He chastised himself for allowing his imagination to carry him away. No one even knows what I’m going to do yet. I needn’t worry—for now. He dug in his pocket and fished his keys out. They jingled together in his palm.
Reaching his car, he walked around to the driver’s side and fumbled the keys before he could unlock the door. They clinked against the asphalt and he cursed under his breath. Kneeling, he retrieved them and rose back to his feet.
Hurried footsteps echoed behind him. Instinct sent his hand toward his holster. His nerves exploded with fire coursing through his body. Every one of his muscles contracted and locked into place from the fifty thousand volts the electrodes attached to his back shot through him. Five seconds seemed an eternity.
When the stun gun cut out, he collapsed to the pavement and continued to spasm. Hands grabbed him and hauled him back to his feet. He tried to see who attacked him, but his eyes refused to focus. Then the hood dropped over his head and everything went black.
34
Nathan stared at the charred wall. In its Rorschach whorls, he glimpsed a simpler time.
The Rouge Oreiller once housed the elite upper crust of Union City. It stood as a symbol of decadence and status. To stay a night at Rouge Oreiller made a statement to all you had arrived. Nathan last stood here ten years ago on a cold New Year’s Eve. The powerful had congregated to celebrate their wealth and ring in 2026. He hadn’t been invited, but then, no one invited the Mad Bomber either.
Malachy stormed the grand ballroom at nine-thirty with his Homefront terrorists en masse. Command brought Nathan to the scene at ten o’clock. In the event diplomacy failed, he would lead a SWAT team to reclaim the ballroom.
At eleven-forty diplomacy failed. Malachy broke off all contact with a final threat—everyone inside would be killed at midnight unless they met his demand. He wanted the displaced exiled from Union City. Nathan prepared his team to enter the hotel.
They executed an explosive breach at eleven-fifty. Chaos erupted inside the ballroom. Armed with tear gas canisters and rubber bullets, Nathan and his squad put down seven terrorists without a single innocent casualty. In the confusion though, Malachy slipped away.
Held up as a hero for his actions, Nathan reveled in the adulation. Not even failing to capture the leader of Homefront dampened his spirits. He was young and brash, confident he’d cross paths with Malachy again. He just didn’t know it would be so soon.
Two weeks later, a lone terrorist entered the lobby of Rouge Oreiller, cried “For America!” and detonated a suicide vest. Fifty-nine souls died in the explosion, including the bomber. The hotel still rattled from the New Year’s Eve siege, never recovered its social standing and has stood empty ever since. The next day, a Homefront terrorist boarded a subway car and changed Nathan’s life forever.
As he stood in the ruins of Rouge Oreiller, he thought about the confluence of events. Not for the first time he wondered, if Malachy had succeeded on New Year’s Eve would Homefront still have bombed the subway? If I had allowed the pampered to be slaughtered on the altar they created, could I have saved the seventy-three innocents lost in the subway bombing?
He looked down at his left hand clenched by his side. Could I have avoided what became of me?
With a shudder, he shook off his reverie and climbed the once grand staircase to enter the ballroom. Inside, support pillars gleamed in the starlight streaming through the open far end of the room. Nathan buttoned his trench coat and found Cain waiting in the center of the cracked dance floor. He noticed a bodyguard standing behind a hooded figure bound to a steel chair.
“That was fast,” Nathan said.
Cain shrugged. “What can I say, you got lucky.”
Nathan jerked a thumb toward the bound figure. “This mean I was right? Leo wasn’t the rat.”
Cain’s cheeks flushed, and he looked away. “My source steered me wrong. I’ll deal with it.”
Nathan took a step toward him. “I know the feeling.” He watched Cain swallow. “You sure about this one?”
Cain waved toward the bound figure. “That’s who King met with tonight.”
Nathan asked, “You know who’s under the hood?”
Cain nodded. “Yeah, but you’ll have to see for yourself. I won’t be the messenger of this news.”
Nathan gave him an odd look before he strolled toward the center of the room. As he drew closer to their prisoner, he recognized parts of the captive. His breath caught in his throat, and he reached for the hood to rip it off his head.
Quinn stared up at him as Nathan’s expression twisted with an unspeakable rage. He stumbled back a step and whipped his head around to look at Cain. “You’re wrong.”
Cain shook his head. “Sorry, Miller, not this time. We nabbed him in the parking lot of the War Memorial after he spoke to King.”
Nathan ground his teeth together and shook with violent fury. He closed his eyes and loosed a primal scream. His roar echoed in the space, the terrifying wail of a lost soul. He settled his loathsome gaze on Quinn. “You’re my partner. My partner!” Nathan said, “I defended you.”
Quinn remained stoic in his silence. Nathan closed the space between them. He punched Quinn on the cheek with his right hand, and Quinn slumped to the side. Nathan righted him and drove a left square into his jaw. The impact threw Quinn’s head back, and he toppled over in the chair. Nathan placed a foot on one of the chair legs and pushed down, bringing the chair back up to a sitting position.
“How could you betray me?” Nathan demanded.
Quinn spat out a glob of blood and a loose tooth. He attempted a snide grin. “Betray you?” Quinn scoffed. “You betrayed me, Miller. You betrayed all of us. You’re a disgrace to every honest cop in this rotten town. You’re a stain on the badge, Miller.”
Nathan lashed out with his left hand and grabbed Quinn around the throat. He squeezed until Quinn gasped. “What did you tell her?”
Quinn’s voice cracked from a lack of oxygen. “Everything.”
Nathan squeezed tighter. He watched the veins in Quinn’s eyes burst before he let go and turned away from him. Behind him, Quinn coughed and spluttered. “You’ve made a grave mistake,” Nathan said, “King is useless to you.”
Quinn laughed before he broke down in a coughing fit. He lifted his head and stared at Nathan. “What makes you think she’s the only one I told?”
“Who else?” Nathan hollered, “Who else did you squeal to?”
“Live in fear.”
The vein on the side of Nathan’s neck bulged. He quaked with unrestrained ferocity. Nathan rushed Quinn and rained blows down on his head, beating him to within an inch of unconsciousness. He gave him a final push and toppled him backward onto the floor. “I’ll see you burn in hell for this, Rook.”
Spitting up blood on the floor, Quinn whispered, “I won’t be the only one.”
Cain stepped forward to interrupt the exchange. “The punk’s not wrong about that.”
Nathan shifted his gaze from Quinn and waited for an explanation. Cain said, “You vouched for him. If Westly finds out about this…you’re as good as dead, Miller.”
Nathan stalked over to him and bent his head in close to Cain’s shoulder. Nathan whispered, “Then we’ll make sure he doesn’t find out.” He turned his head to look past Quinn.
Cain followed his gaze and sighed. “Oh, come on, Miller.”
Nathan placed a hand on Cain’s chest. “I told you to hire new staff anyway. Either you do it, or I will.”
“Fuck,” Cain swore under his breath. He stepped away from Nathan and called to his guard. “Igor. Over here.” Igor strolled past Quinn and stopped ten feet from them when his eyes caught sight of the handgun aimed at his chest. “No hard feelings,” Cain said, “Just business.” He pulled the trigger twice, both shots struck Igor in the chest and sent him sprawling to the floor.
Cain looked back at Nathan. “Happy now?”
Nathan moved past him an
d stood over Igor’s prone body. He made sure not to step in the growing pool of blood spreading across the floor but made certain he was dead. Walking back to stand in front of Quinn, Nathan said, “Like you said, Austin, no hard feelings.”
Nathan drew his weapon, spun on his heel, and fired two shots into Cain’s forehead from fifteen feet away. Cain’s body stood long enough for shock to spread across his face, then he collapsed dead to the floor. Nathan looked at Quinn who stared wide-eyed at him. He reached down and righted the chair. Placing his Glock back in the holster, Nathan asked in a mocking tone, “Confused yet?”
He wandered over to Cain’s body and watched him breathe his last. Kneeling over him, Nathan said, “He was right you know. If Westly finds out what you did, he’ll try to kill me. He might even succeed.” Nathan stood with Cain’s pistol in his hand. He faced Quinn. “So I better not give him a reason to try.”
Quinn’s eyes fell to the pistol. He coughed and blood spilled down his chin. “It won’t matter.”
Nathan raised the pistol. “What won’t?”
Quinn coughed again, more blood stained his clothes. “Using his gun,” he said, “No one will believe you didn’t kill me.”
“If you had spoken to someone other than King, you might be right.” Nathan grinned. “We both know you didn’t though. I’m calling your bluff, Rook. End of the line.”
Quinn’s breathing escalated. “You’ll never get away with this. You’re killing a cop here.”
“I’m killing a traitor,” Nathan’s voice hardened, “As for getting away with it, Cain’s pistol and the GSR on him put me in the clear.”
“Nate.”
Nathan fired three rounds into him, two in the chest and one in the head. The chair tipped over backwards and clattered against the floor. He tossed the pistol next to Cain and walked over to Quinn. Kneeling over him, he watched his chest rise and fall. It slowed with each occurrence until it moved no more.
Nathan reached for his Viz and placed a call on the emergency band. “Officer down. Officer down. Need assistance in the ballroom at Rouge Oreiller. Repeat, officer down.”
35
Nathan heard sirens approaching. Their whine pierced the quiet night. He stood at the open end of the ballroom and watched the red and blue lights color the white landscape. Won’t be long now.
He turned from the ledge and surveyed the damage one last time. A chill settled over him. His eyes roamed the carnage. Three bodies lay in bloody pools growing stiff. He crouched next to Quinn and placed a hand on his shoulder. Cold already. He stared at his face, devoid of life. The face of his partner. The face of his Judas.
Footsteps thundered on the staircase and hurried voices echoed in the room. The doors flung open and slammed against the wall. EMT’s and police rushed in and broke Nathan’s trance. “You’re too late,” he whispered, “They’re gone.”
The EMT’s set to work, and the officers swept the room. Nathan kept his eyes on Quinn, whose own glassy eyes stared at nothing.
“How convenient for you.” Nathan raised his head to watch Omar Singh striding toward him. Singh said, “No one here to tell the tale, besides you.”
Nathan stared at him with malevolent intent.
“What, no snappy banter?” Singh asked, “You trying to play the part of the grieving partner, Miller? It doesn’t become you.”
Nathan leapt to his feet and took one step toward Singh. “Yeah, you’d like to, wouldn’t you?” Singh taunted. He directed two officers. “Briggs. Olsen. Relieve Detective Miller of his sidearm and badge and take him into custody.”
Nathan lunged for Singh. Olsen and Briggs held him back, but not by much. “Let him go,” Singh ordered. He smirked at Nathan. “Please do. Make this easier than it already is for me.”
Nathan shrugged off the hands holding him. “You’re placing me under arrest? I called it in. This is ridiculous even for you, Captain.”
Singh explained, “Right now, you’re being taken to the Clubhouse for a voluntary discussion to gather the facts of what happened here. Charges and your arrest will come later.”
Nathan laughed. “You’re dreaming.”
Singh motioned to the officers. “Get him out of my sight. If he resists, cuff him.”
They placed hands on Nathan, and he shook them off. He let them lead him out of the ballroom without further resistance. At the door, Nathan glanced back at Quinn and saw an EMT closing his eyes to the world.
Nathan listened to the ticking of the clock. Each advance of the second hand grew louder. A throbbing began behind his eyes, a sharp pain in sync with the march of time. He rubbed his temples and waited, hoping the headache would pass.
The interrogation room felt claustrophobic. Nathan knew that was the point. He had spent countless hours in rooms like this one—always on the other side of the table. Shifting on the hard, plastic chair, he failed to find a comfortable position. His backside ached. He leaned over the metal table and attempted to stretch out his sore muscles. A pain in his left shoulder added to his discomfort.
Nathan leaned back and stared at the lens in the corner. He crossed his arms over his chest, a silent challenge to Singh. Do your worst.
The door opened and Singh strolled in with a broad smile plastered on his face. Singh pulled out the chair opposite Nathan, scraping it across the floor. He sat and shuffled paperwork on the table. Nathan glanced sideways at the display, familiar with the tactic. Make them think you have a lot on them. Show them the file and get them curious about what’s inside. Nathan rolled his eyes and waited.
Singh cleared his throat and said, “Let’s go over your story again.”
“What for?” Nathan asked. “I told you what happened.”
“Well, we’re going to go over it again.” Singh arched his eyebrows. “And if I feel like it, we’ll go over it again after that. We’re going to keep going over it until I know I’ve heard the truth.” They stared at each other. Singh said, “So, start at the beginning.”
Nathan grumbled and repositioned himself on the hard seat. “I heard the shots when I arrived.”
“Why didn’t you call it in?” Singh asked.
“Excuse me?”
Singh rested his elbows on the table and leaned his chin on his entwined fingers. “You didn’t make a shots fired call. Why not?”
Nathan answered, “Quinn was in danger—I had no time to waste.”
Singh lifted his chin and squared his shoulders. “How did you know?”
“How did I know what?”
“How did you know Quinn was in danger?” Singh made a show of opening the file on the table. He pointed to a page and said, “Your story didn’t mention how you even knew Quinn was there. What brought you to the Rouge Oreiller in the first place?”
Nathan squinted at him. “I received a call—”
“But not from Quinn,” Singh interrupted, his finger jabbed another page. “Phone records show you received a call from Austin Cain. A fact you omitted from your prior statement. Why?”
Nathan remained silent, and Singh’s smile grew. He leaned over the table and said, “Let me tell you what I think, Miller. I think you had an explanation prepared for everything except that phone call. I mean, it doesn’t look good, does it? According to you, Cain killed Quinn. Yet if that’s true, he did so right after speaking with you.” Singh tilted his head to the right. “Can you explain that?”
Nathan took a moment before he answered. His headache frayed the edges of his concentration. “Cain wanted money. He nabbed Quinn to use as leverage in an extortion scheme. Told me on the phone I had one hour to meet him at the Rouge Oreiller or Quinn was toast. Time was short when I arrived, so I knew the gunshots meant trouble for Quinn.”
Singh frowned. “And why didn’t you mention any of this in your earlier statement?”
Nathan asked, “If I had, would you have believed me?”
“I don’t believe you now.”
“Too bad you can’t
prove otherwise.”
Singh’s expression darkened. He bristled. “Let’s move on. What happened once you were inside?”
Nathan repositioned on the chair again. “Like I told you before, Cain shot Quinn when I entered the ballroom. I returned fire and took him out. Then I called it in.”
“Just like that,” Singh said, “How convenient for you being the only witness to leave the scene alive.” Nathan smirked. “If Cain wanted money, why would he open fire before you gave him any?”
Nathan shrugged. “I couldn’t begin to speculate.”
“But you knew him,” Singh said, “He was your informant, right? Why would he turn on you?”
Nathan answered, “Speculation is really more your bag, Captain. I prefer facts and, the fact is, I don’t know why Cain turned. Criminals being such trustworthy sorts.”
“What about the Russian?” Singh asked, “Who killed him?”
“He was dead when I entered the room. I assume the shots I heard outside killed him.”
Singh leaned forward. “Quinn was tied up so that only leaves Cain to shoot his own man. Does that make sense to you?” Nathan said nothing. Singh closed the folder on the table. “You’re lying, Miller. About a great many things, I’m sure. Your story is too neat, and you come off far too clean in it. I’ve no doubt ballistics will show the bullets that killed Quinn came from Cain’s gun. But that doesn’t mean he fired them. Gunshot residue testing is, of course, useless since you admit to firing your weapon in self-defense.”
They glared at one another. Singh said, “You think you have this all wrapped up in a nice little bow, but you’re wrong. I have a dead cop under my command, and I see the blood on your hands. You killed Quinn. You murdered your own partner.”
Nathan leapt to his feet. His chair flew back and crashed against the wall. He thrust an accusatory finger in Singh’s face. “Until now I’ve tolerated your nonsense because you amused me. You accuse me of murder again, and you’ll regret it.”
Singh knocked his hand aside. “You’ve never scared me, Miller, and you certainly don’t now. You’ve been in this room how long? Your keepers seem to have lost interest in protecting you. How unfortunate—for you. I will find the evidence I need. Mark my words, I will see you in shackles.”
Singularity Page 15
