The man walked around Simon revealing himself as Naas Visser.
“You fokking poephol, Ashcroft! You fokking murdered Ndulu! You fokking kill all my friends.”
His fist swung again, rattling Simon’s skull sending him closer to the ground. The world spun and he couldn’t think straight. Spots flashed in his vision. A few more blows like that and Simon would be dead or unconscious.
“Don’t kill him bro,” Gridley-Brooks commanded, sounding very different to the AI version Simon had been dealing with of late, more sinister and much angrier. “We need Ashcroft intact until we get our money back.”
“I’m going to fokking kill you eventually,” Visser raged as Simon tried to stand. “Your only hope is I do it quick.” He spat on Simon as he pushed him back down onto his knees. Simon stayed down, knowing that if he tried to get up again, he’d suffer further beating, which he could ill afford.
Matondkar stepped forward, a smug expression etched on his face. “You didn’t know we were working together, did you Cooper? Or should I say Ashpool, or really, Ashcroft?”
“No. You got me there.”
Simon imagined what had brought his former associates together, but it wasn’t difficult to guess. Shatterhand had orchestrated events and false communications to unite each group under a single cause: to get rich through Simon’s demise.
Simon made eye contact with Clementine and gave a smile, which he hoped said to her, ‘he had this situation under control’ even though he felt nothing of the sort. She returned the gaze but he could see he terrified her and she glanced away. She had no reason to trust him anymore than she could trust Matondkar, Gridley-Brooks or Visser.
Before his captors realized he was engaging with Clementine, he looked elsewhere. A copy of the Indian Express print newspaper lay on the lounge with Simon’s unflattering photograph splashed across the front cover. The bold typeface headline was in English. ‘World’s most wanted cyberterrorist Stephen Ashpool killed in Dharavi gas explosion.’
“Do we need him alive?” Matondkar asked.
Gridley-Brooks scratched his chin. “I don’t think so. The American FBI is offering one hundred million dollars for his capture or kill. I think it will be easier if we bring him in as a corpse. Easier to prove he is who we say he is.”
“They won’t pay,” Simon interrupted.
Gridley-Brooks grinned. “No deal you could make will top what the FBI is offering.”
“We were all set up Roger, all sent to Pankot Palace Hotel to kill each other. Our enemy still wants that—”
Visser dropped low as he brought an upper cut into Simon’s gut.
Simon groaned, the pain worse than the last blow. Spots flashed in his blurred vision and he felt his body slip towards unconsciousness, but he fought it. He raised his hand to block the next blow, but he had no strength. Visser came for him—
There was a loud and sudden gunshot. Visser’s head cracked open, the top of his skull shattered, disintegrated into tiny, bloody fragments. His expression froze into a mixture of shock and surprise, then he fell forward landing hard on the floor.
It took Simon a moment to realize someone had just killed Visser.
Roger Gridley-Brooks couldn’t take his eyes of the dead South African, so it wasn’t him who fired.
Seizing his opportunity, Simon raced to his feet and rushed his former boss. Gridley-Brooks tried to raise his pistol to shoot Simon, but the gap had already closed. Simon wrestled the gun, and for a moment the two men fought to control it. Simon was younger and stronger, but Gridley-Brooks had not just endured the beating Simon had suffered.
Another gunshot.
Eyes locked, teeth gritted, each man looked at the other trying to determine if either had taken a bullet. It wasn’t Simon, and Gridley-Brooks didn’t seem to suffer. The bullet had missed them both, and it hadn’t come from the weapon they were wrestling.
They struggled again for control of the weapon.
Gridley-Brooks pulled it downwards, tried to turn it towards Simon’s gut. Simon knew Gridley-Brooks was the man with his finger on the trigger.
The cool metal touched against Simon’s shirt.
Drawing on all his strength, Simon yanked the gun just as it went off.
He felt it this time, the recoil, and smelled the cordite.
At first Simon couldn’t tell who had shot who.
He felt blood gushing over his hands.
Then he felt the strength wash away from Gridley-Brooks’ grip. His eyes became wide, and the color washed out of his face. With a hoarse whisper, he cried out, “You were supposed to be my friend.” His final words loaded with regret as he slipped out of Simon’s grip and fell to the ground.
Simon snatched Gridley-Brook’s semi-automatic pistol and pointed it at Motondkar, but Clementine Irvine was already covering his bleeding, prostrate form. Somehow, she had secured a .38 revolver and had put a bullet into the arms dealer, through the throat killing him. She must have shot Visser too, and now she trembled from the post-violence shock.
“I’ve got this now Clementine.” He used his soothing voice knowing she was at her most fragile right now. “You are Clementine Irvine?”
“Yes,” she answered. “How did you know who I was?”
He took the weapon from her shaking hands, ejected the bullets from the barrel then stripped the weapon down to its component pieces. He looked to the sprawled form of Gridley-Brooks hoping the man still lived. When he checked for a pulse or breath, there was nothing.
He closed the man’s eyes. He had known Gridley-Brooks for many years and had considered him a friend. Gridley-Brooks had offered Simon an out when he could no longer stomach working for the intelligence services. Simon would grieve for him and Ndulu later, and even Visser though they had never gotten along. It was wrong Shatterhand had manipulated them to turn against each other. In time he would right that wrong. But he had more pressing issues to deal with.
“Clementine. I’m here with your daughter, Casey.”
Her jaw dropped as she took a deep breath. “Casey’s alive?”
“Yes, but it’s complicated. I’ll explain latter. Did these men hurt you?”
She shook her head. She was tall and slim like her daughter and would have been a stunning woman in her younger years.
“Good. I have to ask where did you find the revolver?”
She pointed to Matondkar. “He dropped it when you startled him… When you first entered.”
Simon nodded. Her coolness in this stressful encounter impressed him. He was starting to understanding where Casey had gotten her feistiness and courage.
The post adrenaline shocks were hitting her in waves now. She slumped into the lounge as her eyes lost their focus and he didn’t blame her one bit.
“It’s okay. I’m not here to hurt you. I’m here to help you.”
“How do I…? How do I…?”
“How do you trust me?” he asked, and she nodded. He slipped the pistol into his belt at the small of his back so not to be threatening. “Let me tell you what I know. A few weeks ago, your daughter was on safari in Kenya, a vacation you and your husband sent her on. I rescued her from poachers about to kill her. Unfortunately, I didn’t arrive in time to save her boyfriend, Andrew McGrath. The poachers killed him. Casey was loathing her boyfriend for cheating on her one too many times, so she has mixed feelings about his fate and what he did to her. But I’m getting off track. For most of Casey’s life, and until recently, she believed her father and your husband, Alan Irvine, worked for the Department of Fisheries. But we believe he’s actually a different government employee. Both of you are. Both of you are with the NSA. You’ve been developing weapon-grade AIs for the American Government for some time. Does all that sound about right?”
Clementine staggered, placed her hand on her heart. Tear’s rolled down her eyes. “My daughter is alive?”
Simon heard police sirens. Clementine did too.
“Yes, she is,” Simon answered. “We need to go
, now, if you want to see her.” Simon searched Matondkar, finding his cell phone. He removed the SIM card and battery, then pocketed the components. He searched again finding car keys which he took. “Are you ready?”
She nodded and stood.
He took Clementine’s hand and led her to the emergency exit stairs. Within minutes they were in the basement parking lot. He tested the electronic locking device, surprised to see a yellow and black Koenigsegg Agera RS sports car light up. Simon grinned not believing his luck. This was a rare car with only twenty-five models ever made; it was expensive beyond measure. With its seven-speed paddle-shift transmission, twin turbo aluminum five-liter V8 engine, and zero to one hundred kilometers per hour in three seconds, this was a sports car that would not only speed them away from the police, but be a driving opportunity the likes of which he had never imagined being possible.
The doors on the two-seater rotated up and outwards. Simon and Clementine climbed inside and strapped in. When the engine ignited, it sounded like a rocket firing underneath their seats.
The clicker also opened the garage door. Simon thrilled at the traction and speed of the Agera as they took off. He wished he wasn’t driving it under such tragic circumstances, but the sports car lived up to its reputation. Within seconds they were out on the Mumbai streets and away long before the police even noticed.
CHAPTER 26
Gunfire roared from below. First single shots. Then full-automatic fire.
Casey rattled the handcuff binding her to the wall pipe. Furious, she glared at her interrogators, the pasty thin woman, the awkward man in the khaki two-piece suit, and the brown-skinned woman who had just entered the cell. “Whoever’s downstairs, they’re here to kill me!” Casey pleaded.
“How do you know that?” demanded the pasty woman, sweat pouring off her. She had a pistol in her hand. She nodded to the man showing he too should be weapon ready. The second woman was well ahead with a pistol of her own in her grip.
Casey didn’t like their chances. The intruders storming the building would be well-equipped with assault rifles and much more, resources required to destroy her.
“I don’t know why,” Casey snapped, knowing the frustrating truth of her response, “but it’s not a person who wants me dead. It’s an AI called Shatterhand.”
More gunshots. A man cried out. Then another gunshot cut off his screams.
“Who is attacking us, Saanvi?” the pasty woman demanded, her hands shaking.
The second woman answered with more nerves than Casey would have liked, “We think Brihanmumbai Police, or the Intelligence Bureau. At least five commandos. Full riot gear. Assault weapons.”
“Great.”
Casey once more rattled her handcuffs. “Again, anyone?”
“Szymanski, remove the cuffs but keep her covered. Shoot her if she doesn’t cooperate.”
He nodded and went to Casey. With a big, warm smile, he said, “The key’s here.” He reached into his jacket pocket but came up empty. He reached into another pocket in his pants, and still nothing. “It’s here somewhere.”
“Saanvi, cover me!” cried out the pasty woman.
“Yes, Ma’am.”
Saanvi and the leader stepped from the cell. Within seconds there was more firing, loud and close. Casey heard Saanvi cry out in fear. Further full-automatic fire, closer now. Dust fell from the ceiling because of the reverberations of bullets chewing into the walls.
“Would you hurry please!” Casey cried out.
“I know I have it,” Szymanski explained.
“I really don’t want to die like this.”
“I know.” He was frantic as he reached into each pocket, over and over again. Casey couldn’t believe her fate was reliant on one man who couldn’t keep track of the important items entrusted to him. What kind of outfit was the pasty woman running?
A crashing noise outside startled them both, of a heavy object tumbling down stairs, chased by another heavy item behind it.
“Ah, found it.”
“Give it,” Casey snatched the key and started with the lock. Szymanski did nothing to stop her. He almost looked relieved.
“You’re an analyst, right?” she asked as the cuff came free.
He nodded, gave her a weak smile.
“I’m a human resources manager. This situation sucks for both of us.”
Saanvi dragged a body into the interrogation room, a commando dressed in black riot gear, riot helmet and flak vest. A long trail of blood smeared across the floor where Saanvi had dragged him. If he’d had a weapon, it was absent.
The pasty woman yelled from outside where she was firing her weapon. “Get back out there Saanvi, and cover the stairwell.”
Saanvi nodded then disappeared again.
The pasty woman returned dragging a tall slim woman wearing cargo pants and a t-shirt. Two chest wounds showed how she had died. She had that vacant, ghostly look Casey had seen in the stares of other corpses she’d had the misfortune to encounter far too often these last few weeks.
“Is that…” Szymanski struggled with his words and he choked up. “Peri, is that Emily Dawson?”
Peri stood, caught her breath and nodded. “We’re all that’s left.” Her trembles were noticeable now, but no one commented. Her mouth hung open, and she panted hard. Sweat dripped off her. No wonder this team seemed unprofessional, their leader was sick and should have been stood down long ago. “I’ve secured the stairwell. We pushed a heavy desk and shelf down it. We’ve got minutes at most.” She looked to Szymanski. “Is there another way out of here?”
He’d folded his arms and hung his head. Now he rocked from side to side and stared into nothing.
“Szymanski! Paul! Get it together. We mourn later.”
Outside Saanvi continued with her cover fire, holding off the assailants for as long as she could. Why was no one else helping her?
Peri searched the commando producing a photograph of Casey. “I believe you now,” she said as she flicked the photo in Casey’s direction. “I’m thinking you and I need to work together on this.”
“About time!” Casey snarled.
Peri slapped Casey across the face, startling her. “Listen Irvine. Drop the attitude and focus. The priority is getting out of here alive.”
Casey, stunned from the brutal assault, could only stare dumbfound at the ill-looking woman.
“You need to understand that no one else on my team dies today. I’ve lost too much already. I need you to cooperate. Do everything I say, or I will shoot you.”
Casey nodded, fuming but knowing now was not the time to fight this woman.
“You need to strip, then change into Dawson’s clothing. Got that?”
“What?”
“They’re hunting you, right?”
Casey nodded.
“We’ll let them think they’ve found you.” She turned to Szymanski. “You strip Dawson and then put Irvine’s clothes on the body. You think you can do that?”
The nervous-looking man nodded.
“Paul, you need to get a grip. I need you on this.”
He nodded with greater vigor.
More gunfire echoed from outside.
“I’ll be back in one minute.” Peri darted outside to aide Saanvi with additional cover fire.
Casey had stripped down to her underwear before Szymanski had removed a single piece of clothing from the corpse. Rather than stand there, exposed, she stripped the body for him. There were multiple blood splashes on the t-shirt, but Casey was beyond caring about minor details like that.
She was about to dress when Peri shouted from across the hall. “Dress Dawson first!”
Fuming, Casey nodded. It was awkward clothing a corpse because they were limp and uncooperative. Paul Szymanski was trying to help but he was too distressed to be of any real use. At least he wasn’t a man to ogle her. After much tugging and messy work, Casey got the blue and gold sari onto the dead woman.
More gunfire. A man grunted then cursed in Hindi.
Another gunshot.
Then everything became quiet.
Peri stormed into the room. She stood over Dawson and shot the dead woman in the face several times, shattering any identifying features. Although Casey felt horrified, and recoiled from the brutal act, on a clinical level she understood Peri’s actions. Dawson and Casey were of similar build and hair color. The deception just might work.
Casey pulled on Dawson’s cargo pants, bloody shirt and boots.
Peri stepped in. “We need to go. Now!”
Casey ran into the corridor. Saanvi saw them, turned and called out, “I’m out of bullets.”
The gunfire started up again from the blocked stairs. The shelving and desk Peri and Saanvi had tipped down the access well was substantial and made from old, heavy wood, blocking anyone from advancing upwards. Peri stepped forward and fired down the stairwell between the few gaps where soldiers were trying to batter their way through. “How do we get out of here?” she called to Szymanski.
He looked through her. He wasn’t coming out of his shock.
Casey heard a noise. She glanced towards the stairwell, certain the men below where now smashing the desk and shelves with an axe or a similar tool to clear a path forward. Whatever plan Peri had in mind to secure them away, she didn’t have long to execute it.
“Peri!” Casey exclaimed.
“Szymanski!” Peri screamed. She slapped him.
That seemed to do the trick, and he snapped from his stupor. “I set up a false panel over a second stairwell, the exit also hidden on the building exterior. We can use it to get to the streets on the east side.”
“Good! Lead the way.”
Szymanski led them to a blank section of wall, pulled away a false panel. Casey was certain she would never have noticed it even if she had known it was there. As promised, there was another stairwell leading to street level.
They descended with Saanvi leading, Peri covering the rear, and Szymanski in the middle near Casey ensuring she was always close.
The exit was another false wall, opening onto an empty street. Casey hadn’t yet registered it was late and therefore the darkness outside disorientated her. The street was empty. Anyone nearby would have fled with the noises of the gun battle.
Strike Matrix Page 20
