by Tom Wood
No shot came, so no marksman.
They crossed the runaway, leaning forward in half crouches to reduce their profile.
Concrete slabs surrounded the hangars and the terminal building. Weeds bordered every concrete slab. A rusted steel hatch covered an entrance to a tunnel that ran from the terminal building, under the apron where they loaded the plane and out to the plane, avoiding the wash from propeller blades. It was sealed shut, and if not for the concrete floor that had been poured over the hatch at the other end, would have made an excellent entry point into the building.
Victor held the SIG down by his hip for speed. There was no need to have it ready to aim now. Any enemies were out of sight and out of range. If he had to open fire before he reached the safety of the hangars it would mean certain death, caught out in the coverless ground against multiple enemies.
Speed was their best ally now. He knew they were silhouetted against the horizon, but they had no choice. If they crawled across earth to reduce the chances of being spotted it would only increase the time they were exposed. They had to trust to speed to take the place of concealment and cover.
They had been waiting in the dark long enough for their night vision to be at maximum. The men inside the airfield buildings, having spent all evening in brighter interiors, would be blind in comparison. But only outside. The moment Victor and Raven emerged into light, their vision would suffer.
The old Naval Air Station building had two above-ground levels and one half-sunken storey. At the centre of the north-facing façade a hexagonal tower protruded and rose a further level, with the control tower itself perched on top.
They approached it from the south, rounding it until they were at the north side, between the building and the aircraft hangar.
A flatbed truck was parked between the two.
FIFTY-NINE
It was a big, old-model vehicle with a white cab and a long articulated bed that rested on eight wheels. The bed had been filled by a single intermodal shipping container. There were some seventeen million such containers in the world. This one was painted blue, but faded and marked over long years of use. Victor had never seen two tons of plastic explosives before, but he didn’t have to look inside the container to know they were there. He could only imagine the devastation it would cause.
A noise alerted him to an approaching figure before he had come into view. The slow, shuffling footsteps told him it was a man, and that he was bored or tired. Not alert. Vulnerable.
Victor switched the UMP to his left hand and held it down by his hip, by the barrel, while he drew the fillet knife into his right fist. He stood with his back to the wall of the building and his right shoulder at the corner. He had his knife in a downward grip, positioned close to his left shoulder, arm across his chest.
He shut his eyes to better concentrate on the sound of the footsteps, as they grew louder, nearer, until they were near enough for —
Victor to snap out his hand through a fast one hundred and eighty degree arc until his arm was perpendicular to his body.
A gasp.
The resistance the knifepoint met told him he had stabbed the man in the chest, through the ribs, before he had turned to see.
He released the knife while the man was still gasping, pivoted, and swung the UMP, striking the man in the face with the weapon’s stock and taking him from his feet.
He hit the ground, unconscious. He was never going to wake up.
Victor switched the UMP into a firing position and surveyed the area for others. No one in sight. No one in hearing range.
‘We’re good,’ Raven said.
He knelt and kept the gun in a one-handed shooting grip while he worked the knife free with his left hand. It took some effort; the knife was buried up to the hilt. Victor wiped the blood from the blade on the man’s jacket. Gaze still searching for enemies, he patted the man down, recognising the feel of a wallet, car keys and phone but ignoring them all. He was checking only for items that might help him in his mission. He was here to kill, nothing more.
He tucked the man’s handgun into his waistband. There was no such thing as too many guns.
Raven was looking at the truck.
‘What are you waiting for?’ Victor whispered. ‘Hot-wire it and go.’
‘They’ll have other, faster, vehicles. I’ll never make it out of the airfield.’
‘Then you’d better help me, hadn’t you?’
Her eyes narrowed at him and he kept to the wall and the shadows as they passed between the buildings. He heard laughter and sounds of merriment coming from an open window on the second floor. They were relaxed and unprepared. He noted the location on the map inside his mind and moved on. If he could catch them while they were still in the room, he could take out half the opposition in a matter of seconds.
Light up ahead framed a closed door.
Victor gestured for Raven to halt and he approached, careful and quiet. He heard noise from inside. It sounded like someone cooking; he could hear the hiss of steam and the clang of pans.
The door opened to the left, so Victor stood on that side of the doorframe and rapped on the door with his knuckles three gentle times.
It was enough to gain the curiosity of the person inside, who came to the door and opened it wide enough that the outside handle touched Victor’s stomach.
He saw the man’s shadow on the ground and the head turning in confusion.
Victor watched the shadow change and the door begin to close.
He stepped out and around it, grabbed the man’s outstretched arm that was trailing behind him to pull the door shut as he was turning away, and yanked him backwards.
The man fell, knocking open the door, and crashing to the ground outside of it.
Victor leapt on him while he was still prone and shocked, going into full mount with his knees tucked against the man’s armpits, and forcing the stock of the UMP against the man’s throat. He pushed down with all the strength of his arms and back. The man gasped and spluttered and suffocated below him.
Three down without discovery had been Victor’s minimum assessment for operational success if they were going up against six. Which meant there were still at least three alive and armed if Halleck had sent ten men to FDR Drive, but there could be up to eight more if Halleck had dispatched fewer. If Halleck hadn’t fallen for their deception there would be even more.
If Halleck had not fallen for the ruse and all thirteen remaining men were here, then things would get messy.
They entered the kitchen. The building had long fallen into disrepair. Cracks ran through the plaster. Paint was chipped. Wood had warped. Tiles were cracked. The dead guy had been preparing the evening meal for the others. Before he reached the exit, he switched off the stove as he went. The ragu sauce was starting to boil and stick to the pan.
They passed through the kitchen to a corridor. One by one, he cleared the adjoining rooms, fast, easing open each door and then charging in, sweeping with the UMP from left to right, Raven following a step behind and sweeping right to left.
Ahead was a doorway. Peeling paint covered the doorframe. Empty hinges were all that was left of the door itself. On the other side of the doorway the paint and plaster on the walls was cracked and chipped and had fallen or been pulled away in large chunks. Exposed wires ran around the walls where skirting boards had once been. The room was empty. It appeared to have been an office space or a dormitory for pilots from the days when there were no night flights. An open door on the south wall led to a small toilet.
Another open door led to a room of similar size that occupied the building’s southwest corner. The walls in here had been stripped of their plaster, exposing bare brick and vertical wooden runners. Black-and-white tiles had once covered the floor, but now the black tiles were grey and the white tiles had turned yellow with dust and grime. Some had become loose. Others were missing.
Beyond the room was a corridor and a staircase that led both up and down. Victor had no desire to
leave areas behind him unchecked for threats, but clearing it would burn time they didn’t have. Each passing second increased the chances of being discovered – either them or the corpses – and enemies were unlikely to be in the basement. It was a risk, but most plans were based on compromise, and most fell apart when the first round was fired.
So far, no rounds had been fired.
The plan was working.
SIXTY
They ascended the stairs at a normal pace. They had no need for stealth – their enemies would expect to hear footsteps inside the building – but Victor kept his gait careful so as not to rush into danger.
At the top of the stairs, he emerged on to the building’s first floor. The stairwell door opened on to a corridor shrouded in darkness. No lights were on overhead and no light emanated under doorframes leading off the corridor. He waited, listening.
As with the basement, he decided not to clear it for the sake of time spent against the chances of enemies present. He knew for certain enemies were on the floor above him as of two minutes ago. He turned to Raven and pointed up with a thumb.
They backed off and climbed the last set of stairs to the building’s top floor, hearing the sound of movement and talking before they had reached the stairwell door.
With the stock of the UMP firm and comfortable resting in the crook in his chest where his pectoral muscle met the anterior deltoid, eyes peering along the iron sights, he used his left hand to work the door handle and ease the door open.
He could not disguise the noise of the jamb clicking or the hinges creaking, but both were quiet enough to not draw attention from the two men he saw.
They were standing five metres away, side on to him, talking to one another. One was leaning back against the wall behind him, arms folded. The second stood opposite, holding a UMP by the barrel while the stock rested against the flooring.
Victor shot the first man above the ear with a double tap, switching aim to the second as he recoiled in shock and horror, the contents of his teammate’s skull pan splattered over his face, and dropped him with another two rounds before he had even processed what was happening.
The UMP fired heavy .45 calibre rounds. The mess was considerable.
Victor dropped to one knee in the open doorway. He would not have done so if it hadn’t been for Raven covering the rear, but he wanted to be low and in a firing position should any other enemies appear ahead.
The gunfire would generate surprise, then fear. The men inside the room would be shocked into inaction, but someone would investigate – either the bravest man or the weakest-willed, pressured by his comrades.
Victor wasn’t sure which quality the man possessed who opened the door to check, but a double tap blew off the top of his skull.
The body dropped in the doorway, creating a useful obstacle to prevent those inside closing the door.
‘Go,’ he called to Raven.
She rushed ahead of him while he covered her advance, keeping close to one wall and out of his line of fire.
Victor dashed over as soon as she had reached the doorway and charged in, UMP entering the room first, already firing on full automatic before he had acquired targets, Raven an instant behind him – he went left; she went right.
The two guys inside the room were stunned by panic. The closest had been caught by the blind shots and was stumbling backwards when Victor saw him. The second, further away, was bringing up his gun. Raven dropped him with a triple tap of rounds to his centre mass.
Which gave Victor an extra split second to deal with the shot guy, who had dropped his primary weapon and was reaching for a backup. One squeeze of the UMP’s trigger made sure he never reached it.
‘That’s eight,’ Raven said. ‘So Halleck sent exactly half his crew to collect my body. I’m going to take that as a compliment. Or maybe it’s one to you. When will they realise you aren’t going to show?’
Victor said, ‘Soon.’
A radio worn by one of the dead guys crackled to life and a disembodied voice said, ‘This is Courier, how’s it looking at the LZ? Over.’
Raven looked at it, then him. ‘What do we do?’
He shrugged. ‘I didn’t hear any of them speak. They might have a code.’
‘We can’t ignore it.’
The voice said, ‘This is Courier. Respond, please.’
‘What do we do?’ Raven asked again.
Victor took the radio from the floor and pressed send. ‘You’re clear for landing, Courier.’
There was no response.
‘Does that mean they bought it?’ Raven asked.
Victor shrugged. ‘I don’t know. If they believed me, they’ll land out front. But if they didn’t they’ll make sure they’re out of range; they’ll hit the deck about a hundred metres from the terminal building.’
The radio crackled into life and Halleck said, ‘Nice try, but no sale.’
Raven took the radio from Victor and replied, ‘How are you, Jim? It’s been a long time.’
Halleck said, ‘Go to hell.’
‘That’s no way to talk to a lady. Where are your manners? I’d have expected humility, or maybe some begging. It’s over, Jim. I’ve won. I have your bomb.’
Halleck laughed. ‘It’s a little early to gloat, Constance. You have nothing.’
‘What are you flying in?’ Raven asked. ‘The bomb is outside. The blackout has cut the power to the city. What have you been waiting for? You already have enough explosives to take down a skyscraper. You can’t possibly need more.’
‘What do you think I am, a lunatic? I’m not going to take down a skyscraper. I’m no terrorist, whatever you think of me.’
Raven said, ‘Two tons of plastic explosives on a truck says otherwise.’
Halleck said, ‘Let me talk to your new partner.’
‘I’m here,’ Victor said, taking the radio.
‘I didn’t know you were so stupid as to fuck with me,’ Halleck said. ‘Now, you’re never going to get out of this country. You’ll be hunted to the ends of the earth forever more.’
‘Why?’ Victor asked. ‘Eight of your guys are dead. The other eight are the other side of Brooklyn. The bomb’s outside. It’s not going anywhere. When it blows up, it’s going to damage nothing but soil. No one’s going to spend resources trying to track down the most incompetent terrorist in the world, are they? You really should have just found a way to hire me to kill Raven in the first place and saved us all a lot of bother.’
Raven huffed, ‘You charmer.’ Then she frowned and said into the radio, ‘What were you planning to do?’
Halleck didn’t answer.
‘What are you delivering?’ Raven asked again.
‘I’m surprised you haven’t worked it out before now, Constance. You were always so smart.’
‘If you’re not using the explosives to bring down a building, then what’s the point of it?’ Raven said. ‘Then it’s nothing more than fireworks. You blow it up on an empty street and the damage will be minimal. We’re talking a massive crater and a thousand broken windows. So what? That’s not going to start wars. If the explosives aren’t for demolition, then you planned to use them as a delivery system. What for? A chemical weapon? Biological? Radiological?’
Halleck didn’t answer.
‘It’s the last one, isn’t it?’ Raven continued. ‘That’s why you needed to cut the power to the city. That’s why you needed the blackout: Manhattan has a whole network of sensors to detect radioactive material. With the power down, you can drive the truck straight into the middle of Wall Street and set off a dirty bomb.’
‘You got there in the end, but too late to make a difference.’
Raven said, ‘You’re a maniac.’
Halleck’s voice came through the radio, loud and angry. ‘It’s a goddamn dirty bomb, not a nuclear weapon. They’re a world apart. Dirty bombs have been tested by the Department of Energy and you know what? They don’t do shit. You would have to live within the original blast radius fo
r months to have any chance of getting radiation sickness. They’re a tabloid weapon. They’ve invaded the public consciousness, but no one in the know rightly fears them. Like I said, I’m not a monster. The explosive is going to do more damage than the plutonium. This is a scare weapon. This is a true terror weapon. I have no intention of butchering millions of my own people. I’m a patriot.’
Raven said, ‘A patriot willing to bomb his own country at the behest of those looking to profit from war.’
‘I’m no altruist, that’s true. But who out of us three is? So don’t play that card. I work for a consensus of powerful individuals and corporations. But no one can pay me enough to wipe out a city. That’s not what this is about. Every month a terrorist plot is foiled. People have stopped caring. They care more now about having to wait in line at airports. People are idiots. They need reminding about the realities of the world and the people who don’t like them. Better I kill a few dozen and scare a few hundred million than the alternative.
‘This is not a weapon of mass destruction,’ Halleck continued. ‘This is a wake-up call. The blackout isn’t just to allow us to get the bomb into position. It’s to stop people coming on to the island, to keep them at home. It’s to limit the casualties. We’re going to see panic; we’re going to see people scared; but the only long-term effects will be psychological. The price tag for clearing up the mess will be huge, but there are private operations ready and willing to step in and sort it all out in record time. For a nice fee, of course. But that’s capitalism. It’s the reason we’re not living in caves. People want redistribution of wealth, right? You know what that’s called? It’s called subsistence. It’s called your family starving to death if it doesn’t rain enough. Capitalism brings prosperity and it brings stability. Without it, it’s anarchy. So yes, I’m doing my own version of good. Everyone benefits this way. That’s democracy. That’s freedom.’
‘You’re insane,’ Raven said.
‘You may not agree with me, but everything in this life is a question of balance. If everyone with a smartphone traded it in for a cheap handset and donated the rest of the money to charity, there would be no world hunger. Are those people responsible for world hunger if they don’t? Of course not. Their fathers’ fathers paid in blood and death for them to enjoy their lives. You get nothing for free. Either you earn it or someone earns it for you. There are finite resources; there is finite time; there is finite will. For one person to be fat and happy, another must be thin and miserable. We’ve done too well in the West. We’ve poked the hornet’s nest of the Middle East several times and we’ve only had to deal with the occasional sting in return. My sponsors want to sell their bombs and planes and tanks and bullets. For that, we need war. And war is a good thing. Human progress has followed war. If we live in peace and harmony we grow weaker and weaker until someone strengthened by conflict comes along and takes over. Then we become a footnote in history. It’s happened to every empire. It’s my job to make sure it doesn’t happen to us. We will not go gentle into that good night. We will make the night hide from us.’
