Tagan maneuvers past wooden barriers, crashing through several as they accelerate down the lane. Thankfully he hasn’t heard any gunshots. They veer left, cross the driveway leading down to the parking lot and head towards the guardhouse. He stops the ambulance and raises both hands as armed men swarm around the vehicle, shouting orders at them.
Bozeman bursts out of the back of the ambulance, moans and thrashes his hands high in the air, his head bandaged, arms covered in IV drips, metal poles clunk together. Masen and Tagan take the opportunity and eject out of the ambulance.
‘He’s crazy,’ Tagan yells pointing at Bozeman. ‘He’s trying to kill us.’ And surges away from the ambulance towards the front entrance and crashes through three heavily armed security guards who tackle him to the ground, hopefully given Masen the time and distance to get inside.
‘Shoot if he’s wearing a vest,’ a soldier says terrified Bozeman might be wearing a suicide vest.
There is mayhem in the foyer as people dart aimlessly around screaming, ‘bomb.’
Two more guards approach from the building with guns drawn. Arms reach high. Shots ring out. Masen ducks quickly and sees Tagan being tackled to the ground. Men rush past and spill outside, and pass Masen who ducks amongst the blur of people and walks purposefully towards the stairs.
With his head pressed to the ground, Tagan gives Masen a wink that tells him to continue.
Lost amongst the chaos, Masen fights the urge to run and draw attention to himself, only picking up the pace once inside the building. He quickly jumps through the closing door of an elevator, despite the protests of the occupants who are busy repeatedly striking the close button.
Masen feels eyes pressing in on him. He studies the scratchy image reflected back at him from the steel panel. Fights the urge to fidget with his glasses. ‘Third floor please,’ he says. A woman looks questioning at Masen, holds up her pass and presses the third floor button. Her stare lingers. Masen swallows and smiles with a slight nod hoping the uniform is convincing.
In the window tinted Buick, Morgan and Sparks watch the show unravel, trapped inside, unable to do anything.
‘Is that John?’ Sparks mouths watching two men emerge from the ambulance dressed in paramedic uniforms.
‘That doesn’t look like the General has everything in the bag,’ Morgan says to the anxious driver. ‘Walk away and disappear, son. No need to get yourself further into trouble.’
‘Shut up!’ The driver’s voice is strained. He shuffles in his seat and coughs. ‘Sit still and be quiet. You won’t get another warning.’
The elevator stops, it pings reaching the third floor and Masen feels the pit of his stomach gurgle and fall away into a vast emptiness that threatens to send him to his knees. He doesn’t have a few butterflies down there, a Kaleidoscope of them have taken up residence.
He steps out.
Feeling the gun pressing into his back he takes it out and points it forward into the emptiness of the corridor. Trying to be forceful, trying to make it look like he could mean business. In the hanger he was hidden. This time he knows there’s likely a guard up ahead who will react with deadly intent.
Unable to hear a thing, Black watches the commotion unfolding from the safety of his position. Frustrated, he looks for clues in the faces and reaction within the Barn. They all turn towards the door.
‘Who’s that?’ Black asks.
‘You blondie,’ Mooney says hearing what sounds like a gunshot outside the door. ‘Go check it out.’
56
Bozeman stops cold. ‘Here we go boys,’ he intones raising both hands as heavy-armed and well-trained men surround him. His chest strains against bandages, drip lines and clothing too small for his frame. He tenses just in time as the wave crashes in from all sides—stacks on. ‘Playground rules,’ he says as the ground hurtles towards him. Hands quickly outstretched, legs kicked apart.
‘Check for a vest.’ He hears a guard ask urgently over the scrum.
‘No, just really sore everything,’ Bozeman moans as a knee takes residence in the small of his back, another strikes the side of his head.
‘Careful,’ another man cautions as he searches for weapons. Hands and legs are tied.
It wasn’t long ago he was seated comfortably in somebody else’s apartment, only a few yards away drinking somebody else’s beer. Wishes he had of cut off the extra five ounces. Maybe Rodriguez would still be alive and he wouldn’t be tasting concrete.
‘Clear.’ The man with a knee imbedded into Bozeman’s back cranes his head tightening the ties around the wrist. ‘Have we got the driver?’
Nothing.
‘Here I am,’ Tagan says as he’s helped to his feet, arms tied behind his back.
57
Masen walks the familiar third floor corridor and sees a guard by the Barn door, currently unaware of his presence. Tightens his grip. He doesn’t want to hurt or to kill anyone. But he will do what is necessary to protect the data from falling into enemy hands. Remembers Pascal’s words: ‘DUST is too valuable to fall into unknown hands. Do not let this happen.’
In the fight to get here, forces are pushing him forward. Senses are more acute, capturing minute detail; differentiating medical smells in the ambulance; the wet carpet in the corridor; hears himself breathing—almost hears blood pumping through veins, and his vision: crisp and full of detail. He’s dialed up to 11. Adrenaline sparks like thousands of tiny fireworks through his body.
The guard registers the paramedic, a gun limp by his side. Masen registers the guard’s surprise and almost reaches out for the man to put up his hands, to surrender, to not do anything stupid. However, the man raises his rifle as he must, and Masen raises the gun and squeezes the trigger and watches in horror as the man slumps back against the door, and like a sack of potatoes flops to the floor. Masen looks at the gun in his hand as if he’d just picked it up an alien artifact. Numb, he runs over, kicks the guard’s gun free and sees a crimson stain spreading across the right breast pocket. Masen can’t tell if he’s dead or not.
The guard jerks forward. Startled, Masen takes a step back, but it isn’t the man who’s moving. The door is struggling to open. Hears voices. He leans in and listens. ‘Don’t just stand there, open the door.’ He recognizes Mooney’s voice. Puts the gun away.
‘I am,’ Treagle strains pushing against the dead weight, ‘there’s something…pressing…’ And muffles a scream with both hands as she sees Masen peering through a small gap, pressing a finger to his lips. Eyes widen seeing the guard’s lifeless body.
‘Can you get the data?’ Mooney turns to Nash. Still typing, Nash swipes his forehead. ‘I can’t override security. Fourteen minutes until it releases.’
‘Too long,’ Bozeman says. ‘I want that data now.’ And looks back at Treagle.
Masen works to free the man, drags and pushes limbs unsure of what to do once he has access.
‘John,’ Treagle whispers through bouts of tears, ‘are you shot?’ Masen twists the guard over on his side. ‘I’m okay. Listen.’ His voice slow, controlled, face pushing into the crack for a view inside. He can’t see Mooney. ‘I need you to calm down.’
‘I did what you asked. He’s mad…I want to get out.’ Her voice urgent, pleading. The door slackens.
‘Has he got the data?’ Masen asks.
‘No. The network’s in lockdown…Get me out of here.’
‘On the count of three, you push, I’ll pull. But don’t run. He will shoot you, do you understand?’
‘Yes,’ she says sniffing and runs a finger under her nose. Masen inhales and if he was a religious man he might cross his chest, forehead and chest.
‘One, two…’
A bullet hits the door an inch above Masen’s head. Masen ducks.
‘Inside, and close the door,’ Mooney orders.
Treagle is on the floor, both hands covering her head. Masen walks in through a gap only wide enough for him to fit through. Stan
ds straight, and holds out a hand for Treagle which she takes after a long pause.
Mooney must have landed shortly after they had, and between dropping Bradbury and Pak at Bozeman’s house, had arrived at the Barn first. Only a few minutes in it.
‘Nice and easy,’ Mooney says. ‘Now, lose the gun.’
Masen slowly reaches behind with one hand, the other raised, pulls out the gun and drops it.
‘Kick it away.’ Mooney gestures where with his head.
Masen pushes it with his foot to let it fall one step below. It makes a clunk hitting the metallic floor.
‘So what?’ Mooney says curiously conjuring for an explanation with both hands. ‘…All of you teleported? Missing a kidney? Toe? Jessica and Kim, too?’
Masen nods. The door closes automatically behind, sealing him in.
‘Good to have part of the team back together.’ Mooney manages a smile. ‘Where’s Jessica and Kim?’ The smile quickly vanishing from his face as he realizes they had to have had help to leave Kennedy. ‘…how did you get here?’
‘Bozeman,’ Mooney adds before Masen has a chance to answer.
‘It works,’ Nash says. ‘I’d like to run some—’
‘Shut it, Nash.’
‘Works out Amos trusts me more than you,’ Masen says.
Mooney scoffs. ‘Doesn’t matter. Only thing is…I never planned to come out the hero in all of this. You bombed the building and came back to rob it.’
‘You’re no hero,’ Masen says.
Black presses into the glass. ‘Masen.’ He can’t believe his luck. His plans of disposing Masen himself had failed because Masen wasn’t home when he went back after killing the two hired guns. To have Mooney and Masen together in the same room. He savors the moment before taking one step back and shoots. The glass shatters into millions of pebble sized pieces that spills like falling rain as he stumbles through.
The room’s attention swings to the glass wall.
‘Zane!’ Mooney says turning his head with the gun still trained on Masen. ‘Glad to see you decided to join—’
‘I don’t think so,’ Black says and waves his gun for Mooney to move away from Tanaka and the computer. ‘Go on, over next to Masen. And lower that cannon of yours.’
Masen was wondering when Black was going to make an appearance. He knew that’s where he was hiding.
Mooney reluctantly complies. ‘I’m getting the data you were suppose to secure.’
Black ignores him and addresses Nash. ‘You’re alive. I suspected as much. Car ran off the road has the General written all over it. I prefer trucks and bullets and allergic reactions myself.’
‘Don’t move,’ Masen whispers to Treagle.
‘So you’re not working together?’ Masen asks, eyes move between both men. He’s trapped by two men who want to see his cold body on a metal slab. The plan only got him inside the Barn, it hadn’t dealt with what happens once he got past the door. Can hear Bozeman saying, ‘You can do it, Jimbo.’
‘Zane works for me,’ Mooney says defiantly.
Black scoffs, and immediately coughs for the effort. ‘You’re proof the technology works, John. Not a bad accomplishment for a terrorist.’ And laughs. ‘My saving grace. Now I have all the data I need.’
‘You’re a double agent—’
‘For the US Government. A double agent inside the PLA.’
‘You work for whoever pays the most,’ Mooney says. ‘A hired gun.’
Masen thinks about going for his gun, but it’s too far away—on the metal floor below.
Mooney’s finger twitches calculating the odds of getting an accurate shot before Black can fire. Masen notices Black is struggling to stand. His cracked lips look like a line of railway sleepers and has a hunched stance from a shoulder that looks like rancid meat. Fatigue has set in on his face, draining him of power as if he’s a grounded electrical circuit. He doesn’t have the same aura of power surrounding him. Not like when Masen first came across him in the stairwell outside his room, or in the elevator.
Black sways and his gun lowers slightly. ‘Your backers in the military have conspired to steal secrets and sell them to hostile countries for decades. And they’ve gotten rich, very rich.’ He coughs and wobbles, the whole show teetering on a knife’s edge. A hand raises and wipes his mouth.
‘I take my orders right up the food chain,’ Mooney says.
Black laughs.
‘Something funny?’ Mooney says tightening his mouth, tensing muscles. Robertson’s death plays on his mind. If it weren’t for the games he would still be alive. And now he’s in a snake’s pit hold up by a snake eye who doesn’t deserve the prize.
‘No,’ Black coughs then manages a wry smile. ‘You weren’t invited to feast with the others. This is payback because everyone around you got rich while you didn’t.’
‘Snake eyes think too much,’ Mooney says coldly.
‘Sit back like a good soldier,’ Black taunts, ‘and let them attach those patriot stings and watch as you dance to their tune.’
Masen remembers the part in Pascal’s letter implicating the Director of the CIA. A conspiracy that goes higher up the chain of command.
‘Yes, Sir. Two bags full of shit, Sir. You’re not the sharpest tool the government has at its disposal. I had you exactly where I wanted you.’ Drool runs down his cheek unchecked, tiredness overwhelms him, squashes and compresses his power.
‘A lot of people have died,’ Masen says looking at the shattered wall behind. ‘Now you’re spinning some story about working for who exactly, the U.S? And where are you planning to send the data, China, right?’
‘We haven’t got time for this, Zane.’ Mooney tightens his grip on the gun, shoulders twitch. ‘Let’s finish this together. The data from the successful tests of the technology would have been captured. Think of the money. Shaò’s on his way.’
‘I have an idea,’ Masen suggests. ‘Let’s wait for security to arrive.’ Given the situation his chances of survival are greater with both men unarmed. He knows they will eventually know it wasn’t him in the parking lot.
‘I’m a four star general,’ Mooney says. ‘You’re a wanted man who just shot a man… Yes…let’s wait.’ Then to Nash: ‘How long?’
Nash finds a thin wedge of confidence in the tension between Mooney and Black not to obey, but to work on an idea he has to secure the data. Waves a low hand as Tanaka looks up and is about to say something. ‘I should have told you about the technology sooner, John,’ Nash’s voice disguises the printer’s low whirling sound. ‘I’m not sure if it would have changed anything. For what it’s worth, I’m truly sorry.’
Nash anticipates the right moment to conceal a stack of soon printed paper.
Masen picks up a look in Nash’s eyes. He’s up to something.
‘Why North Korea?’ Masen asks Black as a distraction.
‘Backup in case trade and currency negotiations with the Chinese soured. Discovering North Korea kidnapped Daisy May or Johnny Doe—an American citizen, taken directly from US soil, an ivy league university no less—might have given us extra incentive to invade and finish that damn war once and for all. And then it’s just a hop, skip and jump to China and Russia.’
‘War,’ Masen says puzzled. He knew the technology might cause war, but not used to deliberately start one.
‘Update, Nash,’ Mooney demands impatiently.
‘Best way to make loads of money, quickly,’ Black says. ‘That’s what Mooney and his friends want.’
‘And you?’
‘It’s China’s turn to dictate world events. In their hands any hostilities will be confined to a few days, perhaps weeks.’
The idea of a world war isn’t farfetched. Back in the ambulance, Masen caught the tail-end of a radio discussion on the escalating tension with Russia and China because of the Shanghai attack. Both countries have ordered several dozen US embassy personal to leave, and placed travel restrictions on h
igher ranking diplomatic staff. There was also talk of troop movement along their borders.
‘There was a lot of division about how to use the technology,’ Black continues. ‘Background maneuvering. Some wanted to use it to hold the rest of the world over a barrel and renegotiate trade terms—’
‘Wasted opportunity,’ Mooney interrupts. ‘Tax exceptions and trade agreements. Real power comes from military might.’
‘Others wanted it to be used as a beacon,’ Black lifts his head to Mooney to acknowledge the point, ‘to once and forever solidify a new world order.’
‘And you…you’re on the side that wants peace?’ Masen asks, angry at himself for letting doubt creep in.
‘Right and wrong. Interchange depending on your perspective. But yes, I suppose, looking through your tiny pinprick view of the world, I’m John Wayne, Captain Kirk, take one off the shelf and dust it off. America’s dominance is waning. It’s only a matter of time before it loses the mantle of world super power. Think of it as handing the baton to the next in turn.’
‘Couple of minutes,’ Nash lies. He slides his hand down and picks up the paper in the tray without looking. Tanaka is back at his desk and has a drawer open slightly.
‘I’ll be taking that when it’s ready,’ Black says to Tanaka anchoring a hand on Masen’s desk and holding the other hand up. ‘I know you just printed it.’ And picks up a desk phone and dials.
‘Yes, the Barn,’ he strains talking. ‘Masen and Nash have joined us…looks like Santa read my wish-list this year. Mooney’s also here.’
Black listens for several minutes and repeats out loud, ‘Masen shoots Mooney and kills everyone else trying to steal the data for…’ And waves his gun around drunkenly, ‘well…whoever…it’s your call.’
‘Who is it?’ Mooney asks.
Iris Rising Page 31
