CHAPTER TWENTY
Davidson parked his Cadillac in the underground carpark of the Internal Security Bureau Headquarters and glanced at his watch. Almost six o'clock. In an hour, the Freedom Alliance would launch its all-out assault on the City and provoke the Chancellor to open the canisters of Agent Pandora. Time was very short.
He glanced over his shoulder at Colonel Prentice. "How do you feel?"
"Half-dead. Help me out of the car and up to my office."
As Davidson helped Prentice out of the car, he saw that the towels strapped to his shoulder were drenched in blood. Prentice must have lost a pint at least. He couldn't keep going much longer.
Davidson supported Prentice's right elbow and Watkins his left as they all headed towards an elevator, which took them up to the fifth floor. As the elevator door opened, Davidson prayed nobody had come to work early. If someone had, he would have to kill him. For that reason, he supported Prentice with his left arm and held his pistol in his right.
His prayer was not answered. They had almost reached the Colonel's office when Major Jenkins, the head of the Team Alpha assassination squad, came around a corner, whistling. He wore the standard black combat fatigues of the ISB and had a big pistol strapped to his hip. Endless months living by his wits in the Badlands had made him sensitive to the slightest danger. His dead eyes flitted between them. Then they looked down at the floor.
Davidson followed his gaze and saw a big splotch of the Colonel's blood. Jesus. He considered trying to reassure Jenkins that everything was alright. But Jenkins was too smart and suspicious to be fooled. Any moment now, Jenkins would reach for his pistol. No point delaying the show-down.
Davidson lifted his pistol as Jenkins reached for his. Because he started first, he put two bullets in Jenkins' chest before Jenkins got his pistol out. As Jenkins fell backward, he fired a shot that breezed over Davidson's shoulder and smashed into the wall behind him. Then he hit the ground and his pistol skittered across the linoleum floor. Davidson considered putting another bullet into Jenkins, but the guy lay deathly still.
The shots had made a huge sound in the hallway. Davidson stood still, chest heaving, waiting for someone to respond. Nobody. He picked up Jenkins' pistol and stuck it behind his belt.
Prentice drew a deep breath. "Jesus, get me into my office."
They helped Prentice hobble past the corpse into his office and over to the chair behind his desk.
Davidson went back into the hallway, grabbed Jenkins by the collar of his uniform and dragged him into the office. Then he pulled off Jenkins' jacket, went back into the hallway and used it to hastily wipe away the blood on the floor. Mission accomplished, he re-entered the office, stepped over the corpse and tossed the bloody jacket into a corner.
Prentice was slumped over, deathly pale, with Watkins standing next to him. He looked up. "All OK?"
"Yes."
"Good. I thought he was un-killable."
A smile. "I had the drop on him."
Prentice looked at Watkins. "There's an overcoat in the cupboard. It should hide the blood. Will you get it out?"
She opened the cupboard and took out a black leather overcoat which ISB officers wore on formal occasions. A Chancellor's Medal of Valor was pinned to a lapel.
She said: "There are some shirts in there too. Do you want a new one?"
"No point. You try putting a new shirt on me and I'll probably bleed to death. Just help me into the overcoat."
Prentice stood and endured great pain while Watkins and Davidson gingerly helped him put on the overcoat. Luckily, it was a roomy fit.
Prentice got them to strap his pistol belt outside the overcoat and sat down, breathing heavily; he looked at Davidson and nodded towards a tray on his desk. "You'd better read the bulletins in that tray. See if Delray has been reported missing."
Davidson quickly flipped through half-a-dozen bulletins which up-dated investigations, interrogations and surveillances. "No mention of Delray."
"Good. Everyone probably thinks he's off fucking some woman. You don't seem to be under suspicion yet. Alright, I'd better call Mellon."
As the Colonel picked up the phone, Watkins sat in a chair and Davidson strolled over to the window and looked down at the massive flood-lit statue of Alexander Webster on Pasteur Plaza. For a long time, he had thought it was a crass and undignified memorial to a truly great man. Now, he realized it was a repulsive shrine to a mass-murderer.
The Colonel dialed a number and someone answered. "Hello, that Eddie Mellon? ... Yes? Good. Bob Prentice here. Sorry to disturb you at this hour. But I've just received very sound intelligence that the Freedom Alliance is going to launch a major assault on the City during the next day or so ... I know, I'm surprised too. I want to give the Chancellor a briefing as soon as possible ... His office in twenty minutes? ... Good, I'll bring my aide, Major Davidson, the medal winner. See you there."
Prentice put down the telephone and gave Davidson a tired smile. "Mellon says the Chancellor will see me, at the Palace, in twenty minutes. You'll have to come too, I'm afraid. I can't do this without you."
Davidson's gut went hollow. Neither of them would get out of the Palace alive. This was a one-way trip. Fear flooded through him and he had to stomp on it hard. "I understand."
"You sure? This is easier for me than you. I'm almost dead anyway."
"I'm going with you. Why should you have all the fun?"
Prentice started laughing and ended up wheezing. "Good. Unfortunately, they'll search us for weapons at the front entrance. You understand that? Can you conceal one they won't find?"
Davidson had already pondered that problem. "No chance. I have to go in unarmed and get another weapon when we're inside."
Raised eyebrows. "How are you going to do that?"
"I've got a plan."
"What plan?"
Davidson explained it.
A doubtful look. "That's an, umm, interesting plan. You think it'll work?"
"It's got to work."
A shrug. "True. Anyway, I'll leave that to you. Just remember, I won't be able to help you."
Helen Watkins said: "What about me? What do you want me to do?"
"You can't come with us. They won't let you in and you'll just make them suspicious."
Watkins looked a little relieved. "OK."
"But you'll have to drive us to the front gate. I don't think I can walk that far. And, after we go in, wait around in case Carl needs to make a getaway."
"What about you?"
A deep sigh. "I won't be coming out."
"Umm, OK."
Prentice glanced at his watch. "We'd better wait a few more minutes to give the rats a chance to assemble. Don't want to be early."
The Colonel spun around in his chair and stared out the window, with a somber expression, at Pasteur Plaza. Dawn had just broken. The slanting sun had struck the cenotaph, which created a dagger-like shadow; the gilt-bronze statue of Alexander Webster gleamed heroically.
Davidson wondered if he would see another dawn. He kept trying to calculate his chance of coming out of the Palace alive, and kept coming up with a ridiculously low percentage. Fear put an icy hand on his back.
After a few minutes, Colonel Prentice spun around in his chair and looked at Davidson with haunted eyes. "I've always loved that view, particularly at this hour. Can I ask a favor?"
"What?"
"If you get out alive - which is damn unlikely - I want you to give some flowers to my mistress. Her name's Dora. She'll introduce herself, I'm sure."
"OK. Anything you want me to tell her?"
A deep frown. "Yes, tell her … tell her … tell her ... to enjoy the flowers."
"That's all?"
A shrug. "It'll have to do."
"OK. And what about your wife?"
A peevish look. "What about her?"
"Do you want me to give her flowers?"
"Her?" After a long frown, he shrugged. "Yes, why not? Fuck it, give her some flowers too."
"
Do you want me to tell her anything?"
"No. Let's go before I change my mind." He slowly rose from his chair and glanced one last time at the golden dawn.
Webster City Page 20
