“I will pitch you out of the park.” They both laughed. The batsman nodded over to the doorway of the next room to where Team Three stood.
“What do you think those guys are doing?” the pitcher asked. The batsman shrugged.
“Not having as much fun as us, I guess.”
One of the men from Team Three appeared at the door; he was a large man from Austria, who held his Heckler & Koch machine pistol tightly with both hands and watched for a moment. His large form just stood there, not moving, as though he had become stone.
“Hey, hombre, you want a game?” joked the pitcher. But the man just turned and left, leaving the others laughing. As he left the room a fake thunderstorm was ‘entering’ the room, flashes of light mimicking the lightning. At least, that’s what he thought.
The lightning flashed in all of the rooms as the fake storm arrived. The main lights flickered and shut off, creating the illusion of a jungle storm. The large man turned to look at his colleague who was kneeling on the bridge, his weapon ready as they both sensed that something was wrong; it appeared that someone had tampered with the lighting settings to the room.
The Austrian held the weapon up into his shoulder and crept round the corner, keeping low. The flashlight attached on the weapon shone a beam of light like the searchlight of a ship or a lighthouse. Suddenly, the men were gone. Nervously, his gaze locked onto the door, awaiting someone coming to try to get past him. He backed away towards his friend on the bridge until he reached him.
“Die manner sind nicht mehr da!” he said, then froze for a second.
“Did you hear me, they are gone, the other men are gone.” He turned to see a tall man with guns in both hands, wearing a full-face mask instead of the two-eye piece that they all wore. The Austrian guy began to raise his weapon but felt the sting of the taser as the two conductor pins embedded into his bare arms. The man fell and convulsed as the volts passed through his entire body. Steel had shot him with both guns, knowing that he didn’t have time to risk the big man shrugging off the shock. Because time was running out.
John Steel made his way out of the fun-house, brushing off bits of blue foam from his clothing and gear. He had collected some more equipment from the men and placed it into the bag he carried. Looking round he smiled as he found another information board, and moving quickly he stood in front of the panel and pressed the information button. The screen changed and a set of options came up, one of which was ‘LOCATIONS’. Typing into the search menu, he asked for the location of the security room. The screen changed into a 3D map that showed his present location with a red dot and the destination required with a blue one. He studied the map and saw it wasn’t that far away, it was just down the corridor and was on a cross junction to two others. He readied the UMP machine pistol, knowing that he had to be ready for anything. Steel looked back into the playroom he had just left and bit his bottom lip as an uncomfortable feeling came over him. So far it had been easy, probably too easy.
The corridors seemed clear, and as he moved down slowly he would regularly stop and listen for voices or footsteps. As he neared the junction he stopped and knelt with his back to the wall. He could hear voices just around the corner, one of which he thought he recognized from somewhere. Not wanting to risk sticking his head out he simply moved it near to the corner and took in the conversation.
“Are you sure it’s now on board?” asked the familiar voice.
“Yes, sir, the locator has it in cargo hold number seven on Deck Two,” came another.
There was a pause, and Steel thought he heard the sound of a shoe tapping.
“And what of our Mr Blacke, any sign of him yet?” Steel suddenly became worried about the safety of the others, for Blacke might get them all killed for something he had done.
“Not yet, sir, but there are a lot of cameras, unfortunately none are in the rooms.” The younger voice spoke confidently.
“Very good, stay on it. First sign of him call it in. Oh and, Hawkins, would you be so kind as to ask the captain to bring the box to me, please? Tell him I will meet him in the cargo hold number seven, was that the number, Charles?” Steel heard nothing from the other man so he presumed that he had just nodded in reply. He listened as another voice confirmed the man’s request and this was followed by heavy footsteps.
Steel’s grip tightened round the forward and pistol grips of the machine pistol as he heard footsteps approaching from the way he had come. Next to him was the cleaners’ closet, the door had been left ajar, probably when the staff had got the warning to go to their rooms. Quickly he dived in and secured the door. The vents at the bottom of the door admitted some light but more importantly, noise carried quite nicely through it. A single set of footsteps marched passed on the way to the security room. Steel waited anxiously for a moment before venturing out. Using a small mirror he had found in the closet, he angled it round the corner to get a view of the split corridors and the door to the security room. Under the mask Steel frowned at the situation—the corridors were empty. Then he had a thought. Why have guards when everyone was unconscious? Steel drew back the mirror quickly as he heard voices approach the security room. He had to get in there fast and locate the other mercenaries. The priority as far as he was concerned was to get the others to safety, especially Tia.
The clock in the homicide department showed it was two in the afternoon as McCall stepped off the elevator. After the interview she had gone to the shooting range to take her frustration out on a couple of targets, plus she had never really had time to check out the custom Glock 17 that Steel had given to her on her return to duty. After obliterating the centre of the targets she smiled, impressed at how accurate the thing was, even without having to move the green dot sights.
As she entered the bullpen the smell of freshly brewed coffee carried over to her from the relaxation room, and as she ventured there she couldn’t help but notice the empty desks that normally were occupied by detectives. Her gaze fell upon Tony’s desk, and she wondered what fate would befall him. As she entered the relaxation room her cell vibrated to alert her to a text, and taking out her phone she saw there was a text from Doctor Dave asking: Is tonight good for a dinner date? She smiled and replied: Can’t wait, say around nine. The cell buzzed and a smiley appeared on the display.
Switching the phone off, she placed it back into her pocket and poured herself a fresh cup of coffee and savoured the scent of the Jamaican special blend. She looked up over the rim of the cup to see Captain Brant inviting her into his office with a delicate head tilt. McCall walked out and placed the coffee on her desk on the way to the captain’s office.
“Tony is on suspension until the proceedings are done with,” the captain told her once she was through his door.
“They have enough to warrant jail time.” McCall’s face fell at the news.
“Is there anything I should know, Detective?” asked Brant as he noticed her secretive look.
“No, sir, everything is fine.” He nodded disbelievingly and went over to see how the tech was doing. McCall looked at the clock and realised that Steel would be coming in to harbour in around twenty hours. The sound of the elevator made McCall look over to see the ragged-looking Tooms heading for the restroom. She followed him in and shut the door, “How you doing?” he smiled at her.
“I’ll be okay. Have you heard about Tony? Man, that sucks.”
Sam McCall nodded and moved in closer.
“I think that Tony was set up, don’t ask me how, but he was, and our friend Jones thinks so too. I think he was watching those people, not trying to kill them.” Tooms looked confused.
“Where you getting this from?” he asked while McCall poured him a coffee.
“I went back to the hotel and found a hidden room in the attic, that’s when I found this.” She handed Tooms the file she had found. He flicked though it in silence, his hands shaking as he turned the pages.
“Who else knows about this?” he asked under his breath.
�
��Nobody. At the moment you’re the only one I trust.”
He nodded and passed it back to her. “You need to keep that safe, nobody can know of it, not yet.”
She thought for a moment and her eyes lit up with an idea. “Don’t worry. I know of the perfect place.”
The security room on the Neptune was around eight feet square with twenty, thirty-inch monitors covering its dimly-lit walls. Each screen was divided into twenty smaller screens, each displaying a specific area that the security cameras patrolled. Inside, a mercenary sat at the consoles, scanning the multitude of screens as he exhaled deeply with boredom. As he rocked backwards and forwards in the padded office chair, he noticed the small three-drawer desk cabinet and smiled.
Leaning over he began his search, hopeful to find the obvious bounty. “Oh yeah, that’s more like it,” he yelled, pulling out the men’s ‘girly’ magazine from the bottom drawer. There was a click of the door opening as he opened up the middle full-length picture of that month’s hottie. “Hey, man, you’re early but what the hell,” he said as he spun round in the chair and patted the masked man who had just entered the room on the shoulder. He headed for the door. “You know we can take those damn things off now, but hey, it’s your choice, man.” He laughed as he left.
The new arrival settled down at the controls and searched all the decks quickly. Suddenly he paused as he caught a glimpse of the smoking room. There sat Tia and the others. Using the joystick, the observer zoomed in on Blacke. Then he panned out onto Tia and, using a cell phone he took from his combat vest, he sent a text to Tia. The man got up, headed for the door, and turned just in time to see Tia on the screen look at the text message he’d sent her.
Tia looked out across the amazing sight of the bright sunshine and calm waters, a rainbow so deep in colour it appeared to be a solid block that was now crossing the sky, the calm after the storm. They had raised the storm shutters to get rid of the bodies as Steel had suggested. If someone were to find them it was far better that they weren’t found with dead mercenaries littering the floor. She closed her eyes as the cool breeze caressed her skin.
“So what now?” Albert Studebaker yelled as he paced up and down the room.
“He told us to stay here where we would be safe, so we stay.” Jane spoke calmly, slightly irritated about what she had just said in Steel’s defence. Tia walked back to the chairs and sat down with the others. As she reached for the glass of water she had been drinking she heard her cell phone buzz in her small purse. She took it out and read the message, and stood up quickly, clearly shocked. “We have to go, now.” She showed the message to Jane who had rushed forwards. It read: TIA GET OUT NOW, GO TO CARGO HOLD.THEY ARE COMING.
THIRTY
Steel stood at the door of the security room, his heavy breathing fogging up the sides of his full face mask for a brief second before clearing. The room was dark, its only light being the sparks from the broken monitors and computers. Someone had been in and destroyed everything, Steel used the tactical lamp on his machine pistol to search the room but found no bodies. Whoever had done this it wasn’t the mercenaries, it was someone else, and why they’d done it was another mystery he didn’t need. Suddenly a broken message came over the headset of the radio on his shoulder:
“Command be advised target is in the smoking room on Deck Eighteen, is not alone. Other guests are armed and dangerous.”
Steel felt a shiver of panic come over him. He had to get to them before the mercenaries did or it would be a massacre. The mercenaries were expecting a gun battle so they wouldn’t hesitate to use grenades before entering.
Steel moved quickly down the corridors towards the elevators, relieved that camouflaged as he was, he could move freely. The cameras were out so he couldn’t be seen, however even though he was dressed like the enemy he still had to be careful. All it would take would be someone to recognize him as not one of theirs, or to ask questions and then the game would be up.
John Steel had moved quickly through the maze of corridors, and had avoided using the elevators, as he knew that someone would be watching them: a single person using them might be seen as suspicious and he didn’t need the attention. He felt himself lucky he had only ventured from Deck Twelve and not the cargo hold since despite being as fit as he was, it was still a hell of a journey.
As he entered the corridor of the smoking room he expected the worst. He froze as he noticed that the door was slightly ajar. Holding the weapon tightly he used its suppressor to nudge the door open. Inside the cool breeze played with the pages of the magazines that lay on the coffee tables. He moved in slowly, the weapon still high up into his shoulder, ready to fire. He breathed out heavily as he realised that the room was empty, and looking round he had mixed feelings of anger and relief. Why had they left and where the hell had they gone to? Steel moved back to the doors and as he stepped outside, he saw the numbers flashing on the display panel of the elevators, both of which were coming up. He closed the doors quickly and dived into an alcove that was just past the elevators.
The doors of the elevators opened almost in sequence, and the two teams moved forwards quickly and quietly, their weapons held up ready. No words were spoken, only flicks of the hand or pointing of fingers were used to issue the commands: these guys were highly trained and worked as a single smoothly coordinated unit. Two men stepped forwards, each carrying long armour plated shields, and behind them they held their weapons ready. The team leaders knelt at either side of the doors to the smoking room and, using their fingers, counted down from three.
As the team leaders made a fist to signal ‘zero’, the breaching parties entered, firing as they went. Cushions and glassware exploded as the amour-piercing rounds ripped through the smoking room. “Room clear!” the six men yelled in unison. The rest of the team members rushed in to ensure there were no hidden pockets of resistance.
The two team leaders moved in slowly and waited for the report. “All clear, sir!” one of the mercenaries yelled over to him, and the leader of Team One raised a thumb then pressed his throat mike before speaking: “Command this is Team One. The bird has flown. I repeat the nest is empty and the bird has flown. Over.”
There was a brief pause before the radio cracked with life: “Roger that, all teams report back to command, we have a situation. Team Three has gone dark and the crow’s nest has gone blind. Out.”
Steel had sneaked in behind the soldiers as they had breached the room, and had mingled with the other mercenaries, lost in the crowd. He was within earshot of the two leaders, but far enough away not to be recognized by them.
“Wow, the boss is going to be pissed Blacke is in the wind,” the leader of Team Two said as shouldered his weapon.
“You got that right,” replied another of the team leaders. “After that bastard ripped off the bosses I’m surprised he had the balls to show his face anywhere.”
The leaders called their men back and moved them back to the elevators, while Steel fell back and hid behind the door at the last minute: as much as he would have loved to follow them to see where command was, he had other things on his mind. As he saw the last man disappear into the elevator he took off his respirator and breathed out heavily, then took deep, refreshing gulps of the clean sea air.
The cargo. What the hell is so damned important about this cargo? Steel thought as he moved to the bar, poured himself a large whisky, and then downed it in one. He knew where he had to go next even though he wanted to search for Tia, and he didn’t have time to play hide-and-seek. Everything revolved around the cargo and he wanted to know what the hell it was. If he could use the knowledge to his advantage, great; if not he could at least make sure that no one got to it.
He put down the glass and tried to shake off the tension from his muscles before heading on out. He got to the elevators and noticed they had both stopped on Deck Three. He smiled as he forced the doors open, and the smell of stale air plus the tang of hot metal, burnt oil and grease filled his nostrils.
&nbs
p; Taking off the bag that was strapped to his back, he opened it up and started to look through the equipment. Smiling, he took out a strange device that had two wheels fixed on top of each other and a handle on the side. This had one purpose. As he put the rucksack back on he took a deep breath. “Okay, time for some fun,” he muttered under his breath as he leapt for the elevator cable.
McCall was downstairs in the precinct’s gymnasium, kicking the hell out of a punch bag, as she needed to let off some steam before going home. It had been a long case for everyone and the signs of strain were beginning to show. Maybe that was the point, and that was what the mystery person behind these killings wanted: to split the team, and string everyone’s nerves to breaking point. They had already succeeded in making staff thin on the ground, what with the breakin at the morgue and the series of murders all over New York City. Tony had been sent home on administrative leave, but was told to report in every hour by IA. They wanted him out of sight out and out of mind while they did their investigations.
Sam’s fists smashed into the bag in quick succession, her mind a torrent of questions. Who had really shot Jones and how was he really involved? What connected the victims and why did they have to die? She spun round and kicked high, making the bag move to the side with the force of the impact.
“I’m sure glad that bag isn’t me!”
She looked over and scowled at the man who had just spoken, who was standing on the gym’s steps. “Bryce,” she said. “What the hell are you doing here?”
McCall had showered and changed quickly before meeting Agent Alex Bryce upstairs. She found him in the relaxation room, helping himself to a cup of the coffee. She paused before entering as she surveyed him: he hadn’t changed a bit in over five years. He was average height and build with mousy coloured hair that was kept in place by too many hair oils and conditioners. His expensive looking grey suit was clearly new. She shook her head as she looked at him, and all she could think about was how much she wished that he had been the punch bag.
Operation:UNITY (John Steel series Book 2) Page 34
