The Widow's Strike pl-4

by Brad Taylor

  When the man asked if she had a fever, she honestly said, “No. I haven’t felt sick for months.”

  65

  I woke up to a glaring light. A single bulb hanging on a string, like something out of a bad spy movie. I tried to move and found I was handcuffed to a short, steel-framed cot.

  My eyes felt like someone had shined them with sandpaper. I squeezed them shut, then blinked a few times. I lifted my legs and found them free. So I’ve got something to work with.

  Although I had no idea how that would help. Maybe I could get the next guy who entered to position himself so I could knock him out with a kick. Of course I’d have to do it in such a manner that it caused the keys to my handcuffs to fly out, landing next to my hands.

  I leaned back, remembering the real focus of the abduction: Jennifer. The thought brought a spasm of rage, and I reflexively jerked my arms up, stupidly trying to break the steel. A guttural scream escaped, and I collapsed back onto the bed, breathing heavily.

  I heard a door open and craned my neck. Knuckles came into view.

  “Hey. How you doing?”

  I couldn’t believe the question, like I’d been in a car wreck.

  “How am I doing? How am I doing? You fuck! I’m going to kill every single one of you son of a bitches! Let me go right now!”

  He sat down on the single metal chair in the room. “Look around you. What do you see?”

  I did as he asked. I saw rough brick walls and two cameras in the corners, both with open wires running down the walls and out the door. Which meant this place had been hastily established. A hide site built on existing architecture.

  He said, “The cameras don’t have audio. Only video.”

  “Why should I give a shit about that? Where’s Jennifer?”

  He stood up. “She’s two floors up. And she’s in danger. They’re going to move her in a couple of hours. They were just waiting on your anesthesia to wear off.” He smiled. “Radcliffe was a little worried about your superhuman capabilities. He gave you twice as much juice as was required.”

  I asked, “How long have I been out?”

  “Over twenty-four hours. It got so bad that they were talking about moving you to a hospital. Apparently your breathing became pretty damn shallow.”

  I said, “Is Jennifer okay? What did the drugs do to her?”

  He said, “She’s fine. She woke up twelve hours ago. She’s absolutely fine.”

  I sagged back onto the bed. “I’m not even going to ask why you’re doing this. Just get out of my room.”

  He said, “Pike, they’re going to take her to DC. They think she’s got the virus. That she’s a threat.”

  The statement caused another ripple of anger. I jerked against the bonds and screamed, “She’s not sick, you dumbass! We had the guy who’s going to kill half the fucking world, and you idiots chased us!”

  His next words gave me pause.

  “I know. Pike, I was wrong. The Oversight Council doesn’t know it, but Kurt’s still in charge. Well, in charge of some.”

  I simply looked at him, waiting to see where this was going. He walked up to me, blocking the view of the cameras. He dropped a set of keys into my hand.

  “I’m going to walk away from you and face the wall. You need to make this look real. Choke me out. Once you do so, the clock will be ticking. Jennifer’s two flights up, in a room like yours.”

  “What am I facing?”

  He smiled. “Nothing much. Two Taskforce teams, one of them Turbo’s. By the way, that guy really hates you.”

  “Where am I?”

  “Hell’s Kitchen. You never left Manhattan.”

  He turned away and walked to the other side of the room, ostensibly still talking. I worked the cuffs as fast as I could, trying to shield the fact that I had a key, wanting to delay any alert. I knew that they’d figure out where the key came from later. So did Knuckles, but what mattered was now. I needed to make it look real.

  I broke free and sprang out of the bed. I advanced on Knuckles — my teammate and my friend — and circled my arm around his neck gently, preparing to cinch it down.

  He jerked out, whirled, and popped me in the mouth with a palm strike, shouting, “You call that realistic? Jesus. This needs to look good!”

  Shocked, I raised my hands into a fighting stance and said, “What the hell are you doing? Turn around, damn it! Let me choke you out!”

  He shook his head in exasperation, then swung a ridiculous cross, leaving himself open.

  That’ll look good on tape.

  I blocked it, redirecting his energy against him by rotating him around. He, of course, let it happen. I slipped inside his reach and closed on his neck, wrapping my arm around and cinching his carotid arteries closed. He passed out and I lowered him to the floor.

  I went to the door and listened for a second, now regretting that I hadn’t asked Knuckles any questions about a floor plan.

  I heard nothing and entered the hallway, which ended up being a balcony four floors above the ground, the railing running left and right down the corridor. I was in an abandoned pseudo apartment complex/firehouse that looked just like the headquarters from the Ghostbusters movies. I ran to the end of the hall, figuring that’s where the stairs would be and hearing people shouting on the ground floor below.

  I found a stairwell and took them two at a time, skipping the floor between and praying that Knuckles hadn’t given me bad information. I cracked the door and saw a hallway without a balcony. A straight shot with nothing in the way. No guards, no security.

  I sprinted out and went to the first door, jerking it open. Inside were the seven police officers who were involved in our arrest, sitting around a table and looking bored. Until I opened the door.

  I slammed it closed and kept moving before they could recognize me. Wow. They’ve got them in quarantine because of Jennifer. Wonder what they did with the horses.

  The hall ended at a T intersection, running both left and right. Outside of the police, I’d found nothing but empty rooms and broom closets, feeling the time slipping away. Knuckles had given me an edge, and I was wasting it searching.

  I heard voices to the left and pressed against the wall, listening.

  “I don’t know, man. Word on the street is she broke your arm.”

  “She didn’t break my fucking arm! She tricked me during assessment. She should’ve never been there. Which is why she’s here now.”

  Radcliffe.

  I poked my head around the corner and saw Radcliffe in front of a door, looming over another guy who had his hands up, smiling.

  “Whoa, man, back off. It’s a joke.”

  Radcliffe said, “I don’t find it funny. I’m sick of hearing about it. I’ll tell you this right now: She ends up not being sick, and I’m going to teach her a lesson she’ll never forget. Along with that asshole Pike.”

  Well, no time like the present.

  I thought about stepping out and saying something appropriately badass like “You want a piece of me?” or “Bring it on!” but knew I was facing two highly trained fighters. I settled on a sprint.

  Radcliffe heard the footsteps while I was still fifteen yards out. Looking over the shoulder of the other man, I saw his eyes widen. The second guy was between me and Radcliffe, his back facing me. I decided to take him first.

  He began to turn just as I reached him. I hopped lightly and hammered my fist into his right kidney, with all of my weight behind it, hard enough to make him piss blood for a month. He shrieked as I wrapped my left hand in his hair and slammed his head into the wall. The scream was abruptly cut off, and he slid to the ground.

  Radcliffe assaulted simultaneously, clocking me on the temple hard enough to make me see stars. I covered up my head and attempted to break contact, stepping back to get space between us and give me a chance to regain the initiative. He wrapped his arms around my body and rotated backward, lifting me off of my feet and driving me headfirst into the floor.

  I took the
brunt of the fall on my left shoulder, sparing my skull the full impact, but it was enough to stun me. I was losing control of the fight. Handing all momentum to Radcliffe, something that would guarantee I would fail. Giving him any edge was suicide.

  The force of the fall broke his hold, and I rotated away, kicking back and connecting with something. He leapt at me, intent on keeping the initiative, landing on my back and slamming me into the door he had been standing in front of. He wrapped his arm around my neck, and I knew I was in trouble. I speared his ribs with two elbow strikes, getting some breathing room, but not much.

  He cinched the hold, but not before I swam a hand under his arm, slowing the process of losing the blood-flow to my brain. I speared him again, but with little effect. He bucked forward, pounding my head into the door. I blindly reached up and unlatched it. He bucked again, using my skull as a battering ram, and it flung open. He squeezed harder, and I thought my eyes were going to pop out of my head. His hold wasn’t perfect, and he was cutting off my windpipe. I saw my salvation thirty feet into the room.

  I grunted, “Jennifer…”

  For a split second, she looked shocked. I saw her eyes narrow, and she sprang off the bed. Then my vision tunneled.

  But not for long.

  Radcliffe saw Jennifer barreling down on him and now had a choice: Lock me down and remain defenseless against Jennifer, or release me to take her out. If he was smart, he’d have put me out of the fight first, knowing he could take whatever she could dish out for a few seconds.

  He must have remembered what Jennifer had done to his arm. Or he wasn’t smart.

  He let me go.

  66

  Jennifer launched herself into the air, and Radcliffe tucked. She wrapped herself around him, putting him in the same choke he had on me. His face showed surprise, like he’d expected her to try to claw his eyes with her nails.

  He pummeled her ribs with his elbows, repeating what I had done, but much more successfully. Jennifer lost her hold and he reached behind, bodily ripping her over his head and into the wall.

  I sprang to my knees and whipped an uppercut straight into his balls, taking the wind out of him. He doubled over and Jennifer picked herself off the ground, lining up her shot. She danced forward and delivered a snap kick straight into his chin, like she was punting a football, knocking him out cold.

  Breathing heavily, she tapped his unconscious form with a toe and said, “Piece of shit.”

  “Damn, woman!” I said. “What the hell were you waiting on? Couldn’t you hear me out here?”

  “You mean hear him using your head as a door knocker? As he mopped up the floor with you? No. I didn’t hear that. Sorry.”

  I stood up and smiled. “Touché.”

  The radio on Radcliffe’s belt started beeping, then squawked, “Pike’s out. Pike’s out. Current location unknown. Acknowledge.”

  “Let’s get out of here before they figure out we’re both jailbreaks.”

  We raced to the end of the hallway, bounding down the stairs until we reached the bottom floor. Leaving the stairwell, we found ourselves in a large warehouse-type structure that looked like the Ghostbusters’ receptionist area. Old, made of stone, with desks scattered haphazardly and debris all around. Jennifer saw an exit sign and pointed toward a hallway. We entered and found ourselves facing Turbo and another man. Both with Glocks in their hands.

  We slid to a stop, and I began backing up the way we’d come, both hands in the air.

  Turbo sighted down the slide, putting a laser on my chest. He said, “Stop. Don’t move.”

  I did as he asked, saying, “You going to shoot me? Shoot a damn teammate?”

  “I’m following orders. Why don’t you do the same? It’s your choice. Not mine. Don’t push it. I’m not bluffing.”

  “Turbo, listen, this is a mistake. We’re wasting time. You guys should be focused on the location of the general.”

  He motioned with the pistol. “Get on your knees, your hands behind your back.”

  I said, “No. I’m not getting locked up again. You people are fixated on the wrong threat.”

  I started to back up again and heard feet behind me. I turned and saw Retro and Decoy now blocking my exit, also with Glocks drawn.

  Jesus. My own team.

  Turbo said, “Look, you’re not going anywhere. Get on your knees. Now.”

  I stared at Decoy, wanting to punch him. He lowered his Glock and said, “Come on through.”

  Jennifer, much quicker on the uptake, began backing up, hands still in the air. Turbo shouted again and centered the laser on her chest. Retro stepped in front, the laser now on him.

  “You going to shoot me too? Put the weapon down.”

  I backed up as well, the other man’s laser blocked when Decoy stepped in front of me. Turbo shouted, “What the hell are you doing? I knew putting Knuckles’s team on this was a mistake.”

  Decoy glanced back at me and said, “What are you waiting on? Someone to carry you? Get the hell out of here.”

  Not needing a second invitation, I grabbed Jennifer’s hand and sprinted back the way we’d come, running through the warehouse section to another exit. We jogged east down Forty-Second Street, hitting Times Square. We went into the subway, getting off at Grand Central Terminal. Seeing the crowds wash around us, I relaxed. We were safe for the time being.

  Jennifer said, “What now?”

  “I don’t know. First thing we need to do is call Kurt. Figure out the status of things.” Clearly, the Taskforce was split on what was going down, and I wanted to know the exact state of play, along with any leads that might have popped up during our pleasant stay at Hotel Ghostbuster.

  She said, “You think that’s smart?”

  “Yeah. I think we can trust him. He called to warn us in the first place.”

  She saw a Verizon store and said, “You got a preference on phones?”

  “Yeah. No iPhone 5. I’m not paying out the nose for this.”

  “I’m famished. Go get me a hamburger. I’ll meet you in the food concourse.”

  Twenty minutes later, because she’s a smartass, Jennifer returned with two iPhone 4s. I fired mine up and immediately went to the settings to ensure any location-finding features were turned off. Scrolling through the various tabs, I saw something called “Find my iPhone.”

  The only Apple products I’d ever owned were counterfeit ones the Taskforce made, full of top-secret bullshit buried under a layer of false apps. I showed the toggle to Jennifer and said, “What’s this?”

  “It’s an Apple thing. You open an iCloud account, turn that on, and you can lock, track, or wipe your phone if it’s stolen.”

  “Jesus. That’s better than the Taskforce apps.”

  “Yeah, I know. It works on Mac laptops and iPads too.”

  Her words sank in and I dropped my hamburger into its basket, dialing the phone.

  “What?” she said. “What did I say?”

  “Remember following Ernie in Singapore? Where did he go after getting the phones in Sin Tat Plaza?”

  She thought for a second, and it hit home, her eyes becoming animated. “The Apple store. He bought an iPad.”

  67

  Chip Dekkard waited to get cleared into the White House, worried about what he would hear from President Warren. He’d overstepped his bounds on the Oversight Council, and he knew it. Luckily, nobody else on the council felt that way. They’d stood by him, and he’d appreciated it. But he knew they were doing it out of ignorance. They were afraid of the genetically altered avian flu, and rightly so, but they had no idea that he was the sole cause of the threat. The thought of their finding out was terrifying.

  He’d spent the last three days erasing his personal tracks with the company in Singapore, doing whatever he could to wipe the stain away from his holdings. He knew he couldn’t cut his ties completely, so he went for the less optimal choice of building a firewall between himself and the company, data-mining multiple servers and destroying all c
ommunications that indicated he had any idea of the ongoing experiments.

  If necessary, he would sacrifice the businessmen who had broached the idea in the first place, expressing surprise at the “riskiness” of the idea and jumping on the bandwagon with everyone else about bringing them to justice. He’d already begun building his evidence, sprinkling e-mails with disinformation in them, damning the company and leaving him in the clear.

  He felt pretty good about surviving any follow-on investigation. It was unfortunate that he had been forced to turn on his people, but thinking logically, the punishment they received would be meted out whether he joined them or not, and localizing the damage would prevent a catastrophic loss of his conglomerate’s trading value — in effect, protecting innocent stockholders who had nothing to do with the calamity. It might seem brutal, but it was for the best.

  Like the saying goes, it’s not “show friends,” it’s “show business.”

  He heard his name called and saw Alexander Palmer entering the West Wing foyer. Palmer handed him a visitor’s badge that said ESCORT ONLY and said, “Come on. You’re the last one here.”

  Being led at a brisk pace through the narrow hallways, Chip said, “What’s going on?”

  “President Warren wants an update. He’s called the principals of the Oversight Council.”

  “I’m not a principal.”

  “Yeah, but you know more about this virus than anyone else.”

  Chip simply nodded, wondering if the president would ask for the “research” he was supposed to have done on the company. He was close but not yet ready to provide it. Trigger an investigation too early, and he’d be caught in the net.

  Passing through the center hall of the main building, they took the stairs to the residence on the second floor.

  Palmer said, “They’ve got him in the Lincoln Bedroom. Turned it into a mini-hospital. The doctor’s cleared him for one meeting a day, and today, it’s us.”