It was too late to go back on his testimony now. And that wouldn't bring Nancy back anyway. He had cleared Morgan, made the gesture that said he called it right. Maybe he did, maybe he didn't. But Nancy was dead, and it would be a dust-crawling son of a bitch who wanted to make Morgan pay for that. Everyone knew the blame lay higher up. Right at the top. Ever since Homeland Security took over the Bureau, everything had turned to shit.
Delaney zipped his fly, and moved across the grey floor to wash his hands. If someone saw Virgo, he would stop at nothing to bring him in and find out what was going on. Virgo was into something, that was for sure. There were bodies, there was the lie about the disk, and there was someone up high who didn't want anything investigated. How high? That he didn't yet know. Maybe it was the right level for a little retribution. Maybe it was higher. Either way, here was his chance to do something. To pay the bastards back for screwing Nancy over.
The dryer was deafening, and still roaring behind him as he came out the door and headed back up the stairs. He took them two at a time, bouncing at the thought of getting back into something. He still had the fire in his chest.
'Frank.'
Rosemary was stood at the door to her office.
'There's a caller for you. Says he's Nathaniel Virgo.'
CHAPTER 66
AFULL MINUTE PASSED IN the darkness. Maybe they were setting up a call trace, getting out the recording equipment. Did they still do that? Probably not – this was the digital age, they probably had caller ID.
At last, a deep voice resounded over the line.
'This is Frank Delaney. What can I do for you, Virgo? You about ready to come in?'
Delaney's voice sounded deep and trustworthy. A man you could rely on. God, he hoped so.
'I didn't kill those people. I need you to come and get me. And you need to bring support. The people who killed those men are assembled in a warehouse about half a mile from where I'm sitting now. They are hijacking planes. My daughter is on one of them. Delaney, this goes to the top of Homeland Security.'
Did he need to say more? Would Delaney go for it? Why wouldn't he?
And why wasn't he saying anything?
He felt a strange temptation to spill his guts; Delaney had a way with silence.
'I can explain everything, but you have to get down here soon.' Still no response. Virgo lost it. 'Delaney, did you hear me?' He was shouting into the phone. 'They're tapping into the White House's communications. This goes all the way up. My daughter's on one of the planes. They've already killed my wife. You've got to come here and help me.' He paused, waiting for a response, some word of reassurance. None came.
'Hello?'
'I'm here, Virgo. Where can we find you?'
Virgo hesitated. He didn't know where he was. Brilliant. He really didn't have a clue.
'A junkyard north of the city. Somewhere north of Everett? Overlooking an industrial complex. That's where they are – in the complex.' He felt ridiculous. 'You can trace me by my mobile signal. Can't you triangulate from the transmission masts, and pin me down within a few feet? You're the detective, for Christ's sake.'
There was a pause. 'Already onto it. Stay there.'
The line went dead.
CHAPTER 67
HE HAD NO INTENTION of staying there; Delaney sounded trustworthy, but who didn't when their livelihood depended on it? Virgo had sounded trustworthy to Born only a few minutes ago, before he clubbed Born over the head. And Born had sounded trustworthy to him back at the hotel. Well, almost – he was glad he'd had the sense to lead him in the same lie he told Genovsky, just in case. So no, he wasn't going to stay there and wait for the FBI to make up their mind. But he could give them another few minutes of phone signal for their tracers. He had another call to make.
The buzz repeated five times so far. He knew Imogen's answerphone kicked in at nine rings. What time was it in the UK? What would she be doing?
Seven rings. Eight. And – finally – she picked up.
'Imogen? It's Nat.'
There was a pause before she spoke.
'It's the middle of the night, Nat. What the hell . . .'
'Imogen, I need your help. I need you to call your contact at the NSA. I'm deep into something.'
He had to take a breath. It was all too unreal, but talking to Imogen like this, that made it too real. His mind was melting. He had to hold it together. For Katie's sake.
'Imogen, I'm in Boston. Rachel's been killed. Katie's on a hijacked plane and – you're not going to believe this – the head of Homeland Security, Thomas Wheelan, is in on this. I don't know what they're doing – it's all happening out of a warehouse north of Boston. It's something to do with the quantum computing people I met at Baltimore. One of them got killed, and I followed it up. That's all I know. It's all gone to hell, Imogen, and I'll take any help I can get.'
Breathe.
Imogen was silent. Too much information?
'Imogen?'
'You're serious, aren't you?'
Virgo interrupted her. 'I'm very serious. Katie's plane is likely to be shot down in the next hour or so. There's a guy from Red Spot – a Gabriel MacIntyre – involved too.'
'What do you need to know?'
'Anything. Something. I've told you pretty much all I know. If you can find out how you'd fly a plane by remote control, that might be useful. But I've not got much to go on. There's an Alexandra Genovsky, Wheelan, and Gabriel Mac- Intyre of Red Spot Industries. But put quantum stuff and Homeland Security together and you've got the guts of that report you got hold of. Maybe Wheelan was setting something up when your guy at NSA leaked his stuff. Maybe he can help. But this has to be quiet, Imogen. If I contact the authorities, Katie's dead for sure; Wheelan would be the first to know. And I'm already wanted for double murder.' He paused. 'It's been a hell of a day.'
His attempt at humour fell flat into the mouthpiece. Rachel was dead. He'd said it out loud to someone who knew her. Everything felt different now.
'Nat,' Imogen said. Then she fell silent again for a moment.
'Nat, I'm sorry. God . . .'
She didn't know what to say. Of course she didn't know what to say.
'Can you help me, Imogen?'
Silence.
'Imogen?'
'OK. Yes.' She sounded decisive. 'I'll call you back when I have something.'
Virgo closed the connection, then turned off his phone. Would the FBI have been able to listen in on that call? How the hell would he know? It wouldn't hurt him if they had. They would surely be amazed that Imogen had taken it all so calmly. Thank God for Imogen.
He turned the key in the ignition. His breathing was shallow, and his mind was racing through the next moves. Had he worked it out properly? Could he second-guess Delaney? Could he trust him?
He rolled the Lexus round in a lazy U-turn, and drove back towards the junkyard. A hundred yards in front of the gate, Virgo turned the car around again, and reversed into the darkness of a narrow side lane. He backed up thirty metres until his side window looked out on a long dark path. At the end of this path, in the moonlight, the chain-link fence stretched out across the face of the junkyard. He opened the door of the Lexus and walked up to the fence. From this angle Virgo could see the lone, decaying sentry tower of the crane that rose into the sky just beyond the entrance. Another path ran to his left, towards the gates.
Perfect.
He went back to the car and waited, trying to ignore the threatening silence of the neighbourhood. The closest housing must be a mile away. Nothing but derelict buildings and high fences. A bat flitted across the moon. Somewhere in the distance a cat screeched. He half-expected Stephen King to tap on the window. How did he get to be four thousand miles from home, hiding out in a stolen car surrounded by darkness?
The quiet rumble of engines heralded their approach. A colonnade of dark vehicles, some trucks, but mostly 4WDs, rolled past, their lights dimmed. The cavalry. They had obviously found nothing in the spot where the triangulat
ion had sent them. Now, they were hunting blind, in the dark. They were bound to head into the junkyard he'd mentioned. They would seal it off and look over the warehouse. And, when they were in position, he would tell them just where the action was going on. And it would all be over.
He could barely breathe.
There had been no more trucks for a couple of minutes. They would have secured the perimeter of the junkyard and be combing through the rusting carcasses by now. He could see it, in his mind's eye: black jackets, gold lettering, rifles and night sights. Would they find Born? Or would he have crawled back to Genovksy? What about the stripped guard?
His stomach plunged. He'd forgotten that he killed a man today.
Virgo forced himself to step out of the Lexus. Even in this constricting alley, he felt exposed. At least he had got used to the dark. He pulled the gun from his waistband.
The moonlight was almost bright enough to see by. Click. That was the safety catch. Click. On. Click. Off. He enveloped the grip in both hands. The gun felt strangely heavy as he lifted it in front of him. Did he have to carry a gun? Was this stupid? Would they shoot him when they saw it?
No, it would buy him the respect he needed. The bargaining space. Delaney's ear.
He walked forward in the shadow of the wall rising to his left. Ahead he could see two roving spotlights. One caught the crane tower at the front gate, then swung onto the boom. Would the agents be freaked by the ghostly shapes caught in the lights? They would certainly be jumpy. He lowered the gun.
Up at the fence now, just fifty metres from the gate. Three tall 4WDs, unmarked, ranged across it. There was another vehicle just twenty metres ahead of him, parked where the high wall to his left stopped and the path he was walking began to fan out at the junkyard entrance.
It would do. He moved up to it, and looked through the rear windscreen. It was empty.
This was crazy. He had interviewed a lot of people in his time, but negotiating with the FBI? That was something else. They would shoot at the sound of his voice – he was wanted for double murder and he was carrying a gun.
They'd be justified in shooting him; no one would blame them. Agents' lives were at risk. What if Wheelan had put out a shoot-to-kill on him? Jesus. It really didn't pay to take on the guy at the top.
He was crazed, shouting, waving a gun. We had no choice. He could hear it now.
Virgo acted before he could play any more of the aftermath out in his head.
'Delaney!' His shout slumped into the wet earth.
'Delaney!' It was too late to back out now. He gave it everything.
'De-laaa-neeey.' He sounded crazed.
He was crazed.
Virgo had never felt like this. The tension in his body seemed to stop time and light up the night. His heightened senses were crippling. The scene before him played out like it was lit by the staccato fire of a strobe light. The echoing clicks of safety catches disengaging threatened to burst his eardrums. He felt like a fly: he could see every movement, every shifting shadow as the agents turned on their heels, desperate to locate him. Slow motion – stop motion – as the searchlights on the vehicles scanned around, across, over his hiding place behind the windscreen.
'I've got a gun. I want to talk to Delaney.'
'I'm here, Nathaniel.'
That was – bizarrely – disappointing. The deep voice boomed across the night without the aid of a loudhailer. Every time he had seen something like this at the movies, there was a loudhailer.
What to say?
'It's Delaney. Talk to me, Nathaniel. No one's gonna hurt you.'
Yeah, right. Through the windscreen, Virgo could see him. Fit and broad and confident. And trained in negotiation. He would know how to reach an agreement without the use of violence.
'They have my daughter, Katie, on a plane coming in from Cuba,' Virgo shouted. 'It's being hijacked.' He paused. 'They killed my wife. I didn't kill Radcliffe. You know who I am by now. I'm a journalist. Nothing more.'
No response. Worth a shot. 'Wheelan knows. Ask Thomas Wheelan about this.'
'Nathaniel, step out from behind the vehicle. Put down the weapon. We don't want to hurt you, Nathaniel. You carry a weapon, you place yourself at a greater risk.'
He knew that.
'You have to help me free Katie. You have to help me. You . . .'
He stopped himself – he was ranting.
He was crazed. We had no choice.
He tried to calm his breathing. One, two. One, two. In, out.
'We will help you, Nathaniel. Listen, we want to help you. Step out from behind the vehicle and put down the weapon.'
One, two. One, two. In, out. He pursed his lips as he panted. It had begun to rain again, just a drizzle. Virgo wiped his face dry. He saw Delaney's face lift to the sky. There was a throbbing in the air.
A helicopter. OK. Good. They were taking him seriously.
'I'm coming out.' Virgo reached out and placed the gun on top of the vehicle. The black metal glinted in the searchlights, the beads of rainwater throwing prismatic colours off the surface. He stepped out, hands in the air.
'That's it, Nathaniel, nice 'n' easy.'
Delaney walked towards him. His gait rolled, like his legs were carrying too much muscle.
'Stay calm, Nathaniel.'
The helicopter throb was growing louder. It was deafening. The strobe lighting came back, and the scene retreated from Virgo's vision. Delaney was moving towards him down a long, dark tunnel, his voice echoing off the black walls.
'That's it, stay calm. It's gonna be OK. There's no hijack – we'll sort everything out downtown. It's all over now. All over.'
Virgo was thankful that his senses had moved into slowmotion: it gave him the edge. The time to process Delaney's words when all hell was falling from the sky.
From their position on the ground, they could all see the helicopter dipping down from the darkness, lit from below by roving floodlights. But Virgo was the first to react – to recoil as it floated too close to the unlit tower of the rusting crane. The swinging lights must have blinded the pilot at the wrong moment. He yanked too late on the joystick. The first sound of rotor on rusting steel was something from the movies – the ring of clashing swords – but the noise immediately became a thud and a screech and a metallic clatter of shredding, chattering steel. And as the helicopter's body swung sharply into the crane, Virgo was already on his toes and turning.
No hijack.
He had the edge when the agents fell to the ground to escape the plunging tail rotor.
Downtown.
Enough edge to grab the gun from the roof and crouch.
All over.
He ran back into the darkness. With the impending firestorm, no one was even looking at him.
Delaney was a liar. Like Genovsky. Like Born.
You're dead already, Nathaniel.
No. It was not all over. Not yet.
The helicopter's fuel tank ignited. As he ran, he felt the heat of the fireball rage on his back. He heard shouts and screams, but he didn't dare look behind.
Virgo's boots held his ankles upright as he skidded round the corner. Ahead of him the open door of the Lexus gaped, welcoming him to its luxury. He had the ignition key in his right hand, the gun in his left. His heart banged in his chest.
Don't look back.
It didn't matter who was chasing him; how close they were. All that mattered was getting the key into the ignition.
He dived into the seat. The key went in first time. He yanked on the door as he pulled away, thrown back into his seat as his foot floored the accelerator pedal.
No lights. Not yet. He could make out the end of the alleyway; it glowed orange with fire, like the sky above.
As he emerged onto the road, he threw all his weight into the steering wheel. He braked at the same time, and the car swung sharply round. He hit the accelerator again. In the rear-view mirror, the orange sky quickly grew dim over an empty road. The helicopter had taken out half the FBI's fl
eet of vehicles, trapping the other half inside the junkyard.
Ahead of him lay an open road. And a dead end: now he had added FBI agents to the body count, his plans were looking pretty washed up.
They were meant to save the day. That was the whole idea, whichever way things worked out. Once Genovsky had believed the stuff about Gierek's magic box, once he had bought Katie some time, the FBI were the cavalry riding in against a blazing sunset. That really wasn't going to happen now.
It was over.
He drove towards the docks. The heavy sky crushed him; he felt its pressure on his skin, it squeezed the air from his lungs and hung on his limbs. It was all he could do to keep driving.
He was at the harbourfront now, dawdling through a deserted lot, headed for the ocean. He didn't know whether he should stop at the sea wall. If he never surfaced again, would Genovsky bring Katie safely to the ground? He couldn't remember the plan. Nothing was real any more, nothing but the piteous, ineffectual corner he was crumpled into.
Ahead of him, through the dark, he began to see flashing lights in the atmosphere, flights climbing and falling at the airport, souls coming and going, sharing the air with his only daughter. Maybe his wife, too; somewhere beyond sight, Rachel was in transit between two worlds. Everything in his life had melted in chaos.
He pulled up short of the wall. He didn't even have it in him to drive into the ocean. He cut the engine and the lights, and watched the flashes ascending and descending in the darkness.
Except they weren't ascending now.
Nothing had taken off for a few minutes. He waited, his eyes focused at the blackness across the water. After ten minutes, he knew it from the creeping chill in his guts. But after twenty minutes without a take-off, it was a sure thing. Everything that could fly was being brought to earth. Or kept there. Something had happened to a plane somewhere, and he was pretty sure he knew what.
This was no time to sit watching the night sky fall empty. He fired up the car again and swung it round. He hadn't come up with a plan yet. But that's what final journeys were for.
Entanglement Page 23
