Against the Clock

by Charlie Moore

  "Go ahead," Shirin prompted over the speaker.

  "John Black," Barratt said flatly.

  "Please state your date of birth and residential address," continued the agent.

  16:08:02

  Smith continued dipping his hand into the paper bag and nibbling on small pieces of bread roll as he walked lazily along the path heading back to the precinct.

  The first agent to have exited the van on the right of the entrance had taken up a position just off the pathway. He was lying down on a picnic rug, pretending to read a book. Beside him, a long dark coat was laid carefully to the side. Under it, Smith knew a compact sniper rifle was hidden.

  Smith imagined the agent rolling to the side, lying on his belly, taking up the rifle, and finding his target within two seconds. Fewer, if others in his team had a better vantage point of people leaving the building and alerted him.

  The sniper looked up at Smith as he walked along the path, only a few feet away, but Smith was absorbed in collecting another piece of bread from his paper bag.

  Tuft! Tuft! The bottom of Smith's bag blew out.

  The sniper fell back, his last breath escaping from one of the bullet holes in his chest. From a distance, he looked as if he was sleeping peacefully on his picnic rug. Smith didn't stop. He concealed the hole in the paper bag with his free hand, and continued to pretend-nibble at breadcrumbs as he walked.

  The small silenced pistol hidden in the paper bag had seven rounds left.

  16:09:02

  The questions had so far been routine. Mundane, even. Barratt shifted his weight forward as much as the restraints would allow, cleared his throat, and answered the latest of the agent's tedious questions.

  He couldn't be sure, but his best calculations put him close to the fifteen-minute mark of the interview, and in that time the tension in the room had grown palpable. He didn't know what was going to happen, but knew instinctively, time for him was running out.

  The agent in front of him continued to pace behind the glare of the spotlight; his actions, hidden from the camera, were not as concealed as the agent believed. Barratt could feel he was growing anxious.

  16:10:14

  Shirin stepped back from the microphone, bumping into Fairley accidently. The small monitoring room was cramped with four people inside it, and she fought the feeling of being boxed in, trapped. In such a confined space, the air grew thick with their breath and with something else she knew intimately—the scent of adrenalin, the scent of operational readiness. The calm before the storm.

  It was true of any operation: the longer the operation, the higher the risks of compromise… Shirin felt each second tick by like an hour, and with each second the risks rose exponentially.

  It was only a matter of time before her cover was blown. And equally as important, she reminded herself, Zelig’s men were also under pressure. The longer they lingered here, the higher the risk that Barratt might divulge something damaging in front of the police, further complicating matters, or their jurisdiction may become challenged, even their legitimacy. Shirin knew they, too, wanted this over quickly.

  Agent Whitman stood slightly behind her, to her left. His movements were subtle and easy to miss, but she noticed them. He was checking his watch. On its own, it was nothing remarkable, but he had started checking it more regularly, the intervals growing shorter and shorter, as though on a countdown.

  Her mind raced, playing the various potential scenarios. If this were her operation with a two-man team, one man would disable the cameras and recording equipment, the man on the inside would kill the mark. Make it look like a heart attack, then walk out in the confusion.

  From the corner of her eye, she noticed Agent Whitman look at his watch again, then move his right hand toward his jacket pocket. Her eyes instinctively followed his hand before she caught herself. She glanced up. Their eyes locked. They both knew. They both understood. And it happened.

  16:10:32

  Agent Whitman abandoned his jacket pocket, reached behind his back and withdrew a ceramic pistol from the waistband of his trousers, raising it toward Shirin.

  Fairley and the tech officer barely noticed the movement before Shirin lunged toward Whitman with lightning speed.

  The arc of Whitman's gun curved up sharply as Shirin reached him, blocking his gun hand to the side as he discharged his weapon. The ceramic bullet pounded into the masonry wall only inches from Fairley's head.

  Shirin ignored the gun as she delivered a devastating blow to Whitman's face with her elbow. The bigger man crumpled slightly before Shirin followed through with another blow to his face, then another.

  She sensed movement behind her, but chose to ignore it. She was in the killing zone. One more blow to Whitman's head and he would be unconscious. Winding up for the final elbow to his face, she saw his gun hand raise slightly. She sidestepped and chopped down hard with her right hand, connecting with a snap just above his wrist. The gun discharged once more, off to her side, as she ploughed her elbow into the side of Whitman's neck. He fell slack to the floor.

  Turning around, she saw Fairley slumped against the wall, his face white, his hands red and wet, clutching at his neck. He looked shocked. In disbelief. One of the stray bullets had hit his neck.

  The technical officer huddled under the bench top, trembling, hugging his knees.

  Shirin wrenched the pistol from Whitman's flaccid grip and jumped toward Fairley as he started to topple like a felled tree. She eased him to the side, sitting him up in the corner of the room. The wound was significant. He would die without medical attention.

  She deftly removed Fairley's ID swipe card from his pocket and looked him in the eye. He was staring at her, still not believing what was happening.

  "You!" Shirin commanded the frightened technical officer hiding under the bench. "Now! Get over here and apply pressure here!"She motioned to Fairley's neck wound. "And do not release the pressure until paramedics arrive!"

  The man remained frozen on the floor. Shirin pointed the gun at him."Do it. Now!" she barked.

  The sniveling man rushed to Fairley's side and threw his hands over the wound. The officer's blood oozed through his fingers.

  16:10:44

  Barratt heard a noise behind him, from the next room. A loud thud. He couldn't tell what it was, but knew instantly it wasn't normal.

  The agent in front of him grew suddenly anxious. He moved out from behind the spotlight, checking his watch intensely.

  Another dull thud, and the sound of indecipherable shouting.

  Barratt hoped Shirin was okay.

  As the agent moved toward him, he knew it was too late for Shirin or anyone else to save him.

  16:11:17

  Shirin positioned herself close against the wall, opened the door leading to the corridor, and saw the two security officers approaching. They must have heard the silenced bullets slamming into the masonry wall, and her forceful commands to the technical officer.

  With the door open only a crack, and still hidden in the shadows of the dark room, she aimed high, toward the end of the corridor. She fired one shot, smashing the security camera in a loud clatter of plastic shrapnel.

  Time to move.

  She bounded up from her position, flung open the door, and charged into the corridor, straight at the two security officers now in full run toward her.

  Armed with Tasers, they reached for their belts as Shirin crossed the distance to them in seconds.

  The bigger and closer of the two abandoned his efforts to free the Taser from its sheath and swung his bulky arm toward Shirin's head. She ducked fast, slid on her knees, took aim with the silenced gun, and disabled the emergency phone stuck to the wall with one bullet. She jumped to her feet to meet the second guard with an elbow to the face, quickly followed with a spinning kick to his sternum that sent him reeling backward, incapacitated.

  She spun to face the first guard, who charged her again with the rage of a tortured bull. She fired the gun, sending a bullet into
the meaty part of the big man's thigh. He fell as his weight landed on it in mid-stride. His body continued its trajectory toward her as she dodged slightly to the side, jumped forward and sank her knee squarely into his jaw. He fell, unconscious.

  In one smooth movement, Shirin flung herself toward the Interview Room1 door, swiped Fairley's badge across the card reader, pulled the door open, extended her arm, and aimed.

  Zelig's agent held Barratt's head in a lock, slightly to the side, exposing his neck, and lifted a syringe in a stabbing motion, about to bury it deep into Barratt's neck.

  Shirin fired twice in a rapid double tap.

  She was running into the interrogation room before the dead agent toppled backward.

  16:11:24

  Smith wrapped his knuckles heavily on the side of the van. The windows were tinted. It was impossible to see inside, but he knew the men in it would be watching. Anyone approaching the van would be identified promptly. He didn't try to conceal his movements.

  "Police," he said. "Please open the door and keep your hands visible." He spoke in a loud, commanding voice as he stepped to one side of the sliding door, his hand hovering over the grip of the police issue sidearm.

  "We're opening the door," a voice from inside replied before Smith heard the door unlock and the handle engage.

  "We're federal agents," the voice said, and the side door slid open. The two men inside held their identifications toward Smith.

  "You can release your hand from the firearm now," they said as they pocketed their identifications again. One of the men turned around and placed headphones back on his head, the other addressed Smith in a cordial, professional tone.

  "We're part of the Kitchener Park task force. Just getting some of our gear set up. So if you don't mind, we're in a bit of hurry…"

  Smith knew he was lying. These men worked for Zelig. Smith made a show of thinking through what he'd just heard and nodded slowly.

  "Of course," Smith said. "Can never be too careful… what with all the action we've seen today. I just noticed a dark van parked…had to check it out." He made a show of snapping the safety lock on the pistol's holster. "I'll leave you to it, then."He started to turn away.

  "Thank you, officer," said the agent closest to him, as he started to move forward to close the door.

  Smith reversed direction suddenly, extended his other hand, which had been concealed behind the body of the van, and shot the agent point blank in the chest. The silenced weapon was already quiet, but shoved deeply enough into the agent's torso that there was barely a sound to alert the second agent that something terrible had just happened.

  Smith jumped up into the van, faced the second agent, and dispatched him with a single bullet to the heart.

  Looking around the inside of the van quickly Smith found the weapons cache, took what he needed and left

  One team down. One to go. That would give Shirin and Barratt a clear exit, provided they could get out of the police station alive.

  Why the old man wanted them to remain in play did not concern him. He didn't care. It was the work that excited him, the challenge. Not the reasons why. Working as a double agent against Zelig only added to the thrill.

  16:12:19

  Shirin huddled over the fallen guard in the corridor, taking too long to locate the keys to Barratt's handcuffs. She cursed the situation, pushing herself to move faster.

  Finding them, she ran back to the interrogation room and freed Barratt from the restraints.

  "Get out of this jumpsuit fast!" The handcuffs clanked heavily as they came undone. "There's a guard outside roughly your size. Drag him in here and get his uniform on," she said while storming out of the room.

  Shirin strode into the monitoring room and knelt quickly beside Fairley. The young technical officer was still trying to staunch the bleeding, and for now it seemed to be helping, but the detective would be dead soon without medical attention.

  Looking intensely into his eyes, she could feel his mind understanding, no longer in shock. He knew his fate.

  "You're not dead yet, Fairley," Shirin said firmly. "Help is on the way." She paused, waiting for a sign of recognition that he understood her. Looking at the young technical officer, she said, "Stay with him. Do not let up the pressure until help arrives. Got it?"

  The young man, still high on fear, merely nodded, unwilling to meet her eyes.

  Moving through the dead agent's clothing, Shirin searched quickly for anything of use. Anything that could help her escape, or anything she could use to link this back to Zelig.

  She found a small matchbox-sized plastic container, sealed on all sides. A high-powered magnet.

  Positioned correctly, it could create interference of electrical recording equipment and perhaps disrupt the video feed from Barratt's interrogation. She left it behind. The police would find it and eventually might start unraveling what really happened here.

  16:13:41

  Barratt finished tucking the loose-fitting shirt into his pants. The unconscious security guard lay prone on the cold floor. Undressing him without tearing the fabric had been difficult, and he was sweating now from the exertion.

  Moving as quickly as he could, he dragged the smaller security guard into the interrogation room then started searching the dead federal agent's pockets.

  Shirin rushed back into the room. "Find anything?" she glanced quickly at the guards on the floor and made her way to the dead agent.

  "Nothing," Barratt said simply. Looking up at her, he asked, “I’m assuming you have a plan to get us out of here?"

  Shirin knelt beside him."I do."She said looking down at the dead agent. Blood and brain matter continued to ooze from the exit wound at the back of his head. She reached down with her free hand and scooped up a handful of the bloody grey matter. "But you're not going to like it."

  chapter 5

  "action is never without consequence."

  the book of seekay

  16:13:52

  Smith left the van and the two dead bodies inside it without a backward glance. He walked with purpose, a small bounce in his step. He had taken out the first team quickly and quietly. Adjusting the collar of his shirt, he walked toward the front entry of the police station and contemplated how he would deal with the second team.

  They were well positioned, to the side of the entrance, continuing their charade of repacking and sorting a large delivery. As far as he could tell, they were not yet aware of their colleagues' fate.

  As he walked past their line of sight, he could feel their seasoned eyes watching him, assessing him.

  He couldn't know their protocols, but he had to assume that sooner rather than later they would perform a communications check. When the four men he had taken out of play did not respond, his window of opportunity to help Shirin and Barratt escape would be closed.

  Their positions were too visible for a direct assault. Any actions would surely attract unwanted attention and unwanted interference.

  Smith cleared it from his mind. He would have to deal with them another time.

  At the front counter, the desk sergeant continued to be inundated with the questions and demands of the overwhelming members of both community and media.

  Smith walked past the melee, invisible.

  To the side of the foyer, he paused, flicked through the wallet of the dead officer he was now impersonating, and produced a swipe card to the side access door. He dragged it through the scanning pad, then pushed himself through the doorway.

  At that same moment, a loud, piercing alarm shrieked from the overhead speakers.

  Smith looked around rapidly. In front of him, thirty police officers all froze, turned their heads to a digital display located on an adjacent wall, and then, like an explosion, they jumped from their positions and started running to the side elevator bay and the emergency stairwell.

  Instinctively, Smith followed them. He belonged there, after all. And as he ran after them, he glanced at the digital display on the wall: LEVEL B D
URESS.

  It was Shirin.

  According to the schematics secured by Zelig, Smith knew Level B would be where the holding cells were. Where Shirin and Barratt were, and where Zelig's two agents must also be. Whatever was happening, thirty armed police officers were now racing toward them.

  Smith buried himself among them, running down the stairwell. He, the double agent, the assassin, was in the middle of a rushing herd of police officers, coming to the rescue of two federal fugitives. The irony was not lost on Smith as he rounded the last dogleg of the stairwell and raced headlong into the anteroom for the holding cells.

  16:14:58

  Smith found himself propelled forward, just behind the first responders. The security door was wide open; the guard manning the monitoring station had just turned the corner, rushing into the long corridor.

  Smith turned the corner moments later. The guard reached a young lady sitting on the ground cradling a wounded security officer, his head bloodied. She looked visibly stricken, scared, shouting, "He's got a gun! He's got a gun!"and pointing to the interrogation room.

  The chaos was overwhelming. The shrieking alarm was louder in the confined space than sanity could tolerate. Several officers checked the door to the interrogation room. It was locked. They stood on each side of it, sidearms drawn, faces alert and nervous. One of the officers by the door started barking orders, pointing to get the injured man and the woman out of the corridor.

  Smith reached the frantic woman. It was Shirin, he knew instantly. She was brilliant. She clutched at the injured guard, felled across the floor. His face and head looked a mash of blood and brain, and his body remained still.

  "He's been shot! He shot him!" she screamed. "Someone please help!"

  Two officers nearest to her leaned in closer to assess the guard's condition. They both reeled sideways, one of them vomiting, the other gagging, neither of them able to get close enough to touch him. The smell of blood was thick.