Oliver chuckled and relaxed further. “Think you’re supposed to say ‘salesperson’ these days, and you don’t much look like one.”
Mattock ran a hand over his scarred dome. “Past life as a cage fighter. I were doing it long before it became fashionable.”
“I’m not really into MMA. Too violent.”
“It is that.”
Over by the desk, Sarah was now certain she smelled vomit and an accompanying odour of bleach. She tried to peek into the backroom but saw nothing besides a long desk full of lifeless computers and scattered tools.
Oliver reached up and plucked a plastic packet from a peg. “Here’s what you need, sir. Is there anything else?”
“Yeah,” said Mattock, and he flashed his MCU badge. “Something terrible happened today, lad, and I reckon you might know something about it.”
“What?” Oliver stepped back just as Mattock attempted to grab him. The kid glanced towards the rear exit, but Sarah stepped in his way and erased any hope of making a run for it. Mattock blocked the front entrance. They had him trapped. That Oliver Simpson had even considered fleeing made it unlikely they had the wrong person.
Mattock switched on a menacing scowl. Sarah played good cop. “Ollie? We have questions we need to ask. Please, don’t panic, okay? We’re not here to hurt you.”
The kid teetered back and forth. He’d turned deathly pale. “I… I didn’t mean it. It was an accident.”
Sarah’s insides twisted.
So he did do it.
This nervous young man had killed seven hundred people. A mass murderer history would never forget.
But he’s terrified.
Sarah put up both hands, showing she was unarmed. Beneath her jacket, her Sig hid in its modified holster below her left armpit. “We just want to find out what happened today, Ollie.”
“I don’t know. Really, I don’t.”
“Are you trying to say it wasn’t you?” said Mattock. He took a half step and sneered. “We’re talking about hundreds of innocent people dying helplessly. Women. Children. That was you, wasn’t it? Don’t lie to me, boy.”
Oliver opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out. Tears swelled in his eyes. He appeared ready to collapse, but instead he bolted. There was nowhere for him to go, but the unexpected move gave him a split-second advantage. He rushed over to one of the product displays and grabbed something from a peg – a large screwdriver with a big rubber grip. He held it out in his shaking hands, the manufacturer’s label dangling from a hole in the handle. “L-Leave me alone. Just… leave me alone.”
Sarah whipped out her Sig and pointed it at the kid’s chest. It was the last thing she wanted to do, but she reminded herself what the kid had done. Seven hundred victims demanded she take him in. “You’re going to need something better than a screwdriver, Ollie, because I have a gun with twelve bullets. You can come with us willingly or with a bullet in your kneecap. Your choice, but I’m sure your mum would prefer me not to shoot you.”
He flinched. “Y-You spoke to my mum?”
“Of course. She’s worried about you.”
Oliver shook his head and started whimpering. “Get out, get out, get out!”
“Quit yer bawlin’.” Mattock lunged at the kid, causing him to flinch and lash out with the screwdriver. His attack missed, but Sarah glanced at Mattock and motioned for him to step back. Oliver was panicking, but if they calmed him down, he might see sense and come with them. He was clearly hysterical, not a cold-blooded psychopath.
Unless he’s one hell of an actor.
Sarah lowered her Sig and pointed it at the cheap laminate flooring. “Oliver, listen to me, okay? My name’s Sarah. I understand today is a very bad day for you, but it’s going to get much worse if you don’t settle down and come with us. We’re the good guys, okay?”
“You don’t look like good guys. What happened to your face?”
“You have bigger things to worry about than my scars. You need to think about yourself right now. There’s an opportunity for you to cooperate and explain your side of things, but the window is closing.”
“I… I…”
“You’re scared – I get it – but you’re under eighteen, which means your mum and dad will be with you every step of the way. You won’t be alone. Put down the screwdriver, okay? It’s the only way this can play out. I don’t want to have to shoot you.”
The kid kept the screwdriver pointed at Mattock and sobbed fiercely. The torment on his face was hard to witness. “I don’t want to go to prison,” he said. “I want my mum.”
Sarah nodded. “We’ll get her, okay? But you have to put down the screwdriver.”
He looked her in the eye, his hysteria subsiding for a moment. “I’m in so much trouble, aren’t I?”
Sarah hated to do it, but she nodded. “Yeah, kid. I won’t lie to you, it’s going to be bad, but no one is going to hurt you. I promise.”
Oliver placed the screwdriver against his throat. “I don’t want to be here.”
Sarah gave Mattock the nod. “Move!”
Mattock grabbed Oliver’s arm before the kid could hurt himself. He was twice the size, so it was easy for him to take control, and within three seconds Oliver Simpson was bent over the desk with his wrists behind his back.
Crisis averted.
“Nobody ever chooses the easy way, do they?” Mattock grumbled.
Sarah was about to reply when the bell sounded above the door. She turned to see three men entering the computer shop. Each wore plain blue jeans and scruffy trainers. One wore a blue baseball cap. His companions had shaved heads.
“We need help,” said the man in the baseball cap with a thick accent – Eastern European or Russian. “We need computer help.”
Oliver cried out to the newcomers for rescue, but Mattock muttered something in his ear and shut him up.
Sarah raised her Sig and warned the three men to go back outside. “We’re with the MCU. This man is in our custody.”
“You arrest boy? Why? Why do you bully this child?”
“He’s not a child, I promise you that. Now leave, before you get hurt.”
Baseball Cap put up his hands like he was in a stick-up, but he appeared unconcerned and made no attempt to leave. “I think this is wrong, what you do. Let boy go.”
Mattock barked from over by the desk. “Piss off, mate. This don’t involve you.”
“You let boy go now, I think.” Baseball Cap’s eyes bore into Sarah, steely grey and chilling. “That is for best, no?”
Sarah shook her head in disbelief. “Which part of me pointing a gun at you don’t you understand? Back the fuck off. Now!”
Baseball Cap turned to his companions. They exchanged something in Russian and laughed about it. Then Baseball Cap turned back to Sarah with a smirk on his face. “Oh, I do not realise you have gun, lady. I think you have, what is word? Nerf shooter.” He reached behind his back and pulled out an Uzi. “This is gun.”
“Fuck!” Sarah turned and threw herself aside, tumbling across the cheap laminate flooring just in time to avoid a stream of 9mm bullets. She scrambled behind the desk and Mattock joined her, dragging Oliver Simpson along in a headlock. He was bleeding from his arm and cursing so much the Gallagher brothers would have blushed.
“We need technical assistance,” Baseball Cap shouted. “Please send out computer boy.”
Sarah reached for her phone, but Mattock was already on his. He dialled a number one-handed while pressing Oliver against the floor. A moment later, he was yelling for backup.
Sarah had the only gun, so it was up to her to get them out of this alive. She fired blindly around the side of the desk, listening as the three men scattered. Her enemies were out in the open without cover, but if she leaned out to take aim, the Uzi would obliterate her skull.
Mattock was still yelling for backup.
Ollie shrieked.
Footsteps danced across the shop floor.
Fuck. This is bad.
Sa
rah and Mattock exchanged glances. For the first time since meeting him, the tough Manc seemed afraid. They were outgunned and pinned down. Mattock leaving his weapon in the car had been a mistake, and she was responsible. She assumed the kid had posed no risk, but it appeared she should have been worried about random gangs of Russians.
Who the hell are they?
“Keep hold of the kid,” Sarah said as she searched for a way out of their predicament. She stared into the backroom. “Okay, after three, we rush into the back.”
Mattock nodded.
Sarah started the countdown. “One… Two… Three!”
They threw themselves forward, half crawling and half stumbling through the rear exit.
The backroom was a cramped space with nothing to provide cover, but Sarah spotted a fire exit and hurried towards it. “Come on,” she urged. “Over here!” She threw herself against the horizontal bar, but the door didn’t open.
She shouted in unexpected pain.
Mattock caught her as she rebounded. “You okay?”
“Damn it! It’s jammed.”
“The bar’s broken,” said Oliver desperately. He was cowering in the corner, whimpering like a child. “It’s been broken for months, but—”
Mattock turned the air blue. “That’s against health and safety, you bloody idiot.”
Sarah pressed herself up against the wall and peered through the doorway. She exposed herself for a split second and Baseball Cap fired his Uzi. The bullets tore through the wall and chunks of plaster erupted into the air. Responding, Sarah dropped to one knee and fired off a three-round burst that sent the three large men ducking into cover behind the other side of the service desk. There was insufficient space, however, and one man remained visible. Sarah fired a fourth shot.
With a pained yelp, her target fell, rattling the cheap flooring as he landed on his back.
More Uzi rounds peppered the wall.
Sarah ducked back inside the doorway.
Mattock leapt on top of Ollie and flattened him against the ground. His arm was bleeding badly, and a trail of blood covered the backroom floor.
He’s bleeding out.
Sarah waited for the Uzi to stop firing, then popped off another shot from her Sig. Baseball Cap’s uninjured companion whipped out a handgun and fired a return shot that nearly took her head off. The two gunmen embedded themselves behind the service desk, aim locked in on the rear exit. Sarah couldn’t risk another shot.
She had failed to count her rounds. She knew she had enough ammo to put up a fight if her enemy advanced, but she couldn’t win a head-on exchange. Her death might be mere seconds away, but it didn’t scare her. She had stood on that particular cliff edge so many times before that she had lost her fear of heights.
She looked around.
Mattock slumped on the ground, soaked in his own blood. He was losing consciousness and needed immediate medical assistance, but there was no time to help him. The only way she could save him was by taking care of the two gunmen in the other room.
A grenade, a grenade. My kingdom for a fucking grenade.
The Uzi peppered the wall again, punching loose more chunks of plaster. Gaps in the wall appeared, big enough to see through.
Just think of something smart, Sarah.
She glanced around the cramped room, at the desk fixed along the far wall. As before, she saw nothing except desktop towers, laptops, and various tools. Keyboards and other peripherals littered the desk, but she didn’t see how a USB dongle or a wireless mouse could help her.
Wait a minute…
Sarah grabbed the wireless mouse and studied it for a split second. It was a chunky black thing as big as her hand; heavy, like it had weights in it. It might be just what she needed. She gave Mattock another glance, glad to see him alive but mortified to see the situation rapidly fading. Then she noticed Ollie had pissed himself in the corner. She didn’t judge the kid. She’d seen plenty of grown men piss themselves for far less.
“Grenade,” she yelled as loudly as she could. “Fire in the hole!”
This is too stupid to work.
A split second of confusion could be the difference between life and death in a firefight, so she whipped her arm around the crumbling door frame and tossed the wireless mouse into the air. As soon as she heard the gunmen swear in Russian, she knew her plan had worked. She leapt into the doorway, needing to break cover to make her shots count before her ruse got discovered. The airborne mouse distracted the two gunmen, who saw nothing except a grenade-sized blur. Baseball Cap rushed for the front door. His companion threw himself down in a protective crouch against the wall.
The wireless mouse shattered on the floor.
No explosion followed.
Sarah swivelled, squinted down her sights, and took aim at the crouching gunman. She pulled the trigger and sent a bullet right through his temple. Brain matter splatted against the product displays. His body crumpled.
“Sergei, no!” Baseball Cap, realising there was no grenade and that his companion was dead, lifted his Uzi and took aim at Sarah.
Sarah rotated her aim and fired again. She caught the son-of-a-bitch in the top of the arm, launching him back against the shop’s glass and aluminium door. The Uzi fell from his hand, but he fought to stay standing and glared at her defiantly.
“Gde tualet?” said Sarah, using a Russian phrase she’d once heard in Afghanistan. She hoped it meant ‘fuck you’.
Knowing he was beat, Baseball Cap swung the glass door open and slipped out onto the street before she could aim and fire again. Sarah slipped out from behind the desk and went to chase him, but then she remembered Mattock bleeding out in the backroom. Chase or stay? She couldn’t do both.
“Damn it.” Sarah holstered her Sig, knowing she would rather see a hundred criminals escape than leave Mattock to die. She glanced around the shop, making sure the scene was locked down. The first Russian she had shot was lying on the ground, clutching his shoulder and moaning. In her estimation, he would live, which meant plenty of opportunities to get answers.
But that would have to come later.
Sarah pulled out her phone and called MCU dispatch. “I need an emergency medical team in two minutes or someone is getting fired.”
Chapter Five
Sarah did her best to stay out of the paramedics’ way. Mattock moaned in pain, which was a good sign, but she knew his injuries were severe. Before help arrived, she had stripped off his shirt and Kevlar vest to apply pressure to his wounds. One bullet had struck his wrist, but a second had struck two inches from his heart. The paramedics worked on him in silence.
Oliver kept his distance, sitting in the corner of the room and staring at the bloodstained floor. The kid had had quite a day.
And it’s only going to get worse.
Sarah had already updated Thomas and reiterated the need for backup, which was still yet to arrive. It was unlike the strike team to take so long, and she was getting increasingly pissed off about it. Mattock had called them thirty minutes ago.
To keep herself from getting distracted by anger, Sarah went out onto the shop floor to busy herself with the wounded prisoner. Her bullet had struck him an inch below the collarbone, causing pain and misery but nothing that should kill him. That was good, because pain was a useful tool.
The wounded Russian claimed to speak no English, but Sarah suspected he was feigning ignorance. She shoved aside the paramedic working on him and knelt by his side. He stared at her blankly, making it clear he intended to say nothing. The smug look in his eyes was not well hidden.
Sarah punched the wounded man in his collarbone and made him squeal. Then she punched him in the face and bloodied his nose. The paramedic gasped and told her to stop, but when she turned her Sig on him, he hurried away to help his colleagues in the backroom.
Sarah turned her attention back to the wounded Russian. “Who sent you here?”
“N-No English.”
She punched him in the collarbone again and made
him cry out. “Who sent you here?”
“N-No English. Bitch!”
Sarah chuckled, pretending to enjoy torturing prisoners. “You might think you’re not going to talk to me, that you’re going to keep your mouth shut and there’s nothing I can do about it. But I’m going to tell you why that’s naïve. You see, I’m the mad bitch that broke Wazir Hesbani’s neck and put a stop to Al-Sharir. I bet you’ve heard of those two homicidal maniacs, because they were pretty much the worst of the worst. Let me tell you something, though. They both pissed themselves right before I killed them. No man is above pain and fear, so save yourself from the ordeal and cooperate. You won’t win this game, because I don’t play by the rules. There are no checkmates on my board, because I’d sooner pick up the king and snap his neck than lose to a pawn like you. You want to end up like your buddy Sergei?” She motioned to the dead man lying nearby, his head a mush against the cheap flooring. It had been her bullet that had ended his life, but she knew too little about him to feel remorse.
The Russian muttered, ready to play dumb again, but Sarah punched him in the collarbone and shoved her thumb into the wound for good measure. “I’d say we’ve got about another five minutes before my team comes and carts you away in an unmarked black van. Then I get to do whatever I want without witnesses. Or, you can answer my questions and go someplace nice with soft pillows and a sexy nurse taking care of your booboos. Your choice, comrade.”
“Y-You are crazy bitch. I want lawyer. I want lawyer right now.”
Sarah sighed. “Okay, fine, play it your way. What’s your lawyer’s name?”
“D-Daniel Paulson. Paulson, Page, and Douglas. You call them. I want to speak with lawyer now. Tell them, I want to speak with lawyer.”
“Okay, I’ll tell them, but by then you’ll be rotting in a hole somewhere. Gulag, you understand?”
“You lie.”
“No, I don’t.”
“I tell you nothing.”
“You just did. I’m assuming this law firm represents all of your buddies, am I right? That’s usually the way it works. Maybe I should put some pressure on these lawyers of yours and get some names. Maybe I can find out who your boss is. You have a boss, right? I mean, you don’t seem like someone with a whole heap of leadership qualities.”
Terminal (Major Crimes Unit Book 4) Page 6
