“Well, Tyler has been taking good care of me.” As soon as she said it, she realized how it sounded.
“Has he now? And what can I do for you both?”
“A couple of things,” Locke said a little too quickly. Dilara thought she saw his cheeks redden slightly. “First of all, what connections have you found between the items I told you about?”
Aiden dropped back into his chair. “Ah yes. Your cryptic phrases.” He plucked a Post-It note from the monitor. “Hayden. Project. Oasis. Genesis. And Dawn.”
“Don’t forget Coleman.”
“Right. And somehow these are related to Noah’s Ark?”
“You tell me.”
“Well, I think we’re all in agreement that Hayden refers to Rex Hayden and his unfortunate demise. Never really cared for the guy myself. His movies were shite.”
“Any link to Coleman?”
“My research doesn’t show any connection between Hayden and Coleman. Not that I expected to find a link between a movie star and an engineer. And I couldn’t get into Coleman’s files online. The office is still there, but I’m told it went dark after the top engineers were killed. To get anything from their files, you’d have to access their computers on site.”
“What about the other words?”
“Well, in isolation they were too generic to mean anything. For instance, I thought Genesis was simply a reference to the first book of the Bible. But then I put them in the order you gave them. To me they looked like phrases rather than words, so I tossed them together. Project Oasis doesn’t show up anywhere. Maybe it was something Coleman worked on. But I did find something for Genesis Dawn.”
Locke snapped his fingers as if he just figured it out as well. “The cruise ship.”
“You’re kidding,” Dilara said, perplexed yet again at how all this was tied together. “A cruise ship?”
“Not just any cruise ship,” Aiden said, handing them a picture of an enormous vessel. “The largest cruise ship ever built. Of course, every new cruise ship seems to be the largest ever built. Capacity for 6000 passengers and 2000 crew. Makes the Titanic look like a bathtub toy.”
Locke glanced at the printout and then handed it to Dilara. It looked like a promotional photo from the cruise line’s web site. The Genesis Dawn was shown as if it were passing the Statue of Liberty, which was dwarfed by the immense ship.
“And guess what?” Aiden continued. “She makes her official maiden voyage on Friday.”
Locke looked up sharply. “Where?”
“Debarkation port is Miami.”
Dilara thought back to the wreckage of Hayden’s plane and the gruesome discovery of bones. She exchanged glances with Locke. They both realized what the implications were.
“Oh my God!” she said. “We’ve got to stop it!”
“What do you mean?” Aiden said, confused. “Stop what?”
“She’s right,” Locke said. “The Genesis Dawn might be the next target.”
“For what?”
“For the bioweapon that was used on Rex Hayden’s plane.”
“Why would they kill a shipload of people?”
“That’s a good question.”
“It doesn’t matter,” Dilara said. “We need to get them to stop the sailing.”
“There’s no way we’re going to convince anyone to stop the maiden voyage of a billion-dollar ship without some pretty strong evidence,” Locke said. “The best we could hope for is tighter security, but with 8000 crew and passengers to search, it’ll be hard to stop the attackers unless we know what we’re looking for.”
“What are we waiting for, then?” Dilara said impatiently. “Let’s get over to this Coleman guy’s office and see what we can find.”
Aiden seemed amused by her eagerness, but Dilara was too fired up to care. She was sick of being on the defensive. She wanted to start getting ahead of whoever was behind all this.
“You heard the lady,” Locke said. “We’re on our way there. But one last thing. What have you gotten on Sam Watson?”
“I haven’t had time to work on that yet. All I know is that he worked for a small pharmaceutical firm.”
“Keep on that. We need to know how he found out about all this.”
“Will do.” Aiden handed Locke an object the size of a pack of chewing gum. “That USB drive is the latest from Samsung. Should be big enough to download anything you find on Coleman’s computers. Just out of curiosity, how do you plan to get in?”
“I have an idea.”
“Well, good hunting.” Without another word, Aiden sat back at his computer and began typing again.
As they left, Dilara said, “Aiden’s enunciation is excellent.”
“He went deaf only five years ago. Viral meningitis.”
“Do you have many disabled people on staff?”
“Over a dozen. Finding Aiden was just a case of serendipity, but Miles is well-known in the disabled community. He’s aggressive about recruiting them.”
When Locke and Dilara were in the elevator, he punched the button for the lobby instead of the parking garage.
“We’re not driving?” Dilara said.
“Coleman’s office building is only three blocks from here. There’ll be plenty of people on the street, so we should be safe. They don’t seem to like witnesses. But if you’d like, we can drive instead.”
“Not at all. It’ll feel good to stretch my legs. I’m used to being outside most of the time anyway.”
They exited past a formidable front security area and into a street scene that bustled with life. The afternoon sun was shadowed by the tall buildings, but the air was still warm. They used the first crosswalk to get to the opposite side of the street and headed north.
She still wore the clothes Locke had provided for her, and if they were going to continue to work together until Friday, she was going to need more. She slowed when she passed a store with a good selection of outdoor wear and the collection of shirts and pants in the window was just her style. She pointed at them.
“Do you mind if we go in there on the way back?” she asked Locke. “I usually travel light, but this is ridiculous.” She waved at her current ensemble.
Locke smiled and glanced at the store’s window. “Absolutely. I’m sorry we couldn’t get you more…” Suddenly, his eyes flew open in alarm, and he yelled, “Get down!”
He shoved Dilara roughly to the ground and covered her body. It happened so fast that she was too shocked to resist. Then she heard a series of quick thuds, like muffled drumbeats, and the storefront window blasted inward, showering her and Locke with stray shards.
It only took a moment for her to comprehend what was going on. The muffled thuds were silenced gunshots. Someone across the street was shooting at them.
TWENTY-ONE
Olsen had been surprised to see Locke and Kenner emerge from the Gordian building’s front door. They crossed at the light and began to walk along the opposite side of the street. He quickly reassessed the situation and realized that this was an even better opportunity to take them out. Fifth Avenue, a one-way street heading south, was only thirty feet across. From this range, he could cut them down and escape before anyone could react.
He radioed Cates to bring the car around. Within seconds, Cates came to a stop in front of him in the generic Chevy they had stolen for this operation. Locke and Kenner were directly across from Olsen. He dove into the car and came back out with the silenced MP-5 cradled in his arm. Normally, he would never attempt an assassination in the open like this with so many witnesses, but he was unrecognizable in a wig and fake mustache. By the time the police got a serious investigation under way, it wouldn’t matter. Olsen would be safely back at the Orcas Island compound, and the Seattle police would be a distant memory.
Locke and Kenner were facing away from him. He raised the MP-5 to his shoulder and aimed. He couldn’t have asked for an easier shot, but just as he had pulled the trigger, Locke and Kenner dove to the ground, disappearing behind a p
arked car. He unloaded the rest of the clip into the car, hoping the bullets would go right through it and into his targets.
Olsen realized his mistake and swore at himself. Locke had seen him in the window’s reflection. In his eagerness to end the mission quickly, Olsen had stupidly lost his most important advantage: surprise. But now he was committed. He slapped a new magazine into the submachine gun. He could still finish this right here.
“Let’s go,” Olsen said to Cates. “Leave the car. We’ll grab a new one when we need it.” They had been careful to use gloves.
Cates, a bulky fireplug of a man in a skullcap and sunglasses, jumped out of the car with the other MP-5. A bus screeched to a stop in front of them, blocking their view. They ran behind it and sprinted across the street, hoping to catch their targets still on the ground.
When they had a view of the opposite side again, Olsen saw Locke and Kenner throw open the door to the clothing store they were in front of and run inside, past screaming customers who were flat on the ground covering their heads, some on cell phones calling 911. Olsen jumped through the window he’d just shot out and brushed aside the mannequin that remained standing. He took another shot, but the bullets chewed up a few clothing racks and missed. The few people still standing in the store dove to the floor at the sight of the weapon. The targets went through a door at the opposite end of the store into the interior of the Westlake Center mall, and Olsen and Cates took off in pursuit.
Locke and Kenner went around the corner just before Olsen could shoot, and then he saw them take an escalator two steps at a time. The angle was bad, so he followed instead of firing.
The targets led Olsen and Cates up two sets of escalators, brushing past customers who were oblivious to the silenced gunshots that caused the mayhem outside the mall’s interior. Squeals of fright erupted when people saw the submachine guns waving around.
Olsen and Cates were halfway up the second escalator when the targets turned left and ran past a line of people. Olsen saw where they were headed. The monorail station was inside the mall on the third floor just off the food court, and Locke and Kenner had jumped the ticket line. The train was about to depart.
“Do you see them?” he asked Cates.
“I think they got on the monorail!”
“Get on that train!” Olsen yelled as he backtracked down the escalator. “I’ll wait out here in case they get off. Take them out if you can. I’ll meet you at the other station.”
He stopped to make sure Cates got on and scanned the crowd. Then the train’s doors closed, and it quietly rolled out of the station. As it passed, he glimpsed Locke’s face in the window.
Olsen raced down the escalators. The monorail had only one other stop, right next to the Space Needle at the Seattle Center entertainment complex. He ran outside to find the Chevy hemmed in by traffic. A police car had already arrived at the scene. The officer was looking in the other direction, his pistol drawn, trying to find out what was going on. Without waiting for him to turn, Olsen shot the officer in the back. He jumped into the squad car and hit the siren.
The monorail glided on its overhead track two blocks ahead of him, but if he hurried, Olsen could make it to the other station before the train arrived. He made a U-turn over the sidewalk and wove around the traffic in the wrong direction down Fifth Avenue. Within seconds, he’d already closed the gap with monorail. At this rate, he’d be standing in the station by the time Locke and Kenner got there. If Cates failed to kill them, Olsen would be there to finish the job.
* * *
Locke planned to give himself a good butt-kicking if he lived through this. He’d been careless to let his guard down, but he never expected his attackers to be so bold, shooting at him and Dilara in broad daylight with crowds of onlookers. Now that he was on his home turf, he had gotten complacent. He had a Washington state permit for a concealed handgun. He should have gone to his house first and retrieved his Glock pistol. A lot of good the permit did him now, unarmed against two professionals carrying automatic weapons.
There was only one reason he and Dilara were still alive. When he and Dilara had been outside, an unusual movement across the street had caught his eye, reflected in the store’s huge glass window: a man raising the distinctive outline of a submachine gun. His instincts took over, and the shots missed them by inches. After the bullets started flying, the only way to run was into Westlake Center, but the monorail loading passengers overhead had given him an idea.
Locke’s impulse had been to get onto the train just as it was leaving and convince the operator to stop before the two-minute trip was over so that the police could arrive and drive off their attackers. Suspended 20 feet above the street, there would have been no way for their pursuers to reach them. When Locke saw one of them dive into the back of the four-car train right before the doors closed, he knew he’d have to change his tactics.
Their sole option was to stay alive for the next 120 seconds and hope the police would be waiting at the other end. The question was how to fend off this guy for those two minutes. He and Dilara were in the lead car, with the driver only 20 feet away. Even on an October Monday, the sunny day meant that the train was filled with tourists, many of whom were loaded down with shopping bags and souvenirs. Kitschy Space Needle models and gimcracks from Pike Place Market were everywhere, but nothing that looked like it would be an effective weapon. Locke would have to take on this guy hand-to-hand.
He and Dilara crouched down behind the maintenance access panel that jutted three feet across the linkage between the first and second cars. He was just as scared as he was in any combat situation he faced in Iraq, but he tamped it down like he always did and focused on what to do next. He heard screams from the back, but no gunfire. The passengers must have seen the gun, but his pursuer was a professional. He wouldn’t waste bullets on someone unless they got in his way. Locke took a peek through a gap in the access panel and didn’t like what he saw.
The gunman, now in the third car, was methodically walking through the train, checking each passenger. The tourists provided some cover, but Locke was afraid of getting innocent bystanders caught in the crossfire. He had to do something before this turned into a bloodbath.
“Dilara, crawl toward the front,” Locke said. “Take my cell phone. Call the police and tell them that there is an armed criminal on board the monorail. Look at me and wait for my signal. When I give the thumbs up, stand. Make sure the gunman sees you.” He knew it was risky, putting Dilara in harm’s way if the attacker was able to take the shot, but it was their only chance.
Her face reflected his own feelings, a mixture of fear and that sense of not again, but she understood immediately what he intended.
“I’m your distraction,” she said.
“Right. We don’t have much time. Go.”
Dilara slithered forward. Locke watched the gunman approach. The man was calm, as if he had hunted down people before and wouldn’t have any trouble with Locke and Dilara. In ten more seconds, the gunman was on the other side of the access panel. Locke gave Dilara the thumbs up.
Dilara stood and pounded on the train’s front window. The gunman, who had been inspecting a passenger, looked up and saw Dilara. He raised his weapon and took a bead on her. The diversion worked perfectly, the gunman totally focused on Dilara. Locke rose up in the gunman’s periphery and lashed out with his leg just as the gunman fired.
The shots went up and wide, shattering the train’s left side window. Screams cleaved the air. Locke followed the blow with an elbow to the head. For a moment, the man was dazed, and Locke reached for the gun, wrestling it from his grip.
Before he could use it, the gunman recovered and grabbed Locke by the throat. They fell to the floor, with the gunman on top of Locke. His hands gripped Locke’s neck like a vise, cutting off the blood flow to his brain. Locke let go of the gun, but he couldn’t force the hands to part. His vision narrowed. He tried to inhale, but got nothing. The grasp was crushing his larynx. He couldn’t breath
e. If he couldn’t get this guy off of him, he’d be dead before the train arrived at the next station.
Through his tunnel vision, Locke saw the man turn his head in apparent surprise. He released one hand to defend himself from something, and then Locke saw an object plunge into the man’s eye. More screams from the passengers around him. The man went slack instantly and collapsed on Locke.
Locke pried the hands off his throat. He coughed until he caught his breath and heaved the man off of him. Then he could see what was sticking out of the dead man’s eye. A pewter model of the Space Needle, embedded in his face up to the base. He looked up to see who his savior was and saw Dilara looking down in a mixture of shock and relief.
“I am so sick of these guys,” she said, a sob catching in her throat.
“Are you all right?” Locke asked hoarsely.
She nodded. “I didn’t mean to kill him…I was aiming for his ear, just to knock him off you, but he turned his head and…” Her voice trailed off as she stared at the man, whose other eye stared back at her. She obviously had never killed someone before.
Locke stood and put his arm around her. “You did great. You saved my life. Thank you. Is anyone hurt?” he said loudly. Several people shook their heads. He looked around at the monorail passengers who had retreated in fear from the fight and were now staring in horror at the dead man on the floor. Although some of them were crying, nobody seemed to be injured.
He looked outside. They were entering the station at Seattle Center. Too late to stop. He had to hope the police were already there. He didn’t want to be stuck on the train any longer. There was still another gunman out there, the one he’d seen in the store window. If one guy was brazen enough to go after them on the monorail, then it wasn’t likely the other guy would give up any more easily.
The train came to a halt and the doors slid open. He tugged on Dilara’s hand. “Let’s get out of here.” Not wanting to be mistaken for one of the gunmen and getting shot by the police, Locke left the submachine gun where it was.
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