by Adam Hamdy
‘I don’t want to talk about it,’ she said at last. ‘I just want you to know I shouldn’t have done what I did to you.’
‘I appreciate it,’ Wollerton replied.
No one said anything else until they reached Ohio Avenue ten minutes later. Warehouses lined both sides of the street, which ran almost parallel to the Duamish Waterway. Those that backed onto the river were constructed of functional grey concrete, and were featureless apart from long corrugated steel canopies that covered the loading bays. An unbroken run of huge steel silos stood on the other side of the street. The address Ziad had given them was a concrete building at the very end of Ohio Avenue, where it met the waterway. Clifton parked in a loading bay fifty yards from their target. According the plans Leila had been able to obtain, the building had two entrances; one on the street and the other on the waterfront. The street entrance was a metal door next to a much larger roll shutter that offered access to the loading bay.
The neighbouring businesses were closed and the street was otherwise deserted. Brigitte checked the time: 9.07 p.m. The working day was long over, so there was minimal risk of them being troubled by witnesses.
‘What’s the plan?’ Wollerton asked.
‘Pearce told us to wait until he gets here,’ Clifton replied.
‘We can spitball,’ Wollerton responded.
‘Frontal,’ Brigitte replied. ‘Go through the door. Set the charges.’
‘Bold,’ Wollerton remarked. ‘But I don’t see any other option.’
Chapter 126
Ziad Malek sat on the toilet, shaking. They’d spent the day preparing for the night’s operation. He wasn’t in the loop, but he got the sense Elroy was getting close to finding another distributor. And tonight they would unleash the first of the patches on Seattle’s unsuspecting population. Ziad had spent much of the day trapped with his own thoughts and Essi’s ghost had visited him often. He tried to reason with her, to explain why she’d deserved her end, but when she challenged him about all the deaths he was about to cause, it became harder to argue with her. The suffering at Al Aqarab had been necessary to escape. It was payback for all the cruelty he’d experienced in the rotten prison.
The Meals Seattle attack, the assault on the community centre, all part of a rational revenge. Even Essi’s death, which brought him to the brink of tears every time he thought about it, had been justified. She’d betrayed him and taken another lover in his place. But this, what they were planning to do? These poor people had done nothing to deserve what was going to happen to them.
‘What have you done?’ Ziad asked aloud, and his voice echoed around the cubicle.
What have you done? Essi’s voice asked. What have you become?
Not the man I wanted to be, Ziad thought. What have I done?
He took out his phone and thought about calling the police, the FBI, Cresci, anyone who might stop the horror, but as he held the device, he thought of the patch on his shoulder. Why shouldn’t others share his fate?
You’re confused, Essi’s voice said. You need help.
No, Ziad replied inwardly. You want me to be weak.
He slipped the phone into his pocket and wiped the tears from his eyes. He pulled up his trousers, flushed the toilet, stepped out of the cubicle and went to the basin. He ran the taps, washed his hands and splashed water on his haunted face. He didn’t recognize the man who stared back at him, nor did he much like the look of him, but they were stuck with each other.
He’d just moved to the dryer when the men’s room door swung open.
‘Everything OK?’ Elroy asked. ‘I heard you talking to someone.’
‘Yeah,’ Ziad replied. ‘I’m good. Just couldn’t get the can to flush.’ It was a weak lie, but it was all he could think of.
‘It’s working now though?’ Elroy asked.
‘Yeah,’ Ziad said.
‘Good,’ Elroy remarked. ‘It’s time for us to go.’
He stepped forward and put a reassuring hand on Ziad’s shoulder.
‘Big picture, Ziad,’ he said. ‘Just think about the big picture.’
Don’t do it, Zee, Essi’s voice said, but he knew he couldn’t fight the inevitable. He was a monster and he had to stay with his own kind. Ziad nodded sadly and followed Elroy out.
Chapter 127
Pearce and Leila were approximately fifteen minutes from the target when his Ghostlink sounded.
‘Go ahead,’ he said.
‘A vehicle just left the location,’ Brigitte replied. ‘Navy-blue Chrysler minivan, license plate nine-five-four-Alpha-Delta-X-ray. Do you want us to follow?’
Pearce looked at Leila, who was monitoring the cell phone signal in the back of the van.
‘It’s on the move,’ she confirmed.
‘We’ll take it,’ Pearce told Brigitte.
‘We’ve got one heat signature at the location,’ she replied. ‘We should take it.’
Pearce thought for a moment. ‘OK,’ he conceded. ‘Be careful.’
‘Copy that,’ Brigitte acknowledged. ‘You too.’
‘They’re heading north,’ Leila said.
Pearce nodded and pulled to the side of the road. He allowed a run of cars to pass and then swung a U-turn, putting them on an intercept with the van.
Twenty minutes later, they had eyes on it. A Chrysler minivan with blacked-out windows.
‘We should alert the police,’ Leila suggested. ‘Have them pulled.’
Pearce nodded. ‘Phone it in.’
Leila used a burner to make the call. She put it on speaker.
‘Nine-one-one, what’s your emergency?’ the operator said.
‘I’m travelling north on Second Avenue between Lenora and Blanchard, and I’ve just seen a man flashing a gun. It looked like an assault rifle,’ Leila replied. ‘He was in a navy-blue Chrysler, license plate nine-five-four-A-D-X.’
‘Ma’am, can you stay on the line please?’ the operator asked.
‘Please hurry, I think he’s going to hurt someone.’ Leila ended the call. ‘Window please.’
Pearce lowered his window, while Leila used a cloth to wipe the phone. She leaned forward and dropped it outside, and Pearce heard it shatter against the road. He closed the window and kept his eyes peeled for police, but as the minutes went on, he grew increasingly surprised by the lack of response.
‘What the hell’s going on, Scott?’ Leila asked.
‘I don’t know,’ Pearce mused. ‘Maybe they’ve got another Hill on the payroll?’
The Chrysler turned right onto Broad Street, and Pearce followed. He saw the Space Needle directly ahead, its bulbous cap lit up against the night sky. The Chrysler continued north for a while and then pulled into an access road that led to the service areas behind the Lightstorm Arena, one of Seattle’s largest music venues. A large crowd was gathered outside the main entrance, waiting to be let inside, and a large banner advertised ‘Submission’ and listed a number of DJs.
‘They’re going to start tonight,’ Pearce said. ‘They’re going to put it on the street themselves.’ He looked at the young faces in the gathered crowd.‘They’re going to sentence those people to death,’ Pearce continued. ‘I have to get inside.’
Chapter 128
Lieutenant Joe Spinoza sat in his car and watched the crowds filing into the Lightstar Arena. There were still risks attached to mass gatherings, but everyone going inside the place was tested for coronavirus, and people, young people in particular, couldn’t be expected to huddle in their homes while their lives ticked by. There were those who complained about the dangers of such things, but Spinoza knew from bitter experience that life was one big gamble.
The storm had finally run out of anger and the rain had stopped. Wind still whipped the grey clouds across the sky, but the people queuing outside the vast arena no longer had to worry about getting soaked. A huge billboard above the entrance advertised the event as Submission and a tagline advised people to ‘submit yourself to the rhythm’. A playbill beneath the
tagline featured artists such as Sub Focus, Camo and Krooked, Netsky and Keeno. The names didn’t mean anything to Spinoza, who preferred old school bands like Pink Floyd and Led Zeppelin.
His radio crackled to life. ‘Command watch Lima-Alpha, this is dispatch.’
‘Go ahead,’ he responded.
‘We just got a report of a 10-32 near your location. Suspect vehicle is a navy-blue Chrysler minivan, license number nine-five-four-Alpha-Delta-X-ray,’ the dispatcher said. ‘Unknown caller, unidentified cell phone. Please advise.’
As watch commander and liaison for the event, Spinoza had ultimate responsibility for safety and security at the arena.
‘Let me check with venue security,’ he replied.
‘Copy that,’ the dispatcher acknowledged.
Spinoza opened the glove compartment and took out the cell phone he never wanted his colleagues to know about.
Elroy Lang was in loading bay four when one of his three phones rang. The muffled sound of a thumping bassline pulsed through the building like a jackhammer heartbeat, but the frenetic music wasn’t too loud in the service areas, so he could still hear the caller clearly when he answered the phone.
‘We just had a report of a gunman in your vehicle,’ Spinoza said.
After Evan Hill’s sudden death, Elroy had been forced to work with the resources available to him. Of all Hill’s recruits, Elroy had chosen Lieutenant Joe Spinoza because he exhibited the perfect combination of greed, cowardice and viciousness. He wasn’t as cunning as Hill, but that deficiency had its advantages. He was easier to manipulate and there was little chance of him ever seeing the big picture.
‘Probably a crank,’ Elroy said, but he suspected otherwise and inwardly questioned how anyone could have known about the vehicle. He looked at his companions. He had no doubts about Narong and Buck, but Ziad was troubled. Elroy had assumed he was suffering the angst of a man whose old self was slowly being destroyed, but might he have had an attack of conscience? Could he have called the police? Is that what he’d been doing in the men’s room?
‘Ziad,’ Elroy said. ‘Can I see your phone?’
Ziad produced the device and unlocked it before handing it over. There was nothing in the call history.
‘Thank you,’ Elroy said as he returned it. ‘Almost certainly a crank,’ he told Spinoza.
‘I said I’d check with the venue,’ Spinoza told him.
‘Well, let’s do that,’ Elroy said.
He turned to the security station, where Ziad, Narong and Buck were being given a cursory check by Paul Naylor, the head of venue security. As instructed, Naylor did not search the men’s bags, which were packed with patches. The minivan was parked in the loading bay and contained another six such bags to resupply Ziad, Narong and Buck when they ran out of the first batch of product.
Elroy approached Naylor and indicated his phone. ‘Lieutenant Spinoza wants to know if you’re happy with building security.’
Naylor looked at the two uniformed guards who staffed the security station. They had no idea of their boss’s true loyalties. ‘I hire the best people in the business,’ Naylor said, stroking the clueless workaday guards’ egos. ‘I’m very happy with the security arrangements here.’
‘Did you get that?’ Elroy asked.
‘Yeah,’ Spinoza replied.
‘Then you can report back to your headquarters,’ Elroy advised before hanging up.
‘You’re all good,’ Naylor said, waving Ziad, Narong and Buck into the arena.
‘We may need to get some more gear from the van later,’ Elroy remarked.
‘No problem,’ Naylor replied. ‘These men have been cleared to come and go,’ he told the two guards. He handed Elroy, Ziad, Buck and Narong all-area access passes, and they followed him into the building.
‘What happened at RPM?’ Naylor asked when they were out of earshot of the guards.
In addition to being head of venue security, Paul Naylor was a paid-up member of the Red Wolves.
‘We think it was the Salamovs or Cresci,’ Elroy lied. ‘Someone must have tipped them to what we’re doing.’
‘When we’re finished here, we’ve got to go after those sons of bitches,’ Naylor said.
‘Of course,’ Elroy responded. ‘In the meantime, Eddie Fletcher’s last wish was that you should help us convert some of these youngsters into customers.’
Naylor nodded. ‘Let’s get to it then.’
Chapter 129
Clifton, Brigitte and Wollerton congregated at the boot of the SUV. Clifton used a pair of infrared goggles to check the warehouse.
‘Still only one heat signature,’ he said, handing the goggles to Brigitte.
When she looked through them, she saw the figure of a man in a chair. ‘We take him out before we set the charges,’ she said flatly.
She shouldered two cases of CL-20 and Wollerton took the third. They inserted in-ear transceivers and Clifton did likewise.
‘I’ll let you know if he moves,’ he told them.
Brigitte grabbed an HK416 assault rifle and put four magazines in her belt. Wollerton opted for a Glock 19 and filled two of the pockets of his tactical jacket with clips.
‘Test one,’ Brigitte said.
‘Test two,’ Wollerton responded.
‘Test three,’ Clifton replied. ‘We’re good to go.’
Brigitte and Wollerton set off for the unit, hugging the building line as they jogged along the street. When they reached the metal door, Brigitte reached into one of the pouches on her belt for a tiny quantity of explosive putty and a detonator. She pressed the putty into the lock, set the detonator, and she and Wollerton stepped back and turned away as the device went off. The tiny explosive detonated with a bang, and the door swung inwards.
‘He’s on the move,’ Clifton advised them.
Brigitte was first through the door. Wollerton followed her into an anteroom that was separated from the rest of the unit by frosted glass. Brigitte saw the shadow of a man running across the warehouse before it disappeared behind a large solid object.
‘He’s at the rear,’ Clifton advised.
She signalled Wollerton to move on, and he nodded. The two of them crept through the anteroom to the door that led to the warehouse.
Brigitte didn’t know whether it was the fentanyl or if at some level she already considered herself dead, but her heart wasn’t racing as it normally would, and instead of nervous adrenalin, she felt completely calm.
She held the door open for Wollerton and followed him into the main storage area. The warehouse was full of crates like the one she and Pearce had recovered from the Elite Voyager. There must have been about 1500 of them, stacked twelve high. Each one represented a twenty-year supply of patches. But it was bad enough having just one box in the world. Much as she knew she needed the stuff to live, Brigitte didn’t want to run the risk of this poison hitting the streets. If Huxley Blaine Carter’s people couldn’t synthesize a replacement or a cure in the time one box would give her . . . well, she’d have to cope with the consequences.
Brigitte put down the explosive charges and Wollerton did likewise, and they swept the space. They split up to circle the boxes in different directions. Wollerton took the right side and Brigitte the left.
She was halfway down when she heard a couple of gunshots, followed by a scuffle. She ran round the stacks of boxes and when she turned the second corner, she saw Wollerton struggling with a lean, muscular man with long straight hair. They’d obviously disarmed each other; their weapons were on the warehouse floor a few feet away. She immediately noticed the man was wearing latex gloves and realized he was trying to touch Wollerton with the toxin.
Brigitte raced towards the pair and yanked the assailant away. Freed of the man’s weight, Wollerton stumbled back and fell over. The assailant turned to face Brigitte and reached a gloved hand out and touched her neck. She felt the clamminess of the toxin and stared at her attacker, who eyed her with a look of triumph.
Victory
turned to uncertainty and then dismay as he realized the toxin was having no effect. Brigitte levelled her HK416 at the man’s chest and pulled the trigger. He jerked violently when a burst of bullets hit him. He staggered as blood spread from the wound, and fell backwards.
‘Thanks,’ Wollerton said. ‘You OK?’
Brigitte nodded.
‘I thought he got you,’ Wollerton remarked.
Brigitte swiftly wiped her neck with her gloved hand. ‘No,’ she said. ‘He just missed.’ She pointed to the CL-20 cases. ‘I’ll check the rest of the building. You set the charges.’
Brigitte moved towards the large roll shutter that fronted the waterway. She could see a jetty through windows either side of the shutter, but there were no vessels at the moorings. A doorway to her left took her into a corridor that ran along the back of the building. She found a kitchen and a ladies’ room, both of which were empty. There was no one in the men’s room either. When Brigitte caught sight of herself in the mirror, she was dismayed by how much she’d changed. She looked gaunt and traumatized, as though all the joy of life had been drained from her.
‘We’re set,’ Wollerton’s voice sounded in her earpiece.
Brigitte turned away from her troubling reflection and hurried towards the exit.
Six minutes later, they were sitting in Clifton’s BMW watching the former NSA director use the infrared field goggles to survey the surrounding buildings for people.
‘They’re empty,’ he said.
‘Let’s go then,’ Wollerton told him.
He started the car and pulled a U-turn. As they drove away, Brigitte produced a remote detonator. She glanced over her shoulder at Wollerton, who nodded. He looked satisfied with a successful mission, but he couldn’t have known she was about to destroy a huge cache of the only thing keeping her alive. Feeling conflicted and afraid, Brigitte flipped the safety and turned the detonator key. A huge explosion rocked the neighbourhood and a shockwave buffeted the car. When she looked through the rear windscreen, she saw a fireball rise into the sky.
