The Blacklist--The Beekeeper No. 159

by Steven Piziks

  “Can we all come out?” she said. “You don’t want to hurt children, do you? Or an old lady?”

  A pause followed, then a voice on a megaphone said, “Come out, hands raised. We won’t shoot unless you make a stupid move.”

  Ressler went next, doing his best to shield the baby with his body, though he didn’t know how much good that would do against a high-powered rifle. His mouth was dry and his arms shook. He could feel the sights trained on him. The woods around the caverns were well-lit with silver moonlight that turned the leaves to paper. A breeze trembled the trees. The baby quieted.

  “I have a baby,” he shouted. “Don’t shoot!”

  “Come out of the cave!” came the bullhorn. “We’ll take you to shelter. We don’t hurt kids.”

  Mrs. Griffin gestured at the cave mouth, and the rest of the children, along with the other two women, emerged like frightened rabbits from a warren. They didn’t fully understand what was going on, or the danger they were in—Ressler hoped—and were only scared because of the explosions and the shouting.

  From the trees several paces away came five men with helmets, Kevlar, and assault rifles. They were dressed in pixilated desert camouflage, which said outdated to Ressler.

  “Who are you?” Ressler said. “You want to point those rifles somewhere else? We got kids here.”

  “How about you remove that mask, buddy.”

  Oh.

  Ressler flicked a glance at Mrs. Griffin and slowly pulled his mask off. Mrs. Griffin didn’t even blink.

  “Harris, search him,” said one of the men.

  “Sir!” Harris did a quick pat-down of Ressler, then of the women and Mrs. Griffin. He shone a light into Mrs. Griffin’s handbag and checked her cell phone. Ressler briefly wondered why she had one—they didn’t work out here.

  “There’s no point in searching me for a pistol, dear,” Mrs. Griffin said. “They’re too heavy for me these days.”

  “Are you going to search the babies, too?” Ressler said. “From the smell of it, this one might have a cannon in his diaper.”

  “Over here,” Harris said, pointing the way with his rifle barrel.

  The men led the group of crying, gasping children to a small encampment. An additional dozen men milled about the area. Outdoor lights had been set up and a grenade launcher stood on a tripod. Not far away was parked a large truck.

  “I’m Lieutenant Ryan Steele,” said another man with a blond crew cut. Ressler checked the insignia on his sleeve. It said Team Green Alpha, and didn’t match any military Ressler was familiar with. “Where’s Mala Rudenko?”

  “This isn’t the best way to find her,” Ressler said. “You’re bringing the roof down.”

  “Just warning shots,” Steele said. “Gets your attention.”

  “You’ve scared these children half to death, dear,” said Mrs. Griffin. “How could you do such a thing?”

  “We have our orders, ma’am,” Steele said. “Bring us Mala Rudenko and we’ll be on our way.”

  Mrs. Griffin sighed, set her handbag down, and sat on a stump near the grenade launcher. It made for a strange picture.

  “Now listen, boy. You aren’t going to get what you want by smashing your way in. You can’t—”

  “Look, lady,” Steele said, “this Hive thing is some kind of weirdo cult. Fine. You do what you want. I don’t give a flying goose’s ass what you bee people do to each other in the woods. But the boss wants his daughter back, and we’re here for her. Bring her, or we’ll bring the roof down piece by piece. Capisce?”

  “You do that, and Mala dies,” Ressler pointed out. “Is that what her dad wants?”

  “Looks that way.” Steele shrugged. “If he can’t have her back, the Hive doesn’t live to enjoy her, or whatever it is they’re doing with her. Mr. Rudenko doesn’t take rejection well, and I think the last few months with her missing have been really hard on him.”

  “Jesus,” Ressler breathed.

  “What should we do with the kids, Lieutenant?” asked Harris.

  “Put ’em in the truck, give ’em something to eat. Sit with ’em, Harris.”

  “Me? Aw, come on! You can’t—”

  “Go, Harris.”

  Grumbling, Harris took the baby from Ressler and led the whimpering children to the truck, along with the two child-care women. Ressler started to follow, but Steele grabbed his arm.

  “Nuh-uh. You and the old lady are going back inside to deliver our message.”

  “What message, dear?” Mrs. Griffin asked.

  “Mala Rudenko emerges from that cave in exactly twenty minutes, or we bring it down.” Steele showed his phone. It had a countdown timer on it that showed 19:59.57. “Hobble fast, lady.”

  Ressler glanced at the truck. Harris was helping the women get into the back with the babies. They were as safe as could be for the moment. Keen would be satisfied. A part of him wanted to run for it, try to get far enough away to call the Post Office for help, but it was night, and he had already made one unsuccessful bolt for help. If it hadn’t been for Reddington, the FBI might already be here.

  Reddington.

  Jesus, just when Ressler thought he had the old bastard figured out, he pulled something like this.

  One step at a time, Donald, he reminded himself. One at a time.

  “Let’s go,” he said to Mrs. Griffin, and let her take his arm. Her hand was light and feathery.

  “Nineteen minutes, thirty seconds,” Steele called after them.

  Just outside the mouth of the escape tunnel, Mrs. Griffin halted. “You know, I forgot my handbag. And none of those boys said a word about it.”

  “Oh,” Ressler said, a little confused. “I don’t think we can go back for it.”

  “I wasn’t suggesting, dear. I was observing that they aren’t very observant. They didn’t notice the false bottom, either.” From her pocket she produced her cell phone and pressed a button.

  The explosion lit up the trees. Screams and shouts from the encampment immediately followed. Ressler reflexively dropped to the ground. Mrs. Griffin stood upright and watched, a prim smile on her face.

  “That should teach them not to mess with the Hive,” she said as drones swarmed out of the tunnel. “Shall we go back inside, dear? And why are you out of your cage?”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  The Beekeeper’s thunderous voice echoed off the walls of the chem production lab.

  “We will keep working!” he boomed. “They will not stop us! They will only spur us to great flight! Hurry, my children! We will spread our pollen far and wide.”

  Under his orders, masked drones continued their work. They mingled sarin and tributylamine in canisters and locked the canisters into the carrying clips of the helicopter drones. Ten of them, a dozen, a hundred. They lined up at the exit in deadly rows. Every one had the power to kill hundreds of people.

  Other drones moved quickly about the lab, operating machinery and computers or clearing debris away. The explosions had brought down a lot of dust, and several drones wielded brooms. Aram grabbed one, and Mala followed his example. They pretended to sweep, but edged their way toward the corner, where the safe and the helicopter drone key lay.

  Aram leaned close to Mala and touched their masks together. “What’s the combination?” he asked quietly. The masks conducted his words.

  “I don’t know it,” Mala replied in the same way. “Can’t you hack it or something?”

  “With what?” Aram said. “I don’t have any equipment to hack a computer lock.”

  “It also takes a keycard,” Mala said hopefully. “The Beekeeper has it on his belt.”

  “Okay, okay.” Aram thought. “There’s one other way. Social engineering. Get closer to him.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  “I don’t know yet.”

  Aram abandoned the sweeping pretext and moved closer to the Beekeeper, who was engaged in earnest conversation with another drone.

  “I don’t care,” he was sayi
ng. “Find Vernon! I need him in this lab! And where’s my wife?”

  Aram edged closer. Okay. Yeah. He could pretend to trip, fall into the Beekeeper, and grab the card when they tangled together. It could work. As long as he wasn’t caught. As long as the Beekeeper didn’t notice his card was missing. As long as Aram didn’t screw it up. He licked his lips inside the mask, wishing his heart would stop pounding. Blood sang in his ears.

  The drone stared at the floor. “I don’t know, sir. We’re very confused right now.”

  “Just find them!” the Beekeeper snarled. The drone fled.

  Aram stepped forward just as the Beekeeper also turned. There was a moment, a tiny moment, in which everything came together. Aram saw it. The Beekeeper was a little off-balance. Aram was right there. A half step to the left, and he could slam hard into the Beekeeper perfectly. A single half step was all it would take. He took a breath—

  His courage failed him. He turned aside. The Beekeeper moved past him without noticing.

  Aram cursed himself for an idiot. It had been the perfect—the only—chance. Now he’d have to figure another way to—

  Another explosion, a worse one, rocked the cavern.

  Canisters fell over with metallic clunks. Drones flailed about. More dust sifted from above. Aram took the shot. He shoved himself backward and fell straight into the Beekeeper. They both went down in a tangle of limbs. The Beekeeper’s fleshy body was soft under Aram’s. The Beekeeper swore and pushed about. In the confusion, Aram’s mask popped loose and came over his head. Aram had to choose between refastening it and going for the keycard. Split-second decision.

  He went for the keycard.

  Aram deliberately tangled himself further, as if in a panic, all the while feeling about for the card. His fingers encountered plastic, and he snapped it up.

  At last the Beekeeper managed to shove Aram away. Mala hurried over to help the Beekeeper up.

  “Are you all right, sir?” she asked. “Are you hurt?”

  “I’m fine,” the Beekeeper said shortly.

  “Sorry,” Aram said, staying on the floor as if terrified. He fumbled with his mask, keeping his face away from the Beekeeper. “Sir, I didn’t mean to—”

  “I don’t think I know you,” said the Beekeeper, looking down at him just as Aram managed to shove his mask back into place. “When did you join, boy?”

  Aram’s heart leaped into his throat. “Sir, I—”

  “Beekeeper!” Another drone rushed up. “We need you to finalize the dispersion pattern at terminal five. The explosions are making everyone nervous, and the technicians still can’t locate Vernon.”

  “Yes, yes. I’m coming.” The Beekeeper raised his voice again. “No fear! Keep working! I want these drones ready to go by sunrise! We are the Hive!”

  “We are the Hive!” barked everyone in the room. Aram only just remembered to join in.

  The Beekeeper strode away. Aram let out a long, heavy breath. Mala hurried over, though she didn’t say anything. Aram scrambled upright and showed her a corner of the keycard he had lifted. She squeezed his hand in acknowledgment. They slipped closer to the safe. It was the size of a shoebox and mounted waist-high in the cave wall with a keypad and a card reader set into the door.

  Aram glanced around. Lots of people in the lab. Someone would notice them.

  Mala set to work with her broom. Clumsily. In seconds, she raised a cloud of dust. Before he could lose his nerve again, Aram swiped the card.

  ENTER CODE, said the screen.

  Aram swore. The safe required both a swipe card and a PIN. He entered 1234, the most common PIN.

  ERROR, said the screen. ENTER CODE.

  Aram’s stomach churned. He entered 1111, another common code.

  ERROR, said the screen. ENTER CODE.

  “Hurry up,” Mala said. “I think the Beekeeper’s coming back.”

  Aram’s breath echoed inside the mask. The code was probably a birthday or a phone number or some other important number to the Beekeeper. The trouble was, Aram had no idea what that number might be and no way to find out in the next few seconds.

  “He’s going to see us,” Mala said. “Do it now!”

  He turned the card over nervously in his hands. And then he saw it. Written on the back in black marker. 0156. Aram almost laughed. He punched in the numbers.

  The safe beeped once and the door clicked open. Aram reached inside and found a pile of cash, two gold bars, and a flash drive. He snatched up the drive, slammed the door shut, and strolled away. As he went, he dropped the card in front of Mala’s broom.

  “We are the Hive,” Aram said as the Beekeeper passed by him.

  “We are the Hive,” he replied tersely. “Did you see a—?”

  “Sir, did you drop this?” Mala said, holding out the dusty card. “I just found it on the floor where you fell.”

  He accepted it with obvious relief. “That’s what I was looking for. Thank you, child.” The Beekeeper clipped the card to his belt and hurried away.

  The rush of relief was so great, Aram wove unsteadily for a moment.

  “He wrote his PIN on the back?” Mala said incredulously.

  “You’d be surprised how many people do that. It’s why banks still have to tell customers not to.” The helicopter drones were nearly all set up now. Aram glanced at a computer screen. Sunrise was coming quickly.

  Mala poked Aram with her broom. “Shouldn’t we destroy that drive?”

  “When we’re alone.”

  “So what now?”

  “We find Reddington and get out of here.”

  * * *

  Keen dashed back to the guest room, ready to fling herself to the floor at the next explosion. She had no idea where anyone was—Reddington, Stuart, Aram, Mala, Ressler. Only Dembe had to be where she had left him. The children were safe. Aram would steal the drone key. She had to trust in that. Part of working for the FBI was being a team player, having faith that everyone would do their bit. Oh, but it was hard! Deep down, she didn’t quite trust Ressler to see to the children, and she certainly didn’t trust Mrs. Griffin. Aram was a fantastic IT guy, but he wasn’t a field agent.

  You can’t be everywhere at once, she told herself firmly. Do your job and let them do theirs.

  Reddington was in the guest room with Dembe when Keen arrived. Two bundles lay under the blankets atop the beds. The other men were nowhere in sight. Dembe was just shutting the barred interior door. Someone had shut off the damn alarms, thank god, but the lights in the corridors still glowed red.

  “What happened?” Keen demanded.

  Then she knew.

  “You killed them.”

  “There was no point in upsetting everyone over an unpleasant necessity,” Reddington said. “Aram is especially sensitive about these matters.”

  Keen knew she should be upset, or at least pissed off, but she didn’t have it in her right then. Vernon, in particular, had set her teeth sideways. He’d tittered as he filled little silver canisters with flying death, and she couldn’t think of any reason to mourn his passing or condemn those who had brought it about.

  “We aren’t done, Reddington,” she said. “I know you have a key like the Beekeeper’s.”

  He folded his arms. “Do you?”

  “What do you want, Reddington?” she said. “Why do you have that key?”

  “To ensure the Beekeeper couldn’t release his deadly swarm,” he replied easily. “The key will let me take over his drones once they’re in the air and redirect them harmlessly away.”

  “Then you won’t mind giving it to me.” She held out her hand.

  “Do you know how to use it?”

  “I’m sure Aram can figure it out, since he built it.”

  Reddington sighed. “You know, one day I’ll have to have a chat with Aram about secrets between gentlemen.”

  “Hand it over, Reddington,” Keen said.

  “You know, I think I’ll keep it,” Reddington said. “If Aram gets hold of the other
key, the Beekeeper will commit murder to get hold of mine, and an older man of my acquaintance once taught me never to give up a bargaining chip.”

  “Reddington—”

  Aram and Mala burst into the room.

  “They got Ressler again!” Aram said.

  Keen whirled. “What?”

  “He’s back in the cage room,” Mala said. “We overheard one of the other drones. Mrs. Griffin caught him after the children got out.”

  A strange mixture of relief and tension pulled Keen in two directions. The children were safe. Ressler was in danger.

  “What about the Beekeeper’s key?” she said.

  “We got it!” Aram held it up. “And now we have to run. Fast.”

  Keen tensed again. “Now what?”

  “Dr. Griffin saw Aram’s face in the lab, but didn’t quite recognize him,” Mala explained. “When he opens the safe and sees the key is gone, he’ll know it was us. We have to run!”

  “The key.” Keen held out her hand again.

  Aram dropped a flash drive onto her palm. “It’s plug and play.”

  Keen started to snap the drive in half, then paused. No.

  She dropped the key into her pocket. “An older gentleman of my acquaintance once told me never to give up a bargaining chip. Let’s get out of here. Come on, Reddington.”

  “Me?” Reddington looked genuinely surprised. “Good gracious, no! I’m not going anywhere.”

  “What are you talking about?” Aram said. “We’ve got maybe ten minutes before the Beekeeper opens that safe and raises the alarm.”

  “The good Dr. Griffin still sees me as an ally,” Reddington said. “That gives me an edge. Besides, I still have to track down Stuart.”

  “Stuart?” Keen repeated. “I thought you didn’t care about him.”

  “We have unfinished business.” Reddington waved them toward the door. “And someone has to fish poor Donald out of those cages. Do you still have my satellite phone?”

  Keen touched her pocket. “I do.”

  “You have a satellite phone?” Mala said in surprise.

  “I assume you’ve gotten hold of Harold, then,” Reddington said, ignoring her. “Keep it, so you can talk to him further. He’ll need your help far more than I will.”