regrouped in London, where his first instinct had been to go to Aberdyfi to see his children. He longed to hold them, to tell them he missed them and loved them, but his friends’ lives were at stake. He had to see the mission through, but once it was over, he and Esther would have to reach a new understanding. Shock and self-pity had led him to simply accept what she’d done, but she had no right to take his children away.

  While in London, he’d got rid of the false identities Brigitte Attali had provided and had picked up a new passport from an old service contact. He hoped Leila and Pearce had heeded his warning, but had received no communication from them since the briefest of acknowledgements of his original email. It wasn’t unusual to go into lockdown if an asset was compromised but it was worrying that they hadn’t responded to the email he’d sent when he’d arrived in Seattle two hours earlier.

  He reached a row of Internet terminals outside a gift shop and sat down at one that was tucked against a wall. He fed a five-dollar bill into the machine, which came to life. He used a proxy server to access the secure email address he, Leila and Pearce used, but the inbox was empty and there was nothing in the drafts folder.
He tried to stop his mind going to dark places. Pearce and Leila must be occupied. There was no reason to think anything bad had happened to them.

  No reason other than Brigitte Attali’s treachery, he thought darkly.

  She was going to pay, no matter what, but if anything had happened to Pearce and Leila, the price would rise.

  Wollerton looked around, pondering his next move. He couldn’t risk making contact with Huxley Blaine Carter or anyone who worked for him, and he didn’t have any connections in Seattle. He got to his feet and joined the flow of travellers heading for the exit. He’d have to figure out a way to find Leila and Pearce.

  Chapter 69

  Brigitte Attali was breathless and clammy by the time she reached the apartment. She shut the door and leaned against it, trying not to panic. She was dead. Her body was permanently broken and should be in the ground. The only thing keeping it going was the cursed patch that clung to her arm. But what if it stopped working? What if they’d miscalculated the dose? What if the breathlessness she was experiencing wasn’t a symptom of her body adjusting to the profound change in her endocrinal system? What if it was the first sign of her lungs shutting down?

  Brigitte bit back a profound sense of hysteria and forced herself to choke down the tears that threatened a deluge. She knew she was being watched. The apartment Echo had arranged for them was rife with surveillance and she would not give them the satisfaction of seeing her cry.

  She went to the living room table, reached into her holdall and slipped the CSS counter-surveillance device into her palm. She took the device onto the balcony and switched it on. A moment later, it came to life and, as it had done when she’d checked it on their arrival, it identified the location of every device giving off a cellular or radio signal. The 3D image of the apartment looked almost exactly the same as before, only this time, in addition to the cameras and bugs the device had previously located, it showed a new one implanted in her. Brigitte used the device to pinpoint the bug’s location: it was in her leg. She took down her trousers and felt behind her left thigh. She touched the tiny ridges of a sewn wound. They’d implanted a tracking device to monitor her every move.