Tommy crossed his arms in front of him. He looked down at his weathered Timex Ironman, which was cycling through its stopwatch function. “So, what’s the next big threat?”
Chancellor smiled. “Unfortunately for you, Ms. Smyth and Ms. Hebert, it is the removal of the threat. The work we are doing here is far too important to jeopardize. I do hope that you understand.”
“Oh, we understand completely,” said Tommy. He looked over at Nathaniel, who was attaching his silencer to his Glock out of habit. “Can I make a final request?”
“What do you desire, Pastor Bosco?”
“Would you allow me and my friends a moment to pray?”
Chancellor’s video image looked at Tommy in high definition. “I don’t see why not, Pastor Bosco.”
“Would it be all right if we kneel?”
“It would be perfectly satisfactory.”
Tommy went to kneel. He realized that Cindy and Claire were having a hard time wrapping their heads around the idea. He had to pull their arms down hard to get them to join him on the antique rug. He closed his eyes.
“Dear Lord, thank you for bringing us to the end of this most incredible journey. Thank you for keeping our trespassers from bringing us harm, like those two douche bags at the library, that dirty cop that we blew up on the side street, even my dear old dad. Thank you for these men, especially the one named Nathaniel, for not checking for anything other than a gun on me or Cindy or Claire-Bear. Thank you for the incredible reception on our supposedly dead cellular phones, isn’t that right, Sergeant Sawatski?”
“It’s like I’m standing right next to you,” said Sawatski, his static-laced voice coming from somewhere on Tommy’s person. “Are you about ready to wrap this thing up?”
Nathaniel moved over to Tommy quickly, removing the phone of the late Paul Bouchard from his front pocket. He looked at the screen. The signal showed full bars. He threw the phone against the wall, cracking open its case.
“Warmer,” said Sawatski.
Nathaniel checked Cindy’s jacket, finding the other phone. He dropped it on the ground and smashed it with his boot heel.
“Getting warmer,” said Sawatski.
The voice was coming from Claire’s hoodie, which she had borrowed from Jasmine Starr before she left The Guiding Light. Nathaniel retrieved the phone and stomped it into bits.
Tommy looked at the image of Morley Chancellor on the video screen. There was a genuine look of surprise on his face. Tommy smiled back at him with his best shit-eating grin.
“In the name of the father,” said Tommy.
“And the son,” said Claire.
“And the Holy Spirit,” said Cindy.
“Now and forever,” said Sawatski, wondering if anyone could hear him through the mangled phones. He figured that at least one was still working. He had dropped phones into toilets that could still dial out.
“Amen,” said Tommy. He grabbed the girls and fell face forward to the floor.
~
Nathaniel had his gun drawn, looking in every direction. Where was the threat? He had three people lying on the floor, with no weapons. There was no hammering at the secure doors of the main hall. He ran over to the video display at the door; no one was trying to get in. He pulled out his cell phone and hit a speed dial number. The call answered on the second ring.
“Loading dock, Smith speaking.”
“Smith, its Goodwin. Do we have a breach?”
“Breach? What breach? It’s four in the morning. You could hear a mouse fart down here.”
Nathaniel thought for a moment as to where to check next. Then he remembered something that Tommy had done on the way in. “Smith, go check that old truck parked on the end.”
“What? That piece-of-shit Ford?”
“Yes, do it now.” Nathaniel heard the footsteps of the guard as he walked over to Freddie the Ford. He heard him jiggle the door handle.
“It’s locked up tight,” said Smith.
“Does it have a tape deck?”
“Does it have a-what deck?”
“A tape deck. You know, for tapes!”
“Uh . . . yeah, looks like one I used to have in my Chevelle. Pioneer Supertuner, I think. Hey, I think I smell something burning.”
Nathaniel looked down at Tommy, keeping his gun pointed at his head. Tommy lifted his head up to look. “What the fuck is going on?” said Nathaniel.
“Yeah, sorry about that. I thought I had timed it right.”
“Timed what right?”
“The Father-Son–Holy Ghost shit. It should have happened by now.”
“What should have happened by —”
That’s when it happened. It had seemed silly to Nathaniel at the time. Who would make sure that their old, rusty, piece-of-shit truck was locked to protect an old, gummed-up, piece-of-shit tape deck?
~
Tommy had thought up the idea years before, shortly after Freddie the Ford’s unscheduled tank dump of contraband on Highway 75. He wondered what he could do to destroy any evidence of illicit cargo, if the situation required it. He thought of wiring up a chunk of plastic explosive, with remote detonators and such, though the idea of hitting ruts and cracks with a fragile bomb on board seemed like a recipe for disaster. He came up with a much simpler system, using a twelve-volt power inverter, an engine block heater, and a length of cannon fuse that was normally used with fireworks. When Tommy locked up the old Ford, the key fob had triggered the “on” circuit for the cigarette lighter, which the power inverter was plugged into. The block heater element was plugged into the power inverter and mounted underneath the hood. Tommy knew that it would take a little longer to bring the block heater up to temperature with the twelve-volt battery, as opposed to plugging it into a live 120-volt AC circuit.
The length of fuse was a specialty piece, designed to burn underwater, which made it a good candidate for all-weather mounting underneath Freddie. Tommy went one step further, wrapping the fuse in a protective plastic loom. The loom made the fuse look like just another piece of underbody wiring. Tommy mounted a simple tin box over the business end of the block heater, using zip ties to secure the fuse to the heated element portion. Tommy had done a few tests when he had first installed the system, just to make sure that the fuse would eventually light without connecting it to an explosive end source. It took about fifteen minutes to ignite. Then there was the matter of how long it would take for the fuse to reach its destination. The all-weather nature of the fuse meant that it would burn much slower than a typical fireworks fuse. On this particular morning, it took exactly seventeen minutes and thirty seconds for the fuse to hit Freddie’s primary gas tank. Tommy had made a point of topping it off before heading to the four a.m. meeting. He’d sprung for premium.
When Freddie’s tank blew, the hot shrapnel caused a chain reaction, igniting the Escape, then the Chrysler, and the three Ford Transits that were parked nearby. The lab coats, water truck drivers, and Smith the security guard died instantly. The force of the blast sent a concussion wave through the rest of the King George’s foundation, buckling the alloy doors to the main hall and shattering the observation window that gave the view of the patients’ ward.
Crouched down, Tommy, Cindy, and Claire-Bear escaped the brunt of the concussion. Nathaniel did not. He was thrown into the plasma screen that had most recently displayed the shocked face of Morley Chancellor. He lay unconscious at the base of the smashed screen, surrounded by pieces of splintered oak panelling.
Tommy made quick checks of himself, Cindy, and Claire. Cindy grabbed Nathaniel’s Glock, sweeping the room for any additional threats. The nurse who had attended to Chancellor before the meeting burst through the service door, firing a long-barrel Smith & Wesson .357 Magnum, with little thought to precision. Cindy fired two shots at the nurse’s centre mass, dropping her to the floor.
Tommy was movin
g towards the iron lung.
Cindy edged over to Claire; she was hit in her left forearm, bleeding heavily. Cindy pulled the cape off the dead nurse, clawing at a piece of the lining for a tourniquet. She tended to Claire as Tommy approached Chancellor. There was no escape for the old man, though he certainly looked as though he had enough venom in him to cut Tommy down with his stare.
“You realize that you have accomplished nothing here today,” said Chancellor. “The work of the King George has been shared with many like-minded individuals throughout the world. Control is the only key to fighting chaos.”
“Maybe so,” said Tommy. “There’s only one problem with that theory.”
“And what is that, Pastor Bosco?”
“Who gets to decide?” said Tommy. “Who determines what chaos actually is? Sure, it can be a bad thing, with explosions, starvation and death. But there’s an awful lot of good chaos out there, too.” Tommy looked over at Cindy tending to Claire’s wounds. “You might even say that chaos can bring out the best in us.”
“You’re a romantic fool, Pastor Bosco,” said Chancellor. “Don’t forget; I have friends in very high places.”
Tommy looked away from Chancellor, for a closer inspection of the Emerson respirator. He followed the electrical cord from the pump motor to the floor plug. He unplugged the cord and held the end up to a wide-eyed Chancellor. “Like I said, Morley, sometimes, chaos can bring out the best in us.” Tommy dropped the cord onto the floor. The air pump of the Emerson respirator came to a stop. Chancellor struggled, pressing his patient call button for a nurse who would never come.
Tommy turned to check on Cindy and Claire. “How bad is she?”
“She’ll live,” said Cindy. “It looks like it was a clean-through shot.”
“It fucking hurts like hell,” said Claire. “That old guy got any morphine on him?”
“Not that I could see,” said Tommy. “Now let’s see about —”
“Tommy!” said Cindy. “Where’s the ponytail asshole?”
Tommy turned to where he had last seen Nathaniel. He was gone. So was the ledger.
Chapter Fifty-One
Sawatski thought there would be more to it. As he waited for the underground explosion that Tommy Bosco had promised, he took a quick scan of his eclectic team. Spence had been making notes on the speakerphone conversation that they had overheard, as had been Worschuk, ensured of the scoop that would give him another thick layer of Publisher Teflon. Ernie Friday was standing outside the open sliding door of the boogie van, halfway through his last Peter Jackson. He was checking on the cellular booster that took up the rest of the space in his well-used briefcase, the booster that had enabled the underground communication. The LED display was jumping back and forth between two and three bars. Friday had explained, as he set up the antenna, that the whiz kid who had put together his jammer had thrown it in for free. “I’ve never used it before,” said Ernie as he familiarized himself with Sawatski’s Kahr. He had told Sawatski that his Beretta was jamming. It would jam up his freedom royally, thought Sawatski, if the forensics team ever got a hold of it.
The shock wave knocked Ernie’s cigarette out of his hand; it landed inside the van on Worschuk, who swatted the embers into submission. The snow on top of the blast area rose up about two feet off the ground, leaving a general outline on the surface of where the blast damage extended to. Sawatski scanned the area with his Glock drawn. There weren’t any obvious exit points on the surface. He didn’t know if Tommy, Cindy, or Claire had survived the blast. Sawatski also didn’t know who would be emerging first: friendlies, or a threat.
~
Like most hospitals, the Riverview Health Centre had a network of underground tunnels. Nathaniel had escaped from the main hall through a hidden side door on the opposite side of the room when the nurse had started shooting. He was in rough shape. The glass from the window had left some deep cuts, leaving a steady trail of blood droplets as he navigated the ancient tunnels that had once connected the King George to the rest of the complex.
He made his way to one of the secret entrance points, having some difficulty with the scanner system that allowed the wall to move. He was now in a janitorial station, off of the main tunnel that accessed the day hospital and the Princess Elizabeth Building, which had originally been a long-term care facility. The building now housed the administration offices for the Centre. Nathaniel figured that it should be fairly quiet at this hour. Any security staff that had been alerted to the blast would have been coming to investigate from the main hospital. He was in the clear. He clutched the ledger tight to his chest, walking as fast as he could with the glass shards in his legs. He needed to get the ledger out and hidden, hopeful that the information within would be of benefit to the multiple global partners that had invested in the King George. He smiled through the pain for a moment, thinking about the potential payoff that the ledger could bring him. He fumbled in his pocket for his keys. He found his set for his backup car, a nondescript Chevy Malibu that was also registered to the department. The car was moved around the Riverview site on a regular basis, cleared of snow, and topped off with gas when required. His last text stated that it was parked on Oakwood Avenue. He hit the remote start. The key fob warbled back its confirmation. There would be time to decompress later, to process the anger at himself for allowing Bosco and his crew to see the inner workings of the department. Nathaniel had three immediate Gets: Get Out, Get Safe, and Get Stitched Up.
~
Sawatski and Spence took the boogie van around the back of the complex to check the day hospital while Worschuk and Ernie used the Sentinel Cavalier to check out the front. Sawatski saw that smoke was billowing out of the storage shed where Tommy had entered the underground facility. Various members of the hospital staff were starting to emerge from the other buildings.
“Winnipeg Police!” said Spence. “Get back inside!” They couldn’t be sure if anyone emerging from the scene was a Riverview employee, a King George operative, or both. Spence wasn’t taking any chances.
Sawatski left the van, moving towards the front of the Princess Elizabeth. Worschuk and Friday were approaching from the opposite direction, stopping the car near the entrance. Then came the sound of something trying to open a frosty Winnipeg institutional door handle. The sound alerted Sawatski, who started running towards the main entrance of the Princess Elizabeth. Ernie exited the Cavalier, moving with Sawatski towards the steps. The door burst open. Nathaniel exited to the cold morning air.
Sawatski aimed his Glock at Nathaniel from the right-hand side of the staircase, using the standard law enforcement stance. Ernie Friday stood on the left side of the staircase, mimicking Sawatski the best he could. He pointed the borrowed Kahr at Nathaniel’s centre mass. Sawatski could tell that the man he previously knew as The Voice was in rough shape. That made him even more dangerous.
“Winnipeg Police!” said Sawatski. “Drop the book, get down on your knees, and interlace your fingers behind your head. Do it now!”
Nathaniel started to chuckle to himself. He dropped the book to the ground. Then he reached inside his sport coat.
“Don’t do it!” said Sawatski.
Friday fired first, hitting Nathaniel in the right shoulder. Sawatski fired three shots: a miss, a left shoulder graze, and a direct hit in Nathaniel’s sternum. Nathaniel fell to his knees, then forward, sliding down the icy steps face first. He was able to muster one last exhalation of frosty vapor before he expired.
Chapter Fifty-Two
Sawatski was confirming Nathaniel’s death when the door at the top of the stairs opened again. Tommy, Cindy, and Claire emerged from the Princess Elizabeth entrance. They had followed one of the interior tunnels that bordered the main hall, which connected up with the path that Nathaniel had taken. Cindy took the lead, with Nathaniel’s Glock. Spence saw the group emerge. She ran over and gingerly took the Glock from Cindy, who started to shake a
fter she had released it, falling into Tommy’s arms. There were plenty of sirens approaching as the group descended the front steps. Sawatski was checking Nathaniel for ID, and for whether he actually had a gun. The holster was empty.
“I think this was his,” said Spence, handing the Glock to Sawatski. He gave the gun a quick wipe with a microfibre rag from his pocket, palmed it with Nathaniel’s dead hand, then stuffed the gun back into Nathaniel’s holster.
“There,” said Sawatski. “Now he was armed.”
“I highly doubt that’s going to play out with forensics,” said Spence, who was busy wiping down the borrowed Kahr that she had just retrieved from Ernie Friday. She put the gun in her pocket, adding plenty of fingerprint personalization for good measure. She walked up to Friday and started rubbing her right hand on his sleeve. “Just need a little gun jizz,” said Spence. “As long as there’s a whiff of it, the shooter board won’t have a conniption.”
Sawatski surveyed the scene. The first set of fire trucks was arriving, along with a few marked patrol cars. As senior officer on scene, Sawatski would be the point person for any police enquiries, including those of the white shirts. He turned to Worschuk.
“Well, Downtown, how do you think this is going to play out?”
Worschuk smiled, closed his notebook, and put his pen back in his pocket. “Whichever way you want it to, Mileage, whichever way you want it. We’ve got a name for a story like this in the newspaper business.”
“What’s that?” said Sawatski.
“Job security,” said Worschuk. “This shit is going to take years to tell.”
“Hey,” said Ernie. “Do any of you assholes have a dart?”
Worschuk produced his pack. Ernie took a long drag, exhaling like some kind of storybook dragon.
Sawatski walked over to Tommy, Cindy, and Claire. “So, about this whole Stephanos thing.”
Clean Sweep Page 25
