Sympathy For the Devil

by Terrence McCauley

  Hicks slammed his foot into Omar’s left hand, smashing it against the radiator. Omar screamed as he tried to pull his arm free, but the tie held it in place.

  Hicks grabbed him by the collar and pulled him up until he sat with his back to the wall. “I’m not a cop, asshole, and you’re not going to jail. You’ve got no rights because you’re never going to see the inside of a courtroom. You’re not even going to jail. You’re going to spend the rest of your fucking life with men like me who like hurting men like you. You’re not going to get lawyer visits or be allowed to pray or any of that bullshit you see on the news. We’re going to make sure you live long enough to die slow, but before you do, you’re going to tell us everything you know. Because the less you tell us, the longer we keep you alive.” Hicks let him go and his head banged against the radiator.

  “Dirty Harry tactics,” Omar said. “I’ll never tell you anything.”

  “Why not? Djebar did.”

  Omar’s eyes flattened, just as they had before Hicks shot him. “You lie.”

  “Nope. We broke your friend inside of fifteen minutes and he’s a hell of a lot tougher than you. Better trained to hold up against that kind of thing. He told us about the viruses, Samuelson, and all about you and where to find you. So what do you think we’re going to do to you unless you start talking.”

  Omar flinched when Hicks cocked the Ruger and aimed it at Omar’s left foot. “You saw what this did to your shoulder. Imagine what it’ll do to your foot. For the last time, tell me about the ten men who just left here.”

  THE FACILITIES team pulled up in a ConEd truck just as Hicks was coming outside. Scott had brought the truck around and helped block off the street. They were less concerned about maintaining cover as they were about giving the Facilities team room to work. Jason would make sure the police and fire department would be warned off the area until the University’s people had a chance to examine the building.

  Scott got out of the driver’s seat while his men opened up the back of the truck and grabbed some air. “So, did he talk?”

  Hicks flexed his right hand. “Not at first, but he talked. The ten men in the cars have been injected with the virus.”

  “Which one?”

  “A mix of all three,” Hicks explained. “Omar says it eats through the host real fast, but it’s easier to spread. He injected all of them with the virus and plans on sending them to meet the arrivals terminals at JFK and LaGuardia.”

  “What about the shipment of the other drugs you talked about?”

  “He said he missed the window to give Samuelson the all clear to deliver it, so he’s gone. I’m not worried about him as much as I am about those ten assholes on the BQE.”

  “My men are on that. What about the people who’d been living upstairs?”

  “Omar said they’ve been sent all over the city, just like you thought. Nothing we can do about that now but alert the hospitals when we can. They’ve got protocols in place for this kind of thing already.” Hicks pulled out his handheld and pulled up the OMNI feed on the five cars. “Those bastards still on the BQE?”

  “Traffic has slowed to a crawl,” Scott said. “Overturned tractor trailer in Queens, unrelated to our guys. Looks like we caught a break.”

  “Did Jason get back to you on the status of the drone?”

  “At least an hour out. Took some time to get clearance to use it for domestic purposes. Observation is one thing, but arming them for targets on American soil is something else.”

  Hicks knew all too well about those limits. “Your boys really as good as you say they are?”

  “They are,” Scott said. “No bullshit. But, with that many civilians around, it won’t be clean.”

  Hicks’ handheld began to buzz and he wasn’t surprised to see who was calling him. “It’s the Dean.”

  Hicks answered it and the Dean said, “I read the manuscript you uploaded on your debrief with Omar and I’ve been monitoring the situation on the BQE. What do you want to do?”

  “It’s not my call to make, sir. It’s yours.”

  “And I’m relying on you to make it. You’re on the ground. I’m not. What’s it going to be?”

  “Then have the cops block all traffic eastbound on the BQE.” Hicks looked at Scott. “Set your men loose. Kill all hostiles.”

  Scott was already on the comm to his men.

  FROM INSIDE the van, Hicks and the others watched the scene on the BQE unfold from ten thousand miles above the earth.

  Just before the back door of Team Two’s Trailblazer opened, a call went out over every NYPD radio in the area that a preventative Federal action was taking place on the BQE with information to follow.

  The five men from Team Two knew they’d be spotted by Omar’s men as soon as they hit the ground, so they moved fast.

  The ten Somalis were scattered among five cars. The lead car was in the extreme left lane of the BQE, about four cars ahead of the Trailblazer. One Varsity member ran straight toward the lead car while his two partners from the back seat darted toward the rear two cars in the center lane. The passenger and driver of Team Two were designated as backups.

  The four Somalis in the rear two cars of the informal convoy were too startled by the first Varsity man running along the left hand lane to notice the two men who snuck up behind their cars and shot them through the rear windshields at the same time.

  Hicks could imagine the gunfire as it echoed on the packed stretch of highway as people hit the horns and screamed at the unexpected violence; ducking as best as they could.

  Four Somalis dead. Six to go.

  Hicks saw the first Varsity man had reached the lead car just as the driver realized what was happening behind him. Traffic wasn’t locked in, but the driver jerked the wheel all the way to the left as he tried to get around the car in front of him. He smashed into the car’s rear bumper and threw the car in reverse just as the Varsity man fired three times into the car. The vehicle smashed into the grill of the car behind it then idled.

  Both occupants dead.

  Six down. Four to go.

  Hicks watched the three-man Varsity team close in on the two remaining cars from the front and back.

  The drivers of both cars began to look for ways to drive away, but there was nowhere to go. At once, all four Somalis broke from their cars just as Hicks had feared they would. They began to run in every direction except where the Varsity men were.

  The Varsity man who’d just killed the men in the lead car opened up on the two men nearest him. He dropped the first Somali as he leaped out from behind the wheel. He put down the passenger as he tried to open the driver’s door of the car next to him.

  Eight infected down. Two more to go.

  The passenger of the last car slid over the hood of a neighboring car as the occupants cowered as low as they could get. One of the Varsity men came around a van and took him with a headshot. He slid off the hood and fell to the roadway between two cars.

  Nine infected down. One to go.

  The last Somali threaded his way through the cars; bobbing and weaving; keeping his head low as he moved. Hicks watched the third Varsity member fire, but the shot hit a Volkswagen’s side view mirror.

  The man dropped to all fours and darted left between a minivan and a school bus. He saw a clear lane ahead of him and flat out ran as fast as he could. He’d almost reached the back of the bus when the Varsity man recovered and fired twice more. Both shots caught him in the back; sending him into the grill of a Mack truck before he fell dead on the roadway.

  Ten Somalis down. All five Varsity members alive.

  The official word came over the comm a second later. “Team One Leader, this is Team Two. All hostiles dead. The threat has been neutralized. No civilian casualties. Over.”

  Hicks didn’t have to look at Scott to know he was all smiles. “And that, Mr. Hicks, is how we do that.”

  But Hicks didn’t have time for high fives. “Have your men tell everyone to stay in their vehicles an
d make sure your men stay back from the dead. The Somalis still might be contagious.”

  Hicks’ handheld buzzed. Jason was calling. “Fine job, Hicks. Damned effective.”

  Hicks didn’t have time for compliments from that weasel either. “They’re Scott’s men, not mine. He deserves the praise. In the meantime, we’ve still got ten individual biohazards on our hands. Have the cops block off the BQE from the previous exit and start filtering traffic that way. Then have them clear out the traffic ahead so we can start getting cars out of there. Just make sure the cops know Scott’s men are the good guys and to not question them about who they are and what they’re doing there.”

  “Duly noted.”

  “And tell them to bring HAZMAT units with them when they do. God only knows what kind of shit Omar pumped into their system before he sent them to the airports.”

  He could hear Jason’s fingers flying across the keyboard. “Didn’t he tell you that when you questioned him?”

  “He told me he injected his followers with bits from both samples Djebar gave him from Samuelson. Omar’s no scientist and I’ve seen what it’s done to the people he’s injected, so whatever it is, it’s lethal.”

  He heard Jason continue to type. “Did Omar or Djebar tell you where the scientists are or if they’re in the country?”

  “No,” he lied.

  Scott and his men were too busy celebrating their win to notice Hicks had left. And when they did notice, they didn’t especially care.

  HICKS KNEW lying to Jason about Samuelson’s whereabouts should’ve bothered him, but it didn’t. Besides, Jason was probably monitoring his activity on OMNI anyway. He’d figure out where he was going and what he was doing in time.

  If they’d known he was going after the scientist, Hicks knew they would’ve insisted on sending Scott’s men or another Varsity team with him. But Hicks didn’t want that. He wanted to find Samuelson on his own and in his own way. It was up to him to bring down the son of a bitch who’d given Omar the weapon he needed to put his personal jihad into effect. The man whose actions had turned a good man like Colin into a threat all because his viruses gave Omar the most powerful weapon in the world—hope.

  Before Omar had passed out from the pain, Hicks got him to talk about Samuelson, or at least as much as he knew. About how he’d killed his fellow scientists from the lab and taken the viruses to sell on his own on the black market.

  This had happened in his shop. And Hicks knew it was up to him to clean up the mess.

  The antivirals Scott had given him started doing a number on his stomach halfway through the Lincoln Tunnel. He didn’t have time to stop. He drank bottled water and kept going. His dashboard screen showed Jason had called several times since he’d left the crime scene at Omar’s place.

  He knew Jason could see he was driving to New Jersey. He’d seen his OMNI activity and knew who he’d searched for. He was supposed to be a smart boy. Let him fill in the blanks for himself. That’s what Hicks had done, which is why he was driving to Philly.

  Doctor John Samuelson had been an American biologist working in Saudi Arabia. He’d first been sent to the region by UNESCO as a biologist specializing in the study and treatment of infectious diseases. The Saudi government offered him far more than he was making to come work for them and he took the job. Everything was above board.

  Hicks saw nothing in Samuelson’s background to explain why he’d decided to conspire with his fellow scientists to steal the viruses and sell them on the black market. He didn’t have any known religious or political affiliations. He’d never even registered to vote. He didn’t have a family or any outstanding debts or expensive habits that made him need the money.

  By all accounts, Dr. John Samuelson was a bland man of fifty with bad teeth and thinning hair. There was no reason in the world why anyone would think he would’ve broken the law until one day, he did. He’d crossed the line and tried to turn the world upside down. But he had. He was that bolt from the blue that institutions like the University feared. The one-off you couldn’t predict. The man who shot up a playground one day just because he goddamned well felt like it.

  Only Samuelson didn’t use a gun. He used a test tube and a petri dish instead, and handed them over to some very nasty people.

  Hicks intended on asking him why.

  Omar had told Hicks Djebar had arranged for him to meet Samuelson in the food court in Penn Station, where Samuelson gave him an envelope with several samples of the virus. He went back home, injected the willing followers he’d recruited from all over the city to be part of his glorious jihad and watched them get sicker. He put the envelope with the samples in the locker at the storage facility and let nature take its course.

  When Colin and the others didn’t return from the park, Omar ran and began making phone calls to the financiers, courtesy of Djebar’s little black book.

  Hicks had Samuelson’s name and file, but pictures on his company ID card were old. His passport and driver’s licenses even older and finding him that way would’ve been near impossible. Even OMNI’s ability to age modify a photo couldn’t produce guaranteed results like a recent photo.

  But when Omar said they’d met at the food court, Hicks put OMNI to work. It found Omar on Penn Station’s security cameras, saw him talking to Omar and tracked Samuelson from there.

  OMNI searched images stored from traffic cameras, NYPD security cameras and other services to track him back up to the Port Authority Bus Terminal on Forty-second Street and Eighth Avenue. Port Authority cameras showed him buying a bus ticket. By accessing the bus line’s computers and matching transactions to the security footage, Hicks saw Sellers had paid cash for a bus ticket to Philadelphia and boarded the bus an hour later.

  OMNI scanned the security footage from the time his bus had arrived at the Philadelphia Bus Terminal on Filbert Street. And there was Samuelson, last off the bus. Just another poor bastard down on his luck, trudging with his bag containing dozens of samples of deadly diseases into a cold Philly night.

  Why Philadelphia? Hicks didn’t know. But he was going to find out.

  Security cameras tracked him through the terminal and out to the street and all the way to a Hilton Garden Inn a block or so away from the bus station. That had been three nights ago. He’d paid in advance for five nights and, in searching hotel records, OMNI said he was still there.

  And that’s why Hicks was driving to Philadelphia. He left the high fives and the celebration to Scott and his men. Their mission was over. They’d earned it.

  He hadn’t earned shit. Yet.

  IT WAS after ten by the time Hicks pulled into the hotel’s parking lot. He parked in the handicapped space next to the fire door stairs that were closest to Samuelson’s room. It would make it easier to get out of there when the time came.

  He knew he’d be on camera the entire time he was on the property, but that didn’t bother him. Footage could always be deleted later.

  He walked through the lobby as though he was a guest. He even waived at the night clerk on duty, though the man was too enraptured by the glow from his iPad to have noticed. Hicks noticed he wasn’t texting, so he decided he must be watching porn.

  Hicks knew the elevators were locked down after eight o’clock and could only be operated by a magnetic room key. He pulled out what appeared to be a standard hotel room key card and inserted it into the slot to call down the elevator. The card was an electronic version of a ghost key. He’d preloaded it with the hotel manager’s codes so he could open any door in the building.

  He took the elevator up to the fifth floor and walked down the hall to room 505. Samuelson’s room. He paused outside the door and listened. He heard the TV was on, so he figured Samuelson must be inside. He had no idea if he’d thrown the security latch or not and the OMNI satellite wasn’t in range to scan the room. He’d have to try his key and take his chances.

  Hicks pulled his Ruger and slid the card key into the lock. He pushed in the door and it opened all the w
ay. Samuelson hadn’t used the safety latch at all.

  From the doorway, Hicks could see the bed was unmade and empty. So was the chair on the other side of the room. The bathroom door was open, but the light was off.

  The latch hadn’t been thrown because Samuelson wasn’t there.

  Hicks went in and shut the door behind him. He began searching the room for the messenger bag he’d seen Samuelson holding in his trek from New York to Philadelphia. It wasn’t on the table or under the bed or in the closet.

  But Hicks did find a mini-safe in the closet. And it was locked.

  Luckily, it was a newer safe that allowed housekeeping supervisors to swipe their keys and open the safe in case a guest checked out and forgot to empty it. Hicks used his key card to open it. Samuelson’s messenger bag was stuffed inside.

  Hicks tucked his Ruger back in the holster and slowly eased the bag out of the safe. It was heavier than he thought it would be and moving it slowly only made it seem heavier.

  Hicks laid the bag on the bed and undid the leather straps. He found a metal case roughly the size of a cigar humidor and slid it out of the bag. He opened the metal catches and slowly opened it. Inside were fifty plastic vials exactly like the one Omar had been holding in the basement when Hicks shot him. None of them was labeled except for a single red, green, or blue dot.

  Hicks figured these must be the samples Samuelson was supposed to deliver to Omar. But he’d never gotten the chance. But he’d already been in Philadelphia before he was supposed to deliver the rest of the samples to Omar.

  Something didn’t make sense. Either Omar was lying or…

  Hicks heard the gentle ping of the elevator sounding that it was stopping on the fifth floor. He shut the case and gently slid it and the bag under the bed. He didn’t expect Samuelson to be armed, but he didn’t know if he’d be alone. He didn’t want a stray round hitting the toxin if all hell broke loose.

  He backed up into the dark bathroom and aimed his Ruger at the door.

  He watched the door open and Samuelson and another man walked into the room. A tall, dark skinned man. Painfully thin and bald with a wiry beard.