by Neil Hunter
“T. J., off to the north,” Janek said. “There’s a chopper coming in.”
Cade picked it up. Still a speck, but definitely on a course that would bring it over Culver’s craft.
“What do you think?” Janek asked above the howl of the engine. “They could take out Culver’s boat by themselves. Why the powerboat?”
“Maybe they need to get on board first,” Cade answered. “Could be Culver has something they need to take with them Hell, I don’t know, Janek.”
The pursuing powerboat began to close in on Culver’s craft as it cleared the point. The New York cop, perhaps suddenly realizing he was being chased, opened his throttles and the cruiser surged ahead, but its limited speed was no match for the powerboat. The craft accelerated and came alongside, armed figures leaping for the low deck rails.
“Let’s move!” Cade yelled.
Janek added the final burst of speed that took their powerboat in a direct line for the craft attacking Culver’s.
A sudden deafening roar filled the air, and the dark shape of the helicopter came at them in a long, low dive. It skimmed the surface of the water, the rotor wash whipping up white froth.
There was a heavy chatter of noise, and the water around Cade and Janek erupted in spumy geysers. Something whacked against the foredeck of the powerboat, tearing a ragged hole in the fiberglass hull.
“Move it!” Cade yelled.
Janek swung the wheel, ramming the powerboat against the craft that had attached itself to the side of Culver’s vessel.
Cade spotted a dark-clad figure half-risen from the pilot’s seat of the other powerboat. The man was leaning over the back of his seat, hanging on to the wheel with one hand and leveling an Army-issue auto-rifle. Without a second’s thought, Cade brought the SPAS around and touched the trigger. The heavy blast from the combat weapon at such close range made the man’s head disintegrate. He sagged back across the passenger seat, spilling his blood across the expensive upholstery.
Without waiting, Cade unclipped his belt and stood up. He took a couple of long strides across the width of the opposition’s powerboat and grabbed for the cruiser’s rail.
He could hear someone shouting in anger, then the sound of auto fire.
He cleared the rail, hitting the cruiser’s deck in a crouch, the SPAS at the ready. A gun fired close by, and slugs clanged off the rail inches from his head. Cade twisted, the muzzle of the SPAS seeking its target. He spotted a lean black man leaning out from behind the deck structure, trying for a clearer shot. Cade triggered the shotgun, twice, then again. The charge ripped away the wood from the hatchway, blasting splinters into the man’s face. He stumbled away from cover, clawing at his lacerated, bleeding face. Cade fired again, this time catching his adversary between the shoulders and catapulting him along the deck in a spray of red.
Janek appeared at the rail, his handgun out. He took off along the deck, in the opposite direction to Cade, and between them they closed in on the wheelhouse. They still heard the exchange of fire, and glass blew out of a window above Cade, showering him with glittering splinters.
He heard Janek’s gun firing. Single, methodical shots, and he knew that each would be finding its target.
Cade went up the companion way to the wheelhouse. A bloody figure stumbled from the open door, still holding the Army auto-rifle. Cade hit him with a single shot from the SPAS and blew him off his feet. Then he dropped to a crouch and went in through the door.
The interior looked like a slaughterhouse.
It was a slaughterhouse.
Barney Culver lay in a crumpled, blood-soaked heap near the cruiser’s wheel. He had been shot to ribbons. On the opposite side lay two of the boarders. Each man had been shot directly between the eyes, the powerful soft-nosed slugs from Janek’s handgun blowing off the backs of their skulls during exit.
“See if you can do anything for him,” Cade yelled. He was thumbing fresh loads into the SPAS, conscious of the chopper’s presence.
He moved around to the front of the wheelhouse in time to see the helicopter sliding in sideways. The hatch was open, and a couple of armed men were preparing to drop to the cruiser’s deck.
Cade raised the shotgun and pumped out shot after shot. First he targeted the armed men, hitting one and driving the other back into cover. Then he switched his aim, blasting at the tail rotor. His fire took effect. The chopper began to swing off course. The pilot, aware of what Cade could do if he got lucky, decided on caution. He swung the chopper around and began to ease it away from the cruiser. Cade dropped the empty SPAS, pulled his .357 and began to fire with that. The Magnum slugs chewed nervously at the chopper’s fuselage, and a couple through the Plexiglas canopy finally convinced the pilot he was putting it all on the line. The chopper swept away, skimming the waves as it retreated.
Cade reloaded his handgun and shotgun before he went back inside the wheelhouse.
Janek looked up from where he was crouching beside Barney Culver’s body. His hands and clothing were bloodstained.
“Sorry, T. J.,” he apologized. “I couldn’t do a thing for him. He’s dead.”
Janek watched the air ambulance hover over the quayside as it came about, then it slid forward over the rooftops of Sag Harbor and vanished from sight. An interested crowd of onlookers was being kept behind the police barriers by local cops. Turning away, Janek made his way back along the deck of Culver’s cruiser, stepping through the hatchway and down to the main cabin. “Anything?” he asked.
Cade shook his head without looking up from the desk he was searching.
“I don’t even know what I’m looking for.”
Janek joined his partner and together they stripped the cabin, searching every possible place. It took over half an hour. By the end Cade was getting edgy. Janek continued, doggedly going over each section. He finally sat back on one of the padded bench seats and stared around the cabin.
“I still believe you were right, T. J. If they’d just wanted Culver dead, the chopper could have blown him out of the water.”
“So what did he have on board they wanted so damn bad?”
“Evidence that might link them to whatever they’re planning?”
“Insurance, you mean? Culver making certain he had something to use against them if the game got tricky?”
Janek nodded. He stood up, crossed the cabin and bent over a pile of papers scattered across the top of Culver’s desk.
“Something?” Cade asked, joining the cybo.
“Could be,” Janek said. “I spotted it in among the other papers, but it didn’t register at the time. Not until we started talking about insurance.”
“This better be good,” Cade said.
“Man of little faith,” Janek muttered. “Get ready to acknowledge my genius.”
He straightened up, clutching a slip of paper in his hand.
“So?” Cade asked.
“This is a rental slip from the Sag Harbor Bank. Rental for a safe-deposit box. Don’t you think it odd that Culver has a box in a small-town bank quite a distance from where he spends his normal working days?”
“Where people are concerned, Janek, nothing is ever odd,” Cade said.
“Fine. No reason why he shouldn’t have a box,” Janek agreed. “But what for? Unless it’s something he wants away from prying eyes. Like payoff money perhaps. Or incriminating evidence he doesn’t want his partners in crime to know about?”
“Okay, Sherlock,” Cade said, “let’s go talk to the Sag Harbor Bank.”
The droid behind the bank counter had a comforting smile on its satin chrome face.
“May I be of assistance?” it asked, eagerness oozing from every joint.
Janek placed the rental slip on the counter and his badge next to it.
“All very interesting,” the droid said. The smile remained in place. “However, it doesn’t tell me what you require.”
“We need to see what’s in the man’s deposit box,” Janek explained. “The owner has been m
urdered, and we are conducting an official investigation.”
“The regulations state...”
Janek shook his head. “Not what I want to hear, friend. Now let’s not get into playing games.” He tapped the badge left lying on the counter. “No use pretending you don’t recognize that. Justice Department. Gives us priority over your rules and regulations.”
“This is all highly irregular,” the droid said. Now its tone was high, starting to become tight and prissy.
“He’s going to blow,” Cade said over Janek’s shoulder.
“T. J., it’ll be fine.”
But Janek wasn’t too convinced himself. The droid was exhibiting that look, the one that warned it was teetering on the brink. Janek hated dealing with the limited intelligence of the dedicated service droids. Once they were confronted by a situation outside their program, they were liable to react unfavorably.
“Just call your supervisor,” Janek suggested. “I’ll discuss this with him or her.”
The droid relaxed. Janek had offered it an easy way out. Responsibility could be passed to a superior, leaving the droid to carry on with its normal functions.
The supervisor was a tall, confident blonde. She inspected the credentials Cade and Janek presented and examined the rental slip.
“You say Captain Culver is dead?”
“He was killed a short while ago out on the bay,” Cade said.
“We heard shooting. Were you involved?” she asked, looking at the bloodstains on Janek’s clothing.
Cade nodded. “Culver was under investigation.”
The blonde digested the news. “I see. Are you saying there might be evidence in the safe-deposit box?”
“It’s possible. If there is, we need to see it now.”
“You have no objection to me checking the validity of your badges?”
“Go ahead.”
The blonde walked off across the administration area. Cade watched her, his eyes giving away his inner thoughts.
“Strength of character flies out the window when a tight skirt comes along, Thomas,” Janek observed.
Cade grinned. “I was only looking. It’s just harmless fun.”
Janek frowned. “I thought sex was a serious business?”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
Janek started to say “I was...” but just then the blonde returned to hand back their badges.
“They check out. It appears you are genuine. Under the circumstances, I believe we can waive the regulations. If you would follow me...”
She led the way to the elevator, which shot them down to the basement where the vaults were located. Security droids manned all the entrances and exits. The vault area was decorated in soothing whites and pastel shades, with concealed, soft lighting.
“I thought this was for people to look at their money,” Janek said. “This is more like a place of worship.”
Cade glanced at the cybo. “You’re learning.”
The blonde used an entry code to open the gleaming steel grille and led them into the vault. She spoke to the security droid on duty and followed it down to the box depository. She returned a couple of minutes later. The droid was behind her, carrying the long safe-deposit box, which it placed on the table in front of Cade and Janek. The blonde tapped in the two sets of code numbers, then stepped back.
“All yours, Marshal Cade,” she said, and left.
Cade raised the lid of the box.
At first it appeared that the box contained nothing but money. In neat, banded blocks of thousand-dollar bills.
“Looks like Culver was saving for old age,” Cade said, lifting out stacks of the bills.
“He must have started saving the day he left kindergarten, then,” Janek remarked.
Cade removed the last of the cash. On the bottom of the box was a thin, square card packet. Inside was a computer disk.
“The jackpot, partner,” Cade said. He handed the disk to Janek. “Look after this.”
“What about the money?” Janek asked out of sheer curiosity.
Cade looked at him, his face deadpan. “You want it?”
“Not funny, Thomas,” the cybo chided.
Cade dumped the money back in the deposit box and closed the lid. He signaled to the waiting security droid.
“You can put it back now.”
They made their way out of the bank, and Cade went over to have a word with the local police. Then he flung himself back behind the wheel and drove out of Sag Harbor, picking up the route that would return them to New York.
Janek showed his usual interest in the surroundings, his eyes taking in everything they were passing. His thirst for knowledge seemed endless, and his curiosity was never stifled.
“That helicopter we tangled with,” he remarked after about a quarter of an hour.
“What about it?” Cade asked.
“It’s back,” Janek said.
He said it low key, with no sense of urgency in his voice, and for a second Cade failed to comprehend, but only until the helicopter swooped into view, swaying as it hovered above the expressway directly ahead of their speeding cruiser.
“Shit!” Cade yelled, yanking the wheel hard to the left.
The cruiser lurched, tires squealing under the pressure of the extreme maneuver. Cade hauled the wheel around in the opposite direction, bringing the car back in line.
Janek had grabbed the SPAS and slipped off the safety. He powered down his window, setting himself to stand off any attack from the menacing helicopter.
The chopper curved around to hang ahead of them again. The side hatch was open, and the ugly snout of a heavy, rapid-fire auto-cannon jutted out from the chopper’s cabin.
The cannon opened up, and a stream of 30 mm high-velocity shells hammered at the Ford. The expressway blew chunks of asphalt into the air. Cade swerved violently. He pulled the car away from the main stream of cannon fire but failed to clear it completely. Shells chewed at the right front fender, filling the air with shards of metal, but the tire wasn’t touched. The fire-spitting helicopter overflew the hurtling car, giving Cade breathing space in which to increase his already breakneck speed.
“Dammit, Janek, we’re sitting ducks.”
“Then let’s get the hell out of it.”
Even as Cade stepped on the brake, sending the cruiser into a rubber-burning slide, the helicopter hit them again.
This time it came diving in at their rear, raking the cruiser with shell fire. The rear window blew out, and the 30 mm slugs ripped into bodywork and upholstery. One of the rear tires exploded with a heavy thump, and the slewing car began to bounce heavily.
Cade wrestled with the wheel, aware that he was losing the battle. The cruiser arced around suddenly, slamming into the crash barrier at the side of the expressway. It slithered along the metal rail, while Cade kept hitting the brake. Finally he brought the car to a wrenching, shuddering halt. He kicked open his door and rolled out onto the highway with Janek close behind him, still clutching the SPAS.
Snatching his .357 from its holster, Cade circled the front of the wrecked car and vaulted the crash barrier, throwing himself into the field of grass and shrubbery that lay on the far side. As he thrust his way through, he could hear Janek pounding along behind him, and over all other sounds the thwack of the chopper’s rotors as it searched for them.
As Cade pushed deeper into the undergrowth, he picked up the sound of distant voices and, throwing a backward glance, he saw armed figures clearing the crash barrier.
The chopper had called in reinforcements.
Chapter Five
The rattle of an auto-weapon reached Cade’s ears. He heard the passing bullets tear at the undergrowth. The Justice cop felt his anger rising. He hated being shot at, but even more he hated the thought of running.
He hauled himself to a stop and turned, the .357 swinging up in his fist. He spotted the dark-clad figures coming at him through the tall grasses. He cupped his left hand under his right, bracing the Ma
gnum. His finger squeezed back on the trigger. The powerful handgun rocked in his fist.
One of the pursuing gunmen twisted out of control and crashed hard down on the ground. He was out of the running, and close by, the heavy boom of the SPAS told Cade his partner had joined in the fight. Janek began to fire in a steady routine, taking out two more of the attackers before the remainder turned in hasty retreat.
“Let’s go,” Cade suggested, and the pair moved off, heading for a stand of timber in the near distance.
Overhead the dark shape of the helicopter monitored their movements. Without warning, it dropped, sweeping low across the grassy meadow. The tall grasses rippled like waves on the ocean beneath the rotor wash.
The chopper roared in toward them, the sound of its motor rising to a loud howl of fury, but its 30 mm cannon was unable to fire on them during forward flight.
Janek faced the oncoming craft, the SPAS to his shoulder. He led the advancing machine, then triggered a couple of loads at the canopy. The shot struck the lower nose of the chopper as it flew by them. The side gunner swung his weapon around and loosed off a number of shots in passing that went wide of the mark.
“Those trees,” Cade yelled. “They’ll give us some cover.”
He began to sprint toward the stand of timber. Janek followed, scanning the area.
The group of gunmen appeared again, off to the left. They’d stayed under cover until they were level with Cade and Janek, and now they were making another attack.
At the same time the chopper dropped out of the sky, almost reaching ground level as it skimmed along, Janek turned, aware of its closeness. He swung the shotgun, attempting to fire, but the pilot increased his speed.
Janek tried to turn aside, his powerful legs driving him forward. Then the chopper’s landing skid caught him in the lower back. The cybo felt himself lifted and thrown through the air. He lost his grip on the SPAS. The earth rushed up to meet him, and he crashed to the ground. His senses went all to hell, and the day went blank on him.
Cade had witnessed his partner’s knockdown. He forgot about his own safety and turned to face the advancing gunmen.
