by Adam Hamdy
Chapter 130
Thousands of people threw their hands in the air and screamed when a British MC told them to ‘make some noise for Sub Focus.’
A blond DJ in his mid-thirties took to a raised platform at the centre of a huge stage, and started playing a thumping drum and bass track that sent the crowd wild. They started dancing to 180 beats per minute, and the MC whipped up their energy with a freestyle rap over the tune. Huge LED screens displayed a rapidly changing set of psychedelic patterns and a pulsating laser show shot colours over the vast auditorium.
‘They won’t be on the dance floor. Too hard to do business,’ Pearce said. ‘Check the access corridors.’
He watched the image on screen change as the tiny drone banked left and flew towards an open doorway. He and Leila had parked a block from the venue and had deployed a tiny bumble bee drone to infiltrate the arena.
The device was the type of equipment he expected to see at Six. It had crawled along the computer console in the back of the van like a real insect before Leila had piloted it into the air and sent it through the van’s open windows.
Rather than the evacuated crowd they’d hoped to see following their warning to the police, the drone had showed them almost-empty streets around the arena. A handful of cops and security guards milled around First Avenue, as the last few latecomers had hurried to join the line of stragglers snaking into the venue. Leila’s call to the police had been futile.
‘Looks like the cops didn’t take you seriously,’ Pearce had observed. ‘Or they’ve got others on their payroll.’
Leila had piloted the drone into the building and flown it into the huge, vaulted space where thousands danced to the pounding beat.
Now, the tiny craft swept along the south access corridor, which ran parallel to the bottom end of the dance floor and was home to food and drink concessions and the toilets. With most dancing, the corridor was quiet, but there were still a few dozen people in every section, chatting, drinking, and milling around. Pearce saw a couple of guys surreptitiously slip pills into their mouths before heading into the arena.
‘There.’ Leila indicated a group of men coming towards the drone.
Pearce recognized Ziad, Elroy and Narong Angsakul, but the other two men were unfamiliar. Narong, Ziad and one of the others, a large man with the face of a fighter, had messenger bags slung over their shoulders, and Pearce had no doubt about the poison they contained.
‘Stay on them,’ he said. ‘I’m going in.’
‘Test the new eyes before you go,’ Leila suggested.
Pearce nodded and produced the tiny contact lens case she’d given him after they’d parked. He opened it and prodded one of the lenses until it stuck to his fingertip. He pressed it into his eye and one of the screens in the back of the van sprang to life and displayed what Pearce was seeing. It was unnerving to watch the screen showing him watching the screen, so he looked away from the infinity pattern and focused on Leila.
‘Looking good. You’ll need an earpiece too,’ Leila said, handing him a tiny device which he slipped inside his ear.
He opened the side door and jumped into the street. The rain might have stopped, but the sky was still dark with thick cloud, and a fresh wind hinted the storm might not be over.
‘Be careful, Scott,’ Leila said.
He nodded. Unlike the men he was going to face, he didn’t have the time or connections to circumvent building security, and was going in unarmed.
‘Always,’ he assured Leila, before sliding the door shut.
Chapter 131
‘They’ve split up,’ Leila said, as Pearce was tested for coronavirus and then patted down by a security guard.
The man waved him forward and he showed his ticket to a venue steward, who allowed him into the arena.
‘Just tell me where,’ Pearce said as he hurried along the south access corridor.
The place smelled of sweat and cheap beer, but the volume of the music almost drowned out the other senses.
‘Third set of men’s toilets on the west corridor,’ Leila replied.
Pearce broke into a jog and wove between groups of teenagers and twenty-somethings who’d gathered around the concessions or were queuing for the toilets. He turned right and ran along the west corridor until he found the third set of toilets.
‘The two bigger guys are in there,’ Leila said.
Pearce looked up, but couldn’t see the drone that gave her eyes on him. Ignoring the complaints of the guys in the short queue, Pearce pushed his way into the busy men’s room. The grim stench of urine hit him the moment he entered, and he saw an unbroken line of men at the urinals. A couple of guys hung around the occupied stalls, waiting their turn, and a few men washed their hands at a line of basins. One of the men who’d been walking with Ziad and Elroy was standing in the corner, behind the door. He wore a badge that identified him as Paul Naylor, the head of venue security.
‘Can I help you?’ he asked.
‘Where is he?’ Pearce responded, as he ran along the line of cubicles, ducking down to peer beneath each door. He heard movement behind him, and turned to see Naylor bearing down on him with an extendable baton in his hand.
Pearce dodged the metal tip as it whipped out and sliced the air where his head had been, and he ran at Naylor, coming inside his reach and throwing a combination of slaps and punches that disorientated and dazed the man. Using an Aikido morote dori, Pearce grabbed Naylor’s wrist, twisted it back and forced him to release the baton. Pearce caught the weapon as it fell and hammered it into Naylor’s face, knocking him cold.
Pearce didn’t pause for breath. As the other patrons started edging their way out of the men’s room, he continued along the stalls and found what he was looking for in the penultimate cubicle; three pairs of shoes. When he moved closer to the door, he heard a voice say, ‘Probably just a scuffle. Are you interested or what?’
‘How much?’ another voice asked.
‘No charge. If you like what I’ve got, my number’s on the pack. Just call for more.’
Pearce stepped back and kicked the door in. It clattered open and hit three men. Pearce recognized the closest as the guy who’d been with Ziad and Elroy. He was a huge, muscular man with eyes devoid of any humanity. The other two occupants were teenagers and they both held patches wrapped in wax paper.
The huge man pulled a gun from the messenger bag slung over his shoulder, but Pearce was too fast and barged into the cubicle. He sent the big man hurtling into the divider, which collapsed, and they tumbled into the next cubicle and onto the unsuspecting occupant, who cried out.
Pearce hit the huge man with the baton, and the guy stumbled out of the cubicle swinging his gun round. Pearce lashed out with the baton, struck his opponent’s arm, and the gun flew clear and clattered across the tiles into another cubicle. Men scattered, running from the room fearfully as Pearce and the huge man traded blows.
Pearce feinted with his left, and the man ducked, bringing him within range of the baton. Pearce hit him and he staggered back, dazed, but quickly came to his senses and lashed out with a kick that connected with Pearce’s right fist and sent the baton flying.
‘You’ve got company,’ Leila said. ‘Security joining in about twenty.’
‘You can’t stop us,’ the big man said. ‘We’re inevitable.’
He lunged forward with a combination of punches that Pearce dodged and deflected. The guy was a proficient street brawler, nothing more.
Pearce ducked a wild punch and drove his fist into the man’s ribs, before striking his chin with a left that almost knocked him off his feet. As the man staggered back, Pearce pressed his advantage and kicked him in the gut. When he crumpled, Pearce drove a fist into the bridge of his nose and the giant collapsed.
Pearce heard a commotion and heavy footsteps outside the men’s room. He pulled the messenger bag from the man’s shoulder and cast around for the baton or the fallen pistol, but he couldn’t see either.
‘Move, move,
’ a voice outside said urgently. Pearce guessed it was one of the approaching security guards and knew he was out of time.
He ran from the men’s room and pushed his way through the crowd that had gathered in the corridor outside.
‘Thank god you’re here,’ he said to the lead security guard. ‘They’re going to kill each other.’
As the security guards rushed into the men’s room, Pearce broke through the edge of the crowd and saw the two teenagers who’d been in the cubicle. They were hurrying from the scene and Pearce ran to catch them.
‘Give it up,’ he said, confronting them.
‘What?’ one of them ventured.
‘I don’t have time. You think it’s fentanyl, but that man gave you a poison that will kill you. He wasn’t a drug dealer. He was a terrorist and unless you want to die, you’ll give me those patches now.’
The teenagers exchanged fearful looks.
‘Not worth the aggro, bro,’ one said to the other, before they both ferreted in their pockets for the patches and handed them over.
‘What have you got?’ Pearce asked, as the two frightened teens hurried away.
‘I’m working on it,’ Leila replied. ‘I can’t find the others.’
The security guards emerged from the men’s room and scanned the corridor. Pearce saw members of the crowd gesture at him, and he set off as the guards started in his direction. He went through one of the large access doors into the main arena.
‘I’m catching heat here,’ Pearce remarked.
‘I said I’m working on it,’ Leila replied. ‘You’ve got a big enough crowd. Lose yourself.’
Chapter 132
Pearce ran into the huge arena. The pounding music was almost painfully loud and the vast space was packed with thousands of people dancing wildly. The smell of sweat and lust filled the ripe air. Pearce skirted the edge of the crowd and scanned the gallery of faces that were lit by the intermittent lasers and staccato lights.
‘What have you got?’ he asked.
‘To your right. Two o’clock,’ Leila said, and Pearce pushed into the crowd.
After a few steps he saw a familiar face in the thronging mass. Ziad Malek was watching the people around him. Pearce recognized the expression on the man’s face; doubt. He was having second thoughts. Pearce had no such trouble. He saw the satchel hanging over Ziad’s shoulder and headed straight for him.
Ziad registered Pearce when he was a few paces away, and tried to back off, but the crowd hemmed him in.
‘I don’t want to hurt you,’ Pearce shouted over the thumping bassline. ‘And I don’t think you really want to be here.’
It was true. Ziad’s eyes were brimming and his face came alive with anguish.
‘Elroy Lang has used you,’ Pearce said. He produced the letter he’d been carrying with him ever since he’d left Deni Salamov’s house. ‘Essi Salamov wanted you to have this.’
Ziad looked at the envelope and registered the handwriting. He wiped away a tear as Pearce stepped forward and placed the envelope in his left hand. Ziad stood frozen for a moment while the world danced around him. He looked at the letter as though it might be tainted.
‘She wouldn’t want you to do this,’ Pearce told him, and he gently reached for the strap of the satchel. ‘It’s OK,’ he assured Ziad as he slipped the bag off the man’s shoulder and slung it over his own, beside the one he’d taken off the man in the bathroom.
‘Where’s the last bag?’ Pearce asked as he backed away.
‘I’ve got it,’ Leila replied. ‘To your nine, at the heart of the crowd.’
As Pearce pushed through the mass of dancers, he glanced over his shoulder and saw that Ziad Malek had opened the letter and started to read.
Chapter 133
Elroy Lang heard everything go wrong. Buck’s in-ear transceiver broadcast the sounds of him being attacked in the men’s room. Ziad had crumbled like a simpering wretch. Everything they’d worked for was at risk. All their careful plans to use the boy Ziad to take over the Salamovs’ distribution connections, all the work that had gone into developing and manufacturing the product in sufficient quantity, years of effort to perpetrate an attack that would have global resonance and now he and Narong were wandering around a concert trying to persuade American youths to willingly take poison. Despite his talk of revolutions coming from small beginnings, this felt like a failure, and it seemed to have been caused by one man.
Elroy and Narong were trying to push their way across the huge arena. Elroy stopped suddenly when he caught sight of Scott Pearce, and Narong followed his gaze.
Elroy stepped towards his companion, and drew as close as a lover as he spoke into Narong’s ear. ‘That man’s name is Scott Pearce. He worked for MI6. When you joined us, we made a promise to help you find your brother’s killer. There he is.’
Narong looked at Elroy in disbelief.
‘That’s him. I swear a blood oath of honour,’ Elroy assured him. ‘He followed you from Thailand.’
Elroy saw anger flare in Narong’s eyes. His whole being seemed to come alive with hatred.
‘He was in Islamabad. He was the one who killed Chatri, your brother,’ Elroy said.
Narong didn’t wait to hear any more, and as Elroy pushed through the crowd, he saw Narong reaching into his messenger bag for his gloves.
‘Be careful,’ Leila said, her voice reaching Pearce through his in-ear transceiver. ‘Elroy is moving on. Narong is at your eleven o’clock.’
Pearce turned, and through the crowd he saw Narong Angsakul eyeing him over the heads of the frenetic dancers.
‘You’ve got another problem,’ Leila said. ‘Your six.’
Pearce glanced behind him to see venue security guards fanning across the dance floor, heading towards him. They passed Ziad Malek, who was rooted to the spot, letter in hand, tears streaming down his face. Pearce knew the contents of the letter gave the man no room to doubt the nature of his betrayal of Essi and her family. Ziad wept freely. He caught Pearce’s eye and hurried away, shamefaced. He didn’t look back as he pushed his way towards the exit.
‘Scott Pearce,’ a voice said.
Pearce turned to Elroy Lang. He wore a suit, but the neck of his shirt was wide open and Pearce saw tattoos and scars on his chest. His eyes had the haunted emptiness of a man who’d seen too much.
‘You were an irritation,’ Elroy said. ‘But now it seems you’ve become a threat.’
‘Elroy Lang,’ Pearce said above the music. ‘Is that your real name?’
The man broke into a broad smile. ‘A threat indeed.’
‘I’ve been looking for your friend for years.’ Pearce nodded at Narong.
‘And he has been looking for you. You killed his brother,’ Elroy said. ‘But we declined to tell him who you were. Until now.’
‘When it was useful,’ Pearce remarked. ‘Who the hell do you work for? SVR?’
Elroy scoffed. ‘You have no idea what you’re dealing with.’
‘Hasn’t stopped me winning though.’
‘Winning?’ Elroy replied. ‘You don’t even know what game you’re playing.’ He hesitated. ‘Goodbye, Mr Pearce,’ he said, walking away.
Pearce reached out to grab him, but found himself being pulled back. He looked round to see two security guards had hold of him. He elbowed one and heel-kicked the other. Pearce broke free, but Elroy had vanished into the crowd. He spotted Narong, who kept glancing over his shoulder as he pressed through the mass of dancers. Pearce gave chase and barged through the arena, earning himself curses and abuse from the people he knocked over. The security guards followed, but Pearce was moving more quickly and closed the gap on Narong.
The assassin looked back, his murderous eyes blazing, and when he saw how close Pearce was, he grabbed a young reveller and pulled her in front of him with one arm. She protested but he tightened his grip, and the people immediately around them backed away, creating space for Narong and his hostage.
Narong raised his other hand, an
d Pearce saw the single latex glove move towards the fearful woman’s face. The Thai said something, inaudible over the music, but Pearce didn’t need to hear the man’s words to understand their meaning.
One more step and she dies.
Chapter 134
Pearce glanced round to see four security guards closing. He couldn’t risk the woman’s life, and raised his hands in surrender. Narong Angsakul would have to wait for another day.
‘What are you doing?’ Leila asked.
‘It’s too dangerous,’ Pearce replied.
Rather than flee, Narong stood rooted to the spot and eyed Pearce, clearly conflicted. This was the man whose brother he’d killed, and Pearce realized Narong was trying to choose between escape and this opportunity for revenge. Pearce could only imagine what Elroy had told Narong about how his brother had died, and what evil he’d made the man do on the promise he’d help him identify Chatri’s killer. It made Pearce think of everything Leila had done in the belief Huxley Blaine Carter would help her find her sister. Pearce recalled the Buddhist truth from his study of philosophy; trishna, craving, is the root of suffering. People often misquoted it as ‘desire’, but trishna was more than that. It was obsession. Find out what someone craves and you can make them do almost anything. What things had Narong done on the promise his craving would one day be sated?
Pearce felt strong arms grab him, and when the security guards started to pull him away, he saw Narong reach a decision. Maybe it was the fear of never having another opportunity, or perhaps his hatred was too powerful to let him leave. Whatever the motivation, Narong touched his glove to the woman’s cheek, and discarded her like a used sweet wrapper.
As she fell away, one of the men she’d been dancing with made a move for Narong, but the assassin blocked the lunge, punched the man in the face and touched his bare arm with the glove.
