“A massive impact registers that the ship is sinking. A failsafe in case the electronics fail.” He looked over, set his mark on the clock, and began to run.
Sparks flew as rounds ricocheted off the pipe, sending Steel back to the walkway.
“I can’t let you do that, Mr Steel, you’ll kill us all,” called out a voice from below. “I know that you set this whole thing up, you used us, and you used Tia.”
Steel looked over the edge to see Jane Stewart holding the weapon he had given to Vedas and he worried about what might have happened to the Russian man.
“What have you done with Vedas and where are the others?” he yelled, as he tried to work out a plan to get to the clock before it was too late.
“Oh, don’t worry about Mr Vedas,” she called back.
“He’ll be alright and the others are on the way up. They sent me to clear a path for them just in case.”
Steel shook his head miserably, thinking, well, this couldn’t have gone any more wrong. He looked at his watch. It was now three-thirty. Time was ticking away and they were still moving.
The news coverage never told of a hostage situation on the cruise liner, nor was there any mention of a device that could vaporize anyone near it. The footage focused on the good aspects of the ship: a unity between England and America.
McCall rushed over to the window as three Black Hawk helicopters flew over, followed by three F-22 Raptor fighter aircraft. To the public it was an air display to welcome the ship, but McCall knew it was a two-option deal: if Steel managed to do it, the SEAL teams in the Black Hawk would secure the ship. If he failed, the Raptors would send the ship to the bottom of the sea and everything would be swept under the carpet—mysterious people in dark offices had probably already manufactured a plausible cover story.
Brant came up next to her and so did Tooms.
“Don’t worry, Detective, that crazy son-of-a-bitch will pull it off,” Brant told her.
She smiled without facing him.
“Yes I know, but we have another problem.” She handed him the file she had gotten from Jones’s loft that contained the pictures that Pablo had given to her. Brant looked through it and his face began to crease up in anger.
McCall turned to him and took the file.
“When this is over I will need the closed interrogation room.” Brant nodded.
“Don’t worry, you have it, but we need to keep this tight. Only we know.”
Tooms nodded in agreement.
“Let’s just hope we do get to finish it.” He leaned against the window and watched the helicopters disappear into the glare of the sun.
The clatter of metal hitting the tiled floor filled Steel’s ears, and he knew that Jane had just changed her weapons ammunition magazine for a fresh one.
“Jane,” he called down to her. “I don’t know what you’ve been told, but in case you don’t realise, I am trying to stop millions from getting killed.”
The sparks flew from the side of the walkway, well away from his location.
“Liar!” she yelled out. “You’re the one who wants to blow up the ship.”
Steel didn’t have the time for a gunfight or a slanging match. Reaching inside one of his pouches he pulled out a grenade and pulled the pin.
“Sorry, Jane, but it’s for the best.”
She watched something fall from the walkway and saw it roll across the floor until it stopped close by. Her eyes widened as she realised what it was, but it was too late. She heard a deafening explosion and saw a blinding flash.
He smiled as Jane was engulfed in a cloud of green smoke from the smoke grenade, and he could hear her coughing and spluttering. He used the chance and ran as if the devil himself was ready to take him. He reached the clock and searched for a panel or opening, and finally found it underneath one of the clock faces. The two-foot long cover had two grips either side. Quickly he ripped it off to display a counter like the one in the storage room. The unit was enclosed and inaccessible.
The agent cursed his luck and looked round quickly for other options. He saw the bolts holding the platform onto the arms, took out two normal explosive grenades, and pulled the pin on one of them. Running closer, he released the grenade’s safety lever and watched it fly, aware that it had a seven-second fuse. Taking it, he placed it onto the joint knuckle of the cover, and ran for the other one. After repeating the process there, he ran as fast as he could, all the while counting down the seconds as he went. By the time he had reached zero, he was over halfway across.
The explosion seemed louder inside, pushing the already damaged safety windows into the midday air. There was a creak of metal as the arms gave way on one side, causing the clock to swing like a giant pendulum towards the portside wall. As heavy gold and brass slammed against iron, the sound inside was like being inside the bell-ringing chamber of Big Ben. The shockwave was enough to dislodge the boats on that side, leaving the starboard side for Long and the Russians to attend to. Smoke, fire and fragmented metal lay across the deck floor. Jane stood up after been thrown across the room by the explosion. All she could hear was a loud ringing in her ears, and her eyes were red-raw from the smoke. As she moved across the debris, she saw a LED display that lay smashed on the debris littered deck. She bent down and dusted it off, and the symbols she read sent a shiver down her spine: ‘00001’.
The survivors stood near the helicopter landing-pad as the Blackhawks took turns to drop off their cargo. They all watched as the teams abseiled from the mighty gunship transports onto the deck and ran forwards to take up positions. A large black officer walked towards them. He was a broad shouldered man with a flat top haircut, and chewed on a fat cigar as he approached.
“I am Captain Osborne of SEAL Team four,” he said.
“Which one of you is Jane Stewart?” Jane stepped forwards and showed her CIA badge.
“What’s the situation?” he asked as the teams rushed past them and military medics moved up to inspect the survivors.
“The threat has been eliminated along with a good man,” she said, with a sorrowful look on her face. The officer said something into a throat microphone and the teams dispersed to do their various tasks.
“We will make sure the ship is secured while we get you guys to safety,” he told them.
His mouth fell open as the three Russians stepped forwards,
“God dam, we may need a boat for you three guys alone!” he commented.
Vedas laughed. He stopped and looked round, saying,
“Where is Mr. Steel? Didn’t he make it?” Jane shook her head as a tear rolled down her cheek.
“I am so sorry, Mr. Vedas. He died in the explosion. It was all my fault, I should have listened to him.” The large Russian snarled as he looked at Grant, who was busy with his notebook.
“Nyet, Jane, it was not all your fault and you did listen. You just listened to the wrong man.” Vedas walked away from her and looked over the railings towards the life boats that were bobbing happily in the distance, As he watched he noticed a boat going to each one in turn. He smiled and shook his head.
"Sorry, comrade nobody home." thinking it was a rescue team. Vedas looked up to the sky and closed his eyes, letting the cool sea breeze sweep over him.
"It's a shame about Steel." Tia smiled as she approached Vedas.
"Yes, he will be....missed." They both laughed quietly as they watched someone climb on to the pier.
"That he will my large Russian friend, that he will." Tia had a smile and a small tear in her eye.
McCall stood outside the interrogation room, psyching herself up to go in. This was no ordinary box, this was the one for the hardened criminals, the ones they knew would take ages to break. Brant stood with her.
“Are you sure you’re up to this?” he asked her.
“I can take this piece of garbage if you like.” Sam McCall shook her head.
“No, this one’s mine.” The solid steel door screeched as she opened it, and the noise echoed round the lo
ng narrow room. The area itself was around twenty feet by twelve feet, and a table sat in the middle and there was a single small light that hung down from the ceiling, while the rest of the room was in shadow. This room had been designed to stir emotion, mainly fear. It hadn’t been used since the days of the feared FBI director Hoover, who used his own ways of extracting information from interviewees. To the side there was a small two-way mirror which hardly showed any reflection at all.
McCall walked in but said nothing. She made sure that the chair legs ground upon the concrete as she moved it backwards. Their ‘mole’ had been in the box for a good five hours, having had no drink, no food, and no phone calls. Sam sat and opened up the file and arranged the different photographs around the long table. She sat there for a moment taking in the silence, her eyes scanning the person at the other side of the table, and she leant back in her chair.
“So tell me,” she began. “Who do you work for and what was with the whole elaborate New York thing?” The mole said nothing, just sat there motionless, bathed in shadow.
“Who do you work for?” Sam demanded again. The figure sat there, not moving or speaking.
“Look, I can tie you in to everything, so do yourself a favour, and do a deal. You hand over the top brass.” McCall leant forwards and banged the table with a clenched fist.
“You see, we have enough to bury you.”
“You have nothing!” The voice was heavy and gravelly, and McCall smiled at the challenge.
“We found a street camera that puts you at the scene of Douglas Major’s electrocution, then there are the shoe impressions left at the scene of Karen Greene. At first we couldn’t place them until you left the same print here accidentally the other day.” McCall could feel herself starting to enjoy this: she was taking the suspect apart and there was nothing the person could say to get out of it.
“We found out why so many people wanted to use the office of Bill Foster,” McCall continued.
“It wasn’t for the view out of the window, it was because of the hidden executive bathroom that CSU found behind the bookshelves. Guess what else they found? There were droplets of water, but when they examined them they found that they were beads of sweat. When they ran it for DNA, guess whose name popped up?” McCall could feel the hate from the person opposite, she could feel their need to leap over the table and shut her up.
“But the best one,” she went on,
“And this had everyone baffled, was the shooting of John Barr. We couldn’t figure out how you did it. We thought about a boat on the Hudson, but trying to keeping it that still to take a shot? Not a chance, but then CSU found another scrape on the crane, the round fell short, or you moved accidentally. Either way, the bullet ricocheted off the flooring and shot upwards, making it look like he had been shot from the river. My guess is you couldn’t believe your luck when he fell.” She saw the person move uncomfortably.
“We found the sniper’s nest you used by the East River bikeway, a nice little nest just on the riverbank, a hell of a shot, but not for you.” Sam McCall opened another file.
“You spent four years as a Delta Force sniper, won lots of medals and awards for sharp shooting.” She slammed the file shut and leaned back in her chair.
“You used the same weapon on the secretary. Oh, and by the way, we did find the weapon in the trunk of your car, sorry.” She smiled as she shrugged, then showed the suspect a photograph of the sniper rifle.
“In the case of Detective Marinelli, well that was simple, you were seen at ballistics the day it was compared, which isn’t unusual, granted, but you offered to pick up the weapon as you wanted a rush on it and the tech was busy. Hey, who would think twice about you?” McCall leant forwards, her arms outstretched so they grabbed the edges of the table.
“Your plan to frame Detective Marinelli had gone south. In addition, we have CCTV footage of you at the victims’ work and homes, courtesy of Agent Jones. He was on to you and you had him killed.”
The silence persisted and McCall could feel the tension from the suspect.
“You had a partner. You were here and they were on the ship. If this went off it would be a major disaster and the public would want blood. So you gave them the Russians, the CIA and the organization. The question is, what would you gain? Both you and your partner would be dead so, again I’m asking, who are you working for?” She watched the suspect adjust their seating position, and that was the point she realised they were not going to talk. McCall stood up and packed the file away.
“You will talk, if not to me then someone else will make you.”
The silence remained, and McCall saw she was wasting her time and stood up.
“A shame about what happened to your friend.” She scowled as she could see the suspect laughing. “He was one of us, you son of a bitch!” Laughter filled the room and she needed to get out.
“Is someone else coming round to visit?” the suspect asked.
“I don’t want to get lonely.” McCall turned around to face him.
“Oh, I am sure you’ll make lots of friends where you’re going.”
“Like whom? Maybe your dearly departed Mr. Steel? I heard he got incinerated stopping the devices going off. They say there was nothing left, just ashes.” The Internal Affairs lieutenant leaned forwards into the light, wearing a smug grin on his face.
“You have nothing, Detective. And I am not talking.” McCall smiled.
“Maybe not to me, but you know what they used to call Steel in the service? The Phoenix.” McCall knocked on the door and watched it open. Behind her the IA lieutenant felt uneasy, as though someone or something was behind him. Out of the shadows a hooded figure emerged and as the door slowly closed behind her a scream of utter terror pierced the air, the door closed and silenced the chilling sound.
Brant looked down at her.
“Are you sure we just did the right thing, sir?” she asked him. Brant looked at the door and started to walk towards the elevator with McCall.
“What, leaving him alone with Steel? By the way, why did the survivors say he was toast?” McCall shrugged,
“I guess it was a thank you, just like they never revealed his name, just left it as Antony Black.” The elevator doors slid open and Tooms and Tony stood holding them open.
“Glad to see you back, Detective,” Brant welcomed Tony. McCall smiled as she saw the group back together.
“And I sure am glad to be back.” Tony looked down the dimly lit corridor.
“The odd thing is, I kind of hope he takes a long time to talk.” As the steel doors slid shut, they all looked down that long dark corridor and no words were spoken, they just looked and dared to wonder what was happening in that room.
Grant sat at his computer in the local coffee shop. His fingers flew across the keyboard as though they were possessed. He was typing up his exposé, the tale of the CIA and the Russians mixed up in a plot to blow up New York. Sure, he didn’t have all of the facts but he could fill in the blanks. This would be his masterpiece, his Mona Lisa. The waitress poured him another coffee without asking, she knew him too well to need to ask, if he was writing he always told her to just keep them coming.
He stopped for a moment to take a brief break. He looked out of the window and into the street, and felt the warm morning sunshine against his skin and he closed his eyes to take in the rays as they caressed his flesh.
“Why, Mr. Grant, fancy meeting you here!”
He looked up to see the startling beauty of Missy Studebaker. He stood up and offered her a seat, and she sat down opposite him and grinned that innocent smile.
“So what brings you to Queens?” she asked.
“It’s a bit far out for you, isn’t it?”
He sat back in his chair and called the waitress over.
“Oh, nothing for me,” Missy told him.
“I just saw you in the window and thought I would stop and say hi.” She giggled like a fourteen year-old.
“So are you writing that
article you were working on?”He nodded as he took a mouthful of coffee.
“Yep, everyone should know the truth about what happened, I am going to tell it all, and who knows? I may get a Pulitzer prize out of it.”
She giggled again, but the black Range Rover parked outside beeping its horn caught her attention.
“Oh I am sorry, hubby is waiting. It was very nice to see you again, Mr Grant, and good luck.” They shook hands and she stood up, the light reflected off her golden hair making it seem to glow.
“Look after yourself, Mrs Studebaker.” Missy walked out of the coffee shop, turned, and waved just as she reached a blacked-out vehicle. Grant noticed a man get out of the driver’s side and open the rear passenger door for her. He peered out of the window to get a better look at the driver but the sun’s glare shone off the car’s darkened windows, almost blinding him. He smiled and shook his head, thinking,
“Nah, it can’t be.” Grant looked back towards the car. He could have sworn that the driver looked the spitting image of Alan Metcalf. He sat back down and drew his attention back to his computer screen. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Missy had left her purse.
“Damned stupid woman,” he thought as he reached to pick it up.
As the Ranger Rover headed down the street, it stopped at a set of lights. A massive roar like a lightning strike filled the air as in the distance the coffee shop was engulfed in a massive explosion, which was enough to send the cars parked next to it into the air. The vehicle’s rear window wound down and a woman’s voice simply said:
“It’s done. The story is buried. ..... no, there are no more loose ends. Understood.... yes. I agree we have to lay low for a while, let them forget about us before we strike again.”
With a spin of its wheels the vehicle moved off, leaving the burning wreckage behind it and the buried truth.
Table of Contents
Operation:UNITY (John Steel series Book 2) Page 40
