by Jason Dean
The pay phone rang an eighth time. Bishop and Raymond looked at each other.
Then Bishop’s cell phone started ringing, while the pay phone remained silent.
‘See?’ Raymond said, smiling.
Bishop smiled back and took the call on his cell. ‘It’s me.’
‘Catch you mid-flow, did I?’ Hallaran said.
‘Something like that. You gonna gloat or are you gonna put her on?’
‘Patience, Bishop. Here she is.’
‘Hey, partner,’ the familiar voice said, ‘wish you were here.’
‘Me too, Vallejo. How you holding up?’
‘Well, I’m still breathing. They haven’t laid a hand on me yet, but that’s just . . .’
‘And she’ll stay that way as long as you do as you’re told,’ Hallaran interrupted. ‘But for now, go grab a bite at the diner next door. I promise not to call back for at least an hour.’
‘You’re all heart. You know, I’m really looking forward to meeting you.’
‘Don’t look forward to it too much. You might not like how it comes out.’ Then the line went dead.
I could give you the same advice, he thought, pocketing the cell. He turned to Raymond, who was screwing the front panel back on the post. ‘Real good work, Raymond. I’m impressed.’
‘Hey, I wasn’t sure I could do it for a moment there. Things have changed a lot since I left, but rerouting a line’s the same once you’re in the system. Now any incoming calls on this phone will get transferred to your cell, but it’ll still be logged as coming to this site.’
‘What about outgoing?’
Raymond got up and rubbed his forehead. ‘Well, we might have a problem if somebody comes along and makes a collect call. The operator won’t be able to make the connection and will disconnect it, then report a fault in the line. A way round it is to put an Out of Order sticker over this box, but then the store owner here might get curious and check back with the central office. Either way’s risky. It’s up to you.’
Bishop thought for a moment and shrugged. ‘Keep it as it is, then. Okay, let’s wrap it up. We got some driving to do.’
SEVENTY-NINE
It was 23.43 when the next call came. Bishop answered the cell and Hallaran’s voice said, ‘Answered on the third ring, this time. You’re improving. So you been keeping busy over there?’
‘Sure,’ Bishop said. He was currently standing by the empty fireplace in Neeson’s large, spacious living room. Kate was perched on the coffee table, watching him. Raymond was sitting on the couch, still in his overalls, sipping a coke. ‘Mostly thinking of what I’m gonna do to you once we meet.’
‘Very productive. But then, it’s always good to have goals, even if they are unrealistic.’
‘Uh huh. You want to let me talk to her now?’
‘Why not? Just keep it short, like before.’
Vallejo came on. ‘Hey, again. So how’s things on the outside?’
‘Same as always. How about you? Still keeping bad company?’
‘The worst. But at least I got Patricia with me. We’re having a slumber party. You’re invited, but only if you bring some booze.’
There were some muffled sounds and then Hallaran cut in. ‘Cute. As you can hear, we’re all having a wild time here. Gotta hang up now, but let’s talk again soon, huh?’
The line went dead and Bishop pocketed the phone. This was the second call since they’d left Queen Creek. Both times he’d been listening carefully for any sign that Hallaran might suspect something was amiss. But he still sounded the same. Like he was untouchable. So it looked like Bishop might be in the clear. At least, for the time being.
He checked the wall clock above the fireplace. 23.45. Getting close to game time. He also reflected on how well Vallejo was holding up. She had to know how close she was to the abyss, but she was playing it as cool as ever. As though she trusted Bishop to have a plan to get her out of this mess. That kind of faith left a deep impression on him. Not that he needed any more motivation. He’d originally come into this with the express purpose of finding Selina and bringing her back. But it was bigger than that now. Much bigger. He couldn’t afford to let Vallejo down. He couldn’t afford to let any of them down.
He sat in one of the easy chairs and took Abraham’s Sig from his shoulder holster. He was wearing the same clothes as last night. Black combats, black shirt, black windbreaker. The holster was new, though. He’d picked it up at a gun store just outside Phoenix on the way back. Along with a few other items. Like the Ka-Bar knife and ankle holster.
As he checked the magazine again, Kate asked, ‘So Clarissa’s still okay?’
Bishop nodded. ‘For now.’
‘I still can’t believe you’re going in there alone, Bishop.’
‘Who else is gonna help? And don’t bring up the cops again, because we’ve been through all that. There are too many lives at stake. You’ll call them, just not yet.’
He’d already gone over it with her in as much detail as he could. About when to call in the alarm. And to make sure to stay well clear of the hangar until they arrived. Then she could go in with her photographer and do all the filming and reporting she wanted. Assuming things went to plan. Which they probably wouldn’t.
Plans were all well and good, but there were too many unknowns in this instance. Like the placement of the guards. He knew a lot of it would come down to improvisation in the end, but he couldn’t tell Kate that. She had to believe he knew what he was doing all along or she’d go straight to the cops right now.
‘When you aiming to go in?’ Raymond asked.
‘Neeson says this Poleina is arriving at 0100 hours, so the closer I can time it to that, the better. When everybody’s attention will be focused on the plane’s arrival.’
Reholstering the gun, he took from his pocket the rough plan Neeson had drawn for him and looked it over again, making sure he had it all down. The interior’s six-by-six grid format looked deceptively simple at first glance, but Bishop knew Hallaran must have put a lot of thought into the layout and location of each room.
The hangar was a square split up into four quadrants by two central corridors, running from north to south and east to west. The south-east quadrant contained nine equal-sized rooms in rows of three, with each block separated by a smaller corridor running the length of the building. The bottom six were numbered and reserved for the captured women, then three apartments for Hallaran’s people. The main east-west corridor then acted as a partition for the north-east quadrant, which featured three more staff apartments, followed by rooms 7 to 9. And then something called a ‘games’ room, a storage room, and a utility area. Making eighteen rooms altogether.
The other half of the hangar kept to the same grid layout, but with several differences. The south-west quadrant contained just three long areas running across: an open space Neeson called the reception area, then a gym area, then Hallaran’s large apartment. Naturally, it was three times the size of the others. Finally, in the north-west quadrant, a long garage area took up the west side, followed by six more rooms in three rows of two. Two of these were apartments, plus the medical room, the kitchen, Hallaran’s office, and the comms room.
All those corridors, and any one of them could contain a guard on his rounds. The place was wide open in there, with few hiding places. Not exactly ideal conditions, but then they never were. Bishop would just have to live with it.
Or not, as the case may be.
Sticking the paper back in his pocket, he stood up and took another look at the clock. 23.56. ‘Okay,’ he said, ‘I think it’s time we brought Neeson out.’
EIGHTY
Neeson drove the BMW X5 slowly down the dirt track with his headlights off. More of Hallaran’s rules. Bishop was crouched in the back of the SUV, watching Neeson via the side mirror. He’d already made it clear that if he spotted any sign that his captive was trying to alert the guard, or leave his seat, he’d get two in the back.
Ahead, Bishop saw
the dark shape of the hangar looming larger. Before that was razor-wire-topped barbed wire fencing – also electrified, according to Neeson – stretching off to the left and right. And the guard shack by the entrance gate. Fifty feet away now. No lights anywhere. Just the kind of set-up he’d expected to see at Olander’s place.
‘Remember what we talked about,’ Bishop said. ‘Just act normal and say the lines and you got nothing to worry about.’
‘I understand,’ Neeson said, drawing in a deep breath.
‘Good.’ Bishop got down on the floor, between the front and rear seats. He grabbed the section of black carpeting he’d cut from the rear of the vehicle and pulled it over himself. He also had the fibre-optic scope he’d used at Gaspard’s embedded inside the driver’s seat. The insertion tube peeking out from behind Neeson’s left shoulder was aimed towards the side mirror. Bishop picked the eyepiece off the floor and brought it to his left eye.
The image was clear enough, and the lens gave him a wide angle view of the side mirror and part of the hangar up ahead. Bishop saw the fence getting closer, and ten seconds later they came to a stop. The guard hut was left of shot, about ten feet further in. Suddenly, light played over the vehicle from that direction and fixed itself on Neeson. Then it went away and Bishop saw the gates open inwards.
Neeson drove through and stopped by the shack.
Bishop watched his face in the side mirror. The smile didn’t look too convincing, but Bishop figured his nervousness would work in their favour.
‘Hey, Mr Neeson,’ a deep male voice said. ‘Wasn’t expecting you tonight.’
‘Couldn’t sleep,’ Neeson said. ‘So I figured I’d come out and meet out latest client. Make sure everything goes smoothly.’
Bishop couldn’t see the guard, but he saw a light playing over the vehicle again. Had to be a flashlight. He watched Neeson’s face. Anything more than a cursory inspection and it would be obvious there was something in the back of the vehicle. He’d have to move fast and cut them both down. Bishop got ready.
Then, just as suddenly, the light disappeared and the guard said, ‘Well, you cut it close, Mr N. Plane’s due pretty soon.’
‘I know. Look, Lane, do me a favour, will you? Don’t report to Hallaran that I’ve arrived yet. Truth is, I’m really here because I want to spend some time with that little brunette in No.7 and I don’t need Hallaran giving me hell. You know how he gets. Right now, he’ll be occupied with No. 3 and he won’t care where I am.’
‘Hey, I don’t know, Mr N. I’ve got orders to call in any time I open that gate. It’s my ass if I don’t.’
‘Come on, Lane. Help me out here. Just let me have fifteen minutes with her, then you can report I’ve just arrived and I’ll go and wait with the others for the plane to land. Besides, I’ve heard you and Baldwin like checking in with certain girls occasionally, so I know you understand.’
There was a pause of a few seconds. Then the guard said, ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about, Mr Neeson. But I’ll give you the fifteen minutes. Starting now.’
Bishop saw Neeson breathe a sigh of relief. ‘I owe you one, Lane. Thanks a lot.’
‘Sure, Mr N,’ the guard said. ‘Have fun.’
Neeson put the car into gear and moved off slowly. Bishop checked his watch. 00.41. So if the guard kept his promise, Bishop had until 00.56 before Hallaran got the word. He raised himself up and peered through the rear windshield. The guard was watching the departing vehicle as he walked back to the hut. But he wasn’t talking to anyone. Maybe this would work. ‘That was real good, Neeson. You might make it through this yet.’
‘I plan to. I’m not about to do anything stupid.’
‘Glad to hear it,’ Bishop said, facing front.
Neeson was steering them to the right of the building, past the main hangar doors. They had to be there just for show now. Probably boarded up from the inside as soon as they moved in. Neeson took them round to the west side of the hangar and stopped. Bishop saw three wide wooden doors alongside each other, near the north-west corner. These had to be the garage entrances. He looked around and couldn’t see the other perimeter guard, but then it was a big area to cover.
Neeson took a remote from the passenger seat and pressed a button. All three doors began to roll back automatically and Bishop saw a number of vehicles parked inside. Too dark to see what they were, though. Neeson started forward again and aimed for the third door. It looked fairly empty on that side.
Once they were in, Bishop said, ‘Lower the doors.’
Neeson obeyed and a faint electronic hum accompanied the doors back to their original positions.
‘Switch on the sidelights and get out,’ Bishop said.
Neeson did as he was told and he and Bishop exited the vehicle at the same time. In the dim light, Bishop saw they were in a long area with vinyl flooring and wood-panelled walls all around. There was enough space for about fifteen vehicles. Maybe more. He counted twelve, including theirs. Five had protective coverings over them. The six that didn’t consisted of an SUV, a sedan, a pair of very familiar ambulances and a Mercedes Sprinter van. Plus a gleaming black stretch limo with heavily tinted windows at the end. No fuel tankers, of course. Neeson had told him they were both housed in the small building on the south side, separate from the main building.
There were also two doors. The one on the right would lead directly into the reception area, smack dab in the heart of the enemy. Too soon for that. The door straight ahead was the one he wanted.
Bishop raised the covering on the nearest vehicle and glanced at the interior. ‘I don’t see any keys,’ he said.
‘Hallaran keeps them all locked in his desk in his office.’
‘Not too big on trust, huh?’ Bishop lowered the canvas and said, ‘So this Ryan, the computer specialist. He doesn’t go out and meet the customers with Hallaran?’
Neeson shook his head. ‘There’s no need. He mostly stays in his room, either working or sleeping.’
‘Good. Take me there.’
‘Take . . .? But I already gave you his location on that map.’
Bishop pointed his gun. ‘So is that a no?’
Neeson’s eyes grew wide. ‘No, don’t. I’ll take you.’
But as soon as he turned in the direction of the door, Bishop raised the Sig and brought it straight down, the grip striking Neeson just behind his right ear. The older man collapsed silently to the floor, his head coming to a rest against Bishop’s feet.
‘On second thoughts,’ Bishop said, pulling a roll of duct tape from a pocket, ‘I’ll find him myself.’
EIGHTY-ONE
Bishop worked fast. Using his Maglite for illumination, he turned off the sidelights and secured the bound Neeson in the BMW’s rear cargo area. Two cars down, he found a similar-sized vehicle and removed the protective canvas tarpaulin, which he used to cover the BMW. With any luck, nobody would notice there was an extra SUV in here until it was too late.
Gripping the Sig, Bishop jogged over to the door straight ahead and opened it a crack. He saw a well-lit, narrow corridor receding into the distance with doors on either side. The nearest one on the right was open. He spotted the main corridor intersection about four hundred feet ahead. Nobody was in sight. He pulled the door open and stepped through.
Now he heard the faint sounds of human voices from the open doorway ahead. To his left he saw, affixed to the wall, a red fire-pull station under a clear tamper cover. He went over and tapped a knuckle lightly against the wall. White plywood. Probably wood panelling underneath. Sounded like it was at least a couple of inches thick. Looking up, he studied the ceiling fifteen feet above, and saw sprinklers placed at hundred foot intervals.
Bishop frowned at that. Sprinklers were all well and good, but Hallaran would know better than most how quickly fires could get out of hand. What if the sprinklers malfunctioned? Where were the back-up extinguishers? There should have been some around here. A meticulous type like Hallaran would insist on it. That was definite
ly something worth thinking about. But it was already 00.44. Twelve minutes before the guard called in. Maybe less. He needed to move. Four rooms between him and the intersection ahead. Two on either side. According to the plan, the medical room and Hallaran’s office were on the left, communal kitchen and communications room on the right. The voices were coming from the kitchen.
Bishop crept along the right wall until he was able to peer in. He saw a large, cavernous dining area with the usual furnishings and plenty of tables and chairs. Further in, he could just make out the back of one guy as he sipped from a cup of something. He was standing up, and wore a light blue shirt, jeans and a shoulder holster. Bishop couldn’t see the other guy. Then the man who was drinking laughed at something and Bishop darted past the opening. The impulsive part of his brain was urging him to bring down the odds now, while he had the chance. But he wouldn’t be able to do it quietly, and anything less would raise the alarm too soon.
Just stick to the plan, Bishop. Change it only when there’s no other choice.
He kept moving. Up ahead, he noticed a small window next to the comms room door. That was a detail Neeson had neglected to mention. Bishop edged along the wall until he reached the window. Crouching down underneath, he raised part of his head for a look inside. He saw maps pasted on the walls, with communications equipment and monitors on a long table against the far wall. A man in a baseball cap sat at the table with his head down, his attention on the newspaper before him.
That’s it, brother. You just keep on reading.
Still crouching, Bishop moved past the door and along the wall to the junction. The north–south corridor was much wider than the one he was in. He looked to the left and saw one more intersection down there. He turned the other way and saw another three corridors on the left and one near the end on the right. But just past the comms room was a large open space, which had to be the reception area. He heard more voices and various sounds coming from that direction.
Bishop suddenly saw part of a foot materialize from the last corridor and quickly pulled his head back. He stood up with his back against the wall and looked left. He was acutely aware that the two in the kitchen could discover him at any moment. But he couldn’t move now. He focused on the footsteps coming down the corridor towards him. Just one man, it sounded like. Then they stopped.
