by Neil Hunter
Damned if the son of a bitch isn’t right, Cade thought bitterly.
Another shot, this time close enough to allow Harrigan to feel the wind of its passing. The closeness was too much for the man. Harrigan scrambled to his feet, turning toward his cruiser.
“Harrigan!” Cade yelled. “Don’t be a damn...”
The next shot caught Harrigan in the right shoulder. The explosive slug blew his arm off in a mist of red, spinning him around like a leaf in the breeze. He crashed against the pillar, slithering along the rough concrete before falling face down in the dirt, where he lay kicking and screaming.
Cade, turning, spotted the sniper on a low roof, sheltered by the edge of a ventilation duct. As Cade’s gaze focused on the roofline, sunlight glinted on the barrel of the shooter’s auto rifle.
Cade ran forward, his Magnum swinging on target. He triggered a swift three-round burst. After his third shot, he saw a dark-clad figure pulling back from the duct, shielding’ his face from splinters of concrete. Still moving forward, Cade fired again and saw the figure lurch off balance as a slug caught his shoulder.
Cade activated the pocket mike and barked in his instructions as he headed for the highway.
“Cade. I want a med-team right now at my stated location. Man down. Hit by an explosive slug. Loss of right arm and still losing blood. I’m in pursuit of perpetrator. Possibly wounded and considered dangerous. I spotted him on roof of building across highway from my location. I want all mobile units in area to target the location.”
He dodged across the highway traffic, the heavy Magnum in his fist. Hitting the sidewalk in a rush, he raced down the alley alongside the building he’d pinpointed as the one used by the sniper. It was shadowed and filthy, littered with trash and inhabited by the usual sprinkling of vagrants. They pulled out of sight when they saw Cade’s running figure and the autopistol in his hand.
The screech of tires alerted Cade as he approached the rear of the building. Skidding around the corner, he spotted a black Chrysler RamRider, its supercharged engine howling at full revs. Burning rubber threw up clouds of smoke as the low-slung hatchback fishtailed across the empty parking lot, the driver hauling on the wheel as he tried to bring it under control. The back end rammed a stack of discarded drums, sending them flying across the lot.
A dark figure leaned out the passenger window, an auto rifle held in one hand. Because of the car’s erratic line of travel, the shooter was unable to hold his aim. When he fired, the high-powered explosive slug passed way above Cade’s head, taking out a second-story window, frame and all.
Crouching, aiming the Magnum in a two-handed stance, Cade tracked in on the car’s hood. He triggered two shots, punching large ragged holes in the metal. The slugs whacked into the engine, causing it to blow. As the power dropped, the driver, cursing wildly, aimed his vehicle at Cade. The Justice cop held his position long enough to lay down more .357 fire. The windshield starred, and the driver was almost thrown into the rear as the slugs hammered his upper body.
Cade rolled out of the way of the stalling car. As he gained his feet, turning, he heard the crunch as the Chrysler hit the side of the building. The doors flew open upon impact, spilling the dead driver across the concrete.
The shooter, despite his damaged shoulder, shoved himself clear of the car. He propped himself against the vehicle, the auto rifle wedged against his hip, his finger on the trigger. The auto rifle fired once, but the slug went wild.
Cade returned fire, pumping two slugs into the shooter’s chest and slamming him halfway back inside. The perp slid off the seat, his twisted, bloody body wedged against the doorframe. He stared up at Cade, blood oozing from his mouth, breath coming in raspy hisses from a punctured lung.
“Somebody pay you for this job?” Cade asked.
The perp frowned at the cop. “You figure I do it for nothing? What kind of dumbass question is that?”
“Because the way you fucked it up, pal, you should give them their money back.”
“Son of a bitch,” the perp muttered. “You lousy son of a bitch.”
“Ain’t I just.”
Cade picked up the rifle the perp had dropped and inspected it. It was a custom-made job, built for precisely the kind of contract the perp had attempted to carry out.
The wail of approaching sirens reached Cade’s ears.
“Anything you want to tell me before they come to take you away?”
“Like what?”
“Who you’re working for Why the hit on Harrigan?”
“Harrigan outlived his usefulness. And he has a loose mouth. We had a tap on his phone. The bastard was going to sing to you.”
“So you figured to drop us both. Well, you loused up, pal. And Harrigan can still talk,” Cade said. “You didn’t finish the job, sucker. Harrigan’s still alive.”
“I hit him. Saw it.”
Cade smiled. “Yeah, you hit him. Harrigan lost an arm. But he’ll live and tell me what I need to know.”
A black-and-white cruiser lurched to a stop yards away, and uniformed cops leaped out, guns drawn.
“Relax, boys,” Cade said. “All taken care of.”
“What about him?” one of the patrolmen asked after he’d looked over the perp.
“Call in a med-team,” Cade told him and moved away.
“Where are you going, Cade?”
“I’m going to ride in with Harrigan. He’s got some talking to do. And I have a feeling I’m going to enjoy listening.”
Chapter Four
Cade wheeled the cruiser into the shaded alley, cutting the engine. He watched the unmarked panel truck pull in behind him, then climbed out and walked back to meet the driver. The Justice cop hunched into his jacket, feeling the chill of the early morning catch him. New York might swelter during the day, but the dawn still held a bite to it, pulled in by the winds from the Atlantic.
Milt Schuberg closed the truck’s door, shoving his hands into the pockets of his coat. “Jesus, T.J., dawn raids are fine except for the damn weather.”
“Feels fine to me,” Janek exclaimed, simulating deep breathing as he stepped out of the cruiser. The cybo, clad in normal clothing, stood grinning at his human partners.
“Janek,” Cade said.
“Yes?”
“Shut up.”
“Grouch, grouch, grouch,” the cyborg whispered as he went to the trunk of the cruiser to dig out weapons.
Cade led Schuberg to the mouth of the alley and pointed across the derelict area.
“That’s it,” he said, indicating a four-story building surrounded by a high wire fence.
On the far side of the large complex they could see the rotted pilings of the East River. Mist drifted off the water, rolling in across the complex’s back lot.
Schuberg took a long look around. The area was deserted now. A couple of years back it had been a busy section of the riverside business complex. Now, with subsidence problems threatening the stability of the buildings, the area had been abandoned because no one would put in the finance needed to repair the sinking foundations. East River Park, as the area had been named, was another victim of the city’s decline.
“We could have taken this place out if Harrigan hadn’t protected it,” the NYPD cop bitched. “Christ, T.J., the Outfit must have been truckin’ their shit out here by the ton. How many addicts does that add up to? How many poor bastards dead because of Brak and his friggin’ partners? Okay, okay, that’s all gone. But we hit ‘em this time.”
“Go get your team geared up, Milt,” Cade said. “I want to go in now.”
The Outfit’s production and main distribution center was located within the complex. It had belonged to a video production company that had gone out of business a couple of years previously. Unable to compete with the stream of canned programs the L.A.-based studios were producing, the company had lost its customers and had left the three-story complex to rot. The complex had been up for sale since then, but since the whole area was going to ruin, there
had been no buyers. The place had stood empty until the Outfit moved in.
The complex stood in its own grounds, surrounded by security fences, and had extensive acreage at the rear, where exterior scenes had been shot.
When Cade had returned to the office with the information Harrigan had given him during the ride to the hospital, Janek called up a detailed map of the site on his computer. He had printed off a copy, which he’d brought with him, and as Milt Schuberg’s squad of NYPD hard strikers gathered around, the cyborg laid it out across the hood of the cruiser.
“The power company pulled the plug on this place as soon as it went out of business. I made a check, and no one has been doing any illegal power tapping. So that means if there is any power, the traffickers are supplying it themselves. Probably installed their own generators. I suggest we take those out first.”
Cade nodded. “One thing to remember. These guys are going to be nervous after what’s been happening. Maybe Brak has hit this place, as well. If that’s right they’ll be ready to shoot at anything that moves. So don’t be heroes. If they decide to get nasty, it’s their problem and they take whatever comes their way. I want information. What they have in their files. Books. Computer banks. If we pick up live bodies, it’s a bonus. But I’m not going to be too upset if we end up with a high body count.”
There was an uncomfortable silence.
Milt Schuberg glanced at the assembled faces. “You heard the man, boys. This isn’t a roundup. It’s a hard bust. Justice Department rules. The kind of action you guys are always bellyaching about. So here’s your chance to hit these bastards where it hurts. Don’t embarrass me in front of Justice by getting religion.”
“That’ll be the day, Milt,” someone said.
“Yeah, Schuberg for Pope.”
“You know something?” a voice said. “I like the idea of kicking some ass for a change.”
“‘Course you do, Yancy. It’ll make a nice change from kissin’ ‘em.”
“Sounds very unhealthy,” Janek murmured into Cade’s ear. “Tell me, T.J., do all humans have these weird sexual preferences?”
“I’ll handle the power cutoff,” Cade said, stifling a grin at his partner’s last remark. “Milt, when you get a call from us, come in fast. Have your boys spread and hit the building on every floor. Have your chopper cover the roof in case these guys have their own transport.”
Schuberg nodded and turned to his crew. “Weapons check, everybody. And do up the body armor. I don’t want to be filling in insurance claims when this is over. Arnie, call up the chopper and tell ‘em to be ready if we give the word.”
Janek ran a quick operations check on the radio mikes built into the flak jackets they were wearing. “All set, T.J.,” he said, pulling on a baseball cap to cover his blond hair.
Cade led the way from the alley. He crossed the street and slid down into the dry bed of a wide, concrete storm drain that curved along the complex’s perimeter fence. With Janek at his rear he loped along the storm drain until he reached the spot Janek had pinpointed on the map as being the least exposed. He climbed out of the drain, dropping flat to the ground, and inched his way to the base of the chain-link fence. Janek rolled alongside, and they checked out the back of the complex.
Mock-ups of buildings and streets crisscrossed the back lot, most of them having fallen into disrepair since being abandoned.
“This was where they used to tape that cop show you used to watch,” Janek said in casual conversation. He was checking the fence to see if it was electrified.
“What?” Cade asked.
“You remember. The guy had this female partner who always ended up with most of her clothes ripped off at the end of each episode.”
“Who, me? You got me mixed up with someone else.”
“Come on, T.J., you haven’t forgotten that show. You used to tape it if we were out. You sulked for days if you missed a segment.”
“The hell I did.”
Janek snapped the steel links of the fence with his powerful fingers, creating a gap large enough for them to slip through.
“It was called ‘Riot Squad.’ Had the largest body count of any show on air at the time. The public loved it.”
“Nah,” Cade said. “I don’t remember.”
“Remember, I can tell when you’re lying,” Janek cautioned.
“Generators,” Cade said, changing the subject.
He did recall the show, if only because the actress had reminded him of Kate Bannion. The redheaded reporter was not only tantalizingly lovely, but her smarts and good humor provided the kind of challenge Cade relished in a woman. Since he’d been with her, he hadn’t been really interested in anybody else.
The smirking cyborg broke into an easy lope, covering the open ground to the first block of cover. Cade followed, the SPAS braced against his hip, eyes scanning the area. He flattened against the plaster wall of one old set, feeling the structure sway a little. He reminded himself that the fake wall wouldn’t do much to stop a bullet if a firefight started.
Janek pointed toward the rear of the main building. “The way down to the subbasement is across there. If they’ve installed generators, they’ll be down there. No way they’ll haul them any higher. Remember they have to have a fuel supply to keep them running.”
Covering each other, they moved through the crumbling plaster sets, skirting areas of piled debris and abandoned machinery.
Crouching behind a low wall, they checked the open area between them and the basement entrance. The down ramp beckoned, seemingly deserted except for a couple of parked panel trucks and a sleek Toyota HyperRam.
“Hold it,” Cade warned as he sensed Janek about to move.
Moments later an armed black guy stepped out from behind one of the trucks. He carried a powerful Heckler & Koch submachine gun, fitted with a laser sight and extended magazine. Cade recognized the auto weapon as the latest model. It was capable of rapid fire, using high-velocity caseless rounds. The H&K was on the banned list for civilian use, but no one had told the gunrunners they weren’t supposed to import it.
“Nice hardware,” Janek observed. “If they’ve all got those, we could be in for a busy time.”
“You should take up party pooping as a business,” Cade said.
He flicked on his mike set. “Milt, you read me?”
“Yeah,” Schuberg’s voice whispered in his ear.
“We spotted one guy. Just passing this for your info. He’s carrying the new H&K auto. Maxi-mag and laser sight.”
“Shit, those things can chop a guy in half faster than he can say goodbye to his asshole. Where the hell did they get those things?”
“Ask U.S. Customs,” Cade suggested.
“Thanks for the tip, T.J., we’ll watch ourselves.”
Cade cut the connection, tapping Janek on the shoulder. “We need this one taken out nice and quiet,” he said.
“Do tell,” the cybo remarked. He laid his weapons on the ground, slipping out of his flak jacket.
“Can you handle this?” Cade asked.
Janek stared at him from under the peak of his cap. “On a bad day without even trying,” he said.
Working his way to the far end, Janek vaulted the low wall, breaking into a run. His speed increased as he poured on the power, his sleek form becoming almost a blur. He had skirted the periphery of the guard’s vision, moving in a wide curve that brought him into the cover of the parked panel trucks. The guard turned at the last moment, seeing some flicker of movement. By then he was already out of the game, though he didn’t know it.
Cade saw Janek slip behind the guard. His left hand clamped over the guy’s mouth to silence him. His right locked around the guard’s taut throat, fingers closing with inflexible finality. The black guy gave a convulsive twitch, then went totally limp. Janek held him inches off the ground, raising his left hand to signal Cade in.
By the time Cade reached him, Janek had the dead guy stowed inside one of the two panel trucks. Turning his atte
ntion to the vehicles, Janek raised the hoods and ripped out wiring, leaving the trucks and the Toyota out of action.
Cade handed Janek his gear. The cybo got into it as they moved down the ramp into the basement parking area.
The area was devoid of vehicles. The wide expanse of stained concrete stretched beneath the building. Janek paused in midstride, his head turned sideways as he searched for distant sounds.
“That way, T.J. I can hear the generator.”
They moved from one support pillar to another, pushing deeper into the basement parking area. After a while Cade was able to hear the subdued pulse coming from the generator.
It was a large one, the size of a panel truck, mounted on a low trailer. Next to it was a portable tank, feeding diesel fuel into the generator’s power plant. A thick cable snaked across the floor, vanishing into a room with a steel door. This was the power cable feeding the electrical circuit boards. A thicker, flexible tube trailed from the generator’s power plant, taking away the fumes.
A couple of armed guards lounged nearby, keeping a watch over the generator. They wore ear protectors against the generator’s chugging power plant. The protectors also drowned out the sound of Cade and Janek’s approach. The guards were startled when they felt hard gun muzzles jammed into their ribs. But there wasn’t a thing they could do. The Justice cops disarmed and quickly cuffed the pair.
Cade handed Janek one of the H&Ks, taking the other for himself.” Knock that generator off, Janek,” Cade said. “And make sure it won’t start again.”
The moment the generator’s power fell silent, Cade keyed his mike. “Milt, it’s a go,” he said when Schuberg responded. “We’re going in from the basement.”
Janek turned away from the generator, tossing a chunk of hardware across the floor.
He followed Cade to the door marked Stairs To All Floors.
They went up with their weapons cocked and ready for the resistance they knew would come.
“Hey! Who the hell is it?” a voice demanded.
“Who do you think—Santa Claus?” Cade asked, triggering the SPAS at the shadowy figure aiming an auto weapon at him.
