“We think so, yes. He’s a fucked up wazzock with a gob full’a shite, but he’s in charge of that nuke now.”
Moore stared open mouthed.
Alicia translated. “Gator sounds madder than Julian Marsh after ten gallons of coffee, and I’d have said that was impossible before I heard what he had to say. Now, where’s Hayden and what has happened here?”
Moore laid it all out for them, commenting on the fight between Ramses and Price and then the escape. Drake shook his head at the condition of the station and the inadequate scattering of agents.
“Could he have planned this? All the way from that bloody castle in Peru? Even whilst we were scouting the bazaar?”
Mai looked skeptical. “Sounds a little farfetched even for one of your theories.”
“And it doesn’t matter,” Alicia said. “Does it? I mean, who cares? We should stop gassing and start looking.”
“For once,” Mai said. “I agree with Taz. Perhaps her latest lover has actually pounded some sense into her.” She flicked a nifty glance at Beau.
Drake cringed as Moore looked on, now even more wide-eyed. The Homeland agent stared at the four of them.
“Sounds like some party, guys.”
Drake shrugged it aside. “Where did they go? Hayden and Kinimaka?”
Moore pointed. “51st. Followed Ramses, eleven of his followers and that prick, Price, into the smoke. I lost sight of them after only a few minutes.”
Alicia gestured at the bank of screens. “Can you find them?”
“Most of the feeds are down. Screens destroyed. We’d be hard pressed finding Battery Park right now.”
Drake walked up to the broken balcony rail and surveyed the station and the street outside. It was an odd world that lay before him, in conflict with the city he envisaged, rocked back on its heels at least for today. He knew only one way to help these people recover.
Keep them safe.
“Do you have any more news?” Moore was asking. “I guess you’ve been talking to Marsh and this Gator guy.”
“Only what we told you,” Alicia said. “Did you get the deactivation codes checked out?”
Moore pointed at a blinking icon that had just started flashing on one of the surviving screens. “Let’s see.”
Drake now returned as Beau headed over to the water cooler for a drink. Moore read the email aloud, which quickly got to the point and authenticated the deactivation codes.
“So,” Moore perused. “The codes are actually kosher. I have to say that that’s surprising. Do you think Marsh knew he was going to be usurped?”
“Could be any number of reasons,” Drake said. “Security for himself. Brinksmanship. The simple fact is that the man is six bullets short of a full mag. If this Gator didn’t sound so wappy I’d actually feel safer right now.”
“Wappy?”
“Batshit crazy?” Drake tried. “I dunno. Hayden’s better at talking your language than I am.”
“English.” Moore nodded. “Our language is English.”
“If you say so. But this is a good thing, folks. Genuine deactivation codes are a good thing.”
“You do realize we could have reached out for them anyway once the boffins have determined the origin of the nuke?” Beau said, returning and sipping from a plastic cup.
“Umm, yeah, but that hasn’t happened yet. And for all we know they changed the codes, or added a new trigger.”
Beau accepted that with a slight nod.
Drake checked his watch. They had been inside the precinct for almost ten minutes now with no word from Hayden or Dahl. Today, ten minutes was an eternity.
“I’m calling Hayden.” He plucked out his cellphone.
“Don’t bother,” Mai said. “Isn’t that Kinimaka?”
Drake whirled to where she pointed. The unmistakable figure of Mano Kinimaka lumbered steadily along the street, bent over, clearly in pain, but jogging doggedly toward the precinct. Drake swallowed a dozen questions and instead raced straight for the man who could answer them. Once outside, the team caught Mano at the rubble-strewn intersection.
“What happened, mate?”
The Hawaiian’s relief upon meeting them was tempered by some terrible heartache sitting just below the surface. “They have Hayden,” he whispered. “We took three of them down, but didn’t get close to Ramses or Price. And then they ambushed us at the end. Took me out of the game and, when I climbed out from under a ton of rubble, Hayden was gone.”
“How do you know they got her?” Beau asked. “Perhaps she is still giving chase?”
“My arms and legs might’ve been impeded,” Kinimaka said. “But my ears heard just fine. They disarmed her and dragged her away. The last thing they said was . . .” Kinimaka swallowed with a heavy heart, unable to go on.
Drake caught the man’s stare. “We will save her. We always do.”
Kinimaka winced. “Not always.”
“What did they say to her?” Alicia pressed.
Kinimaka looked to the skies as if seeking the inspiration of sunshine. “They said they would give her a close look at that nuke. They said they were gonna strap it to her back.”
CHAPTER THIRTY TWO
Torsten Dahl left several clean-up crews to take care of the area around Times Square and drew his team deep into the shadows offered by a narrow alley. Here, it was quiet and free of life, the perfect place to make an important phone call. He first rang Hayden but when she didn’t answer he tried to contact Drake.
“Dahl here. What’s the latest?”
“We’re in the shit, pal—”
“Balls deep again?” Dahl interrupted. “What’s new?”
“No—neck deep this time. These mad bastards broke, or were broken out, of their cells. Ramses and Price are gone. The fifth cell is—or was—twelve strong. Mano says they got three.”
Dahl picked up on the inflection. “Mano says?”
“Yeah, mate. They got Hayden. They took her with them.”
Dahl closed his eyes.
“But we still have a little time.” Drake tried the positive side. “They wouldn’t have taken her at all if they wanted to detonate immediately.”
The Yorkie was right, Dahl had to admit. He listened as Drake went on to explain that Marsh had now been removed as the Prince of Darkness and replaced temporarily by one called Gator. Homeland had just managed to identify this man as an American sympathizer.
“Really?” Dahl said. “To what?”
“Pretty much to anything than can cause anarchy,” Drake said. “He’s a merc for hire, only this time he went super ballistic.”
“I thought Ramses always kept his business ‘in house’.”
“Gator’s a New York native. He would have been able to provide invaluable logistical knowledge for the op.”
“Yeah, it makes sense.” Dahl sighed and rubbed his eyes tiredly. “So what’s next? Do we have a location on Hayden?”
“They ditched her cell. They must have taken at least some of her clothes because the tracker sewn into her shirt says she’s under a table at the Chipotle Mexican Grill, which we’re just confirming is bullshit. Surveillance cameras are working but the receivers at our end were mostly knocked out by the attack on the precinct. They’re piecing together what they can. And they just don’t have enough manpower. Things could go real bad from here, mate.”
“Could?” Dahl repeated. “I’d say we were already past bad and heading up the street of horrific, wouldn’t you?”
Drake was silent for a moment, then said, “We’re hoping that they continue with the demands,” he said. “Every new requirement give us more time.”
Dahl didn’t have to say they had made no headway so far. The fact was self-evident. Here they were depending on Homeland to discover the nuke’s location, running around like forewarned Christmas turkeys, only so Moore could pinpoint the exact spot, but the whole enterprise had failed.
“All we’ve done is neutralize a few expendable cells,” he said. “We h
aven’t even come close to Ramses’ real plan, and especially his endgame.”
“Why don’t you guys come down to the precinct? Might as well be together when the next lead comes in.”
“Yeah, we will.” Dahl waved at the rest of his team and figured out the right direction to take them towards 3rd Avenue. “Hey, how’s Mano holding up?”
“Guy took a big hit from a wall of shelving. Don’t ask. But he’s raring to go, just waiting for somebody to give him a target.”
Dahl broke into a run as they ended their call. Kenzie pulled up beside him and nodded. “Bad call?”
“Considering our position I suppose it could be worse but, yes, that was a bad call. They abducted Hayden. Took her to where the bomb is.”
“Well, that’s great! I mean don’t all you guys have hidden trackers?”
“We do. And they threw it away along with her clothes.”
“The Mossad imbed under the skin,” Kenzie said softly. “Good for them, but not for me. Made me feel ‘owned’.”
“It would.” Dahl nodded. “We all need to feel that we’re in control of our own fate, and that each decision is essentially free. Not a manipulation.”
“These days,” Kenzie fingers flexed and then bunched into tight fists, “you manipulate me at your peril,” then she gave him a breezy smile. “Except you, my friend, you can manipulate me anytime, and anywhere, you like.”
Dahl looked away. There was no stopping Bridget McKenzie. The woman knew he was a married man, a father, and yet still poured on the temptation. Of course, one way or another she wouldn’t be here much longer.
Problem solved.
Smyth and Lauren also jogged together, passing quiet comments. Yorgi brought up the rear, tired and speckled with debris but loping along with game determination. Dahl knew it had been his first real experience of frantic, unsystematic battle and thought he’d coped well with it. The streets flashed past and then they turned left onto 3rd Avenue, heading up toward the intersection with 51st.
It was a weird few minutes for Dahl. Some parts of the city were unaffected and although many shops remained open and people walked inside a cloud of trepidation, others were deserted, practically devoid of life. A few streets were cordoned off with SWAT vehicles and four-wheel-drive army vehicles strewn about. Some areas shrank with shame at the presence of looters. For the most part the people he saw seemed unclear as to what to do, so he added his voice to what he imagined would be the authorities’ and suggested they find shelter anywhere they could.
And then they reached the precinct where Drake and the others waited and hoped and planned for the rescue of Hayden Jaye.
Only a few hours had passed since this day began. And now they searched in desperation for a way to find the nuke. Dahl knew there would be no turning back, no running away or hiding in bunkers. The SPEAR team were in this to the end. If the city did perish today it would not be for the lack of heroes trying to save it.
CHAPTER THIRTY THREE
Hayden kept her silence as Ramses directed actions and reactions, reminding his men who was boss, testing their absolute loyalty. After dragging her away from the sports store they had made her run among them along 3rd Avenue, then took a moment to locate and ditch her cellphone and tear off her bulletproof vest. Ramses seemed to have some knowledge of tracking devices and their whereabouts and instructed his men to remove her shirt. The small device was found quickly, and discarded, then the group continued their run along what seemed an entirely arbitrary route.
Hayden got the impression that it was anything but.
It took some time. The group ditched their larger weapons and black outer clothing, revealing the usual touristy uniforms beneath. They were suddenly bright, unthreatening, part of a hundred anxious crowds surfing the city’s streets. Police and army patrols lined some of the routes, but the cells just diverted down one dark alley and then another until they were clear. Hayden was given a spare jacket to wear. At one point they climbed aboard pre-positioned motorcycles and took a slow drive out of the inner heart of Manhattan.
But not too far. Hayden wished with everything she had that she could get a message to someone—anyone—now that she knew the location of the bomb. It didn’t matter that they might kill her—it only mattered that these fanatics were stopped.
The bikes were wheeled part way down an alley and then the ten men—eight remaining legionnaires, Ramses and Price—followed each other through a rusted metal side door. Hayden was shoved along at their center, a spoil of war, and although she already knew her fate she tried to take in every sight, every change of direction and every whispered word she overheard.
Beyond the battered outer door, a stinking inner passage led to a concrete staircase. Here, one of the men turned to Hayden and placed his knife against her throat.
“Silence,” Ramses said without turning around. “I would rather not kill you just yet.”
Up they went, four floors, and then paused for only a moment outside an apartment door. When it opened the group crowded in, escaping the hallway as fast as they could. Ramses halted in the center of the room, arms outstretched.
“And here we are,” he said. “At a million endings and at least one beginning. The people of this city will depart this life, never knowing that this is the start of our new path, our holy war. The—”
“Really?” A dry voice broke into the tirade. “A part of me wants to believe you, Ramses, but the other, worst, part—it thinks you’re full of it.”
Hayden got her first good look at Julian Marsh. The Pythian was odd looking, lopsided as if part of him had folded into the other. He wore clothing that would never match, no matter the year or the current trend. One eye was bruised, the other wide and unblinking, whilst one shoe had fallen off. To his right sat a striking brunette that Hayden didn’t know, but by the way they were tangled together it was clear they were associated in more than one way.
Not an ally then.
Hayden watched Ramses react to Marsh’s jibe with disdain. “Did you know?” the terrorist prince said. “That we tricked you before we even met you. Before we even knew the name of the fool that would carry our eternal fire into America’s very heart. Even your own, Tyler Webb, betrayed you.”
“Fuck Webb,” Marsh said. “And fuck you.”
Ramses turned away with a laugh. “Back to what I was saying. Even the people who work here resent this town. It is too costly, too touristy. Ordinary men and women can’t afford to live here and struggle to get to work. Can you imagine the bitterness that fosters against the system and the men who continue to maintain it? There are tolls on the bridges and tunnels. You are nothing if you do not have money. Greed, greed, greed, everywhere. And it makes me sick.”
Hayden stayed quiet, still calculating her next move, still watching Marsh for a reaction.
Ramses took a step away. “And Gator, my old friend. It is good to see you again.”
Hayden watched as the man called Gator embraced his boss. Trying to stay small, quiet and possibly overlooked, she measured how many steps it would take to reach the door. Too many for now. Wait, just wait.
But how long could she afford? Despite Ramses’ words she wondered if he even wanted to escape the nuclear blast. The good news was that the authorities would have the airspace sewn up so the man was going nowhere fast.
Robert Price threw himself into a chair, groaning. He asked the nearest legionnaire for a bottle of aspirin, but was pointedly ignored. Marsh narrowed his eyes at the Secretary of Defense.
“Do I know you?”
Price shrank deep into the cushion.
Hayden gauged the remainder of the room, only now setting eyes upon the dinner table that stood by the far curtained window.
Shit, is that . . . ?
It was smaller than she had imagined. The backpack was larger than the standard model, too big to fit in an airplane luggage bin, but wouldn’t appear too ungainly on the back of a bigger individual.
“I sold you this, Ma
rsh,” Ramses was saying. “With the hope that you would bring it to New York. For that I will be forever grateful. Think of it as a gift when I tell you that you and your woman-friend will be allowed to feel the consuming fire. It is the best that I can offer you and far better than a knife across the throat.”
Hayden committed the nuke to memory—its size, shape and backpack appearance—in case she might need it. No way was she dying here today.
Ramses then turned to his men. “Get her ready,” he said. “And don’t spare the American bitch one ounce of pain.”
Hayden had guessed it was coming. They hadn’t been able to tie her hands on the way here and now she took full advantage of it. So many things counted on her right then—the fate of a city, a nation, a major part of the civilized world. The vase to her right came in handy, its neck the perfect width for her hand and of the right weight to cause some harm. It shattered across the closest man’s temple, jagged pieces flying to the floor. When he brought his hand up Hayden grappled for the gun, but seeing that it was wrapped securely around his shoulder she gave up immediately, instead using her hold on the barrel to pull him even further off balance. Guns were leveled but Hayden ignored them all. This was purely last chance saloon now . . . no more fighting for her life—more like fighting for a city’s survival. And hadn’t they just smuggled her in here under cover? That told her a gunshot would be frowned upon.
Gator came at her from the side, but Ramses held him back. Another interesting reveal. Gator was important to Ramses. In another instant she was swamped, unable to focus outside the arms and legs that struck at her. Deflecting one, two blows, but there was always another. Not TV villains these—politely waiting for one to get punched so another could step in. No, these surrounded and assaulted her all at once so that no matter how many she stopped and struck, two more were beating at her. Pain exploded in more places than she could count, but she used a stumble to scoop up a jagged bit of vase and slash two men around the face and arms. They fell away, bleeding. She rolled into a pair of legs, sending their owner tumbling. She attempted to throw a heavy mug at the window, thinking it might attract attention, but the damn thing fell about half a meter short.
The Edge of Armageddon Page 14
