I got up and carried the boy swiftly towards the medical van, still dazed by the explosion and with impaired hearing. He was crying from shock and pain caused by the tear gas, most likely CS. His movements were slower than expected for a 5-year-old, so I suspected he’d inhaled the nerve gas too.
I left him in the medical van with the paramedics, who gave him some antidotes and pain relief, and rushed back to the command center van.
"Brave work with the boy. You could have gotten shot. Or worse torn to pieces by the grenade explosion."
"I was careful. How did we miss the boy?"
"He was hidden in a bush. Not visible to the drone cameras. Bad luck," agent Lorna responded.
"What's going on here?" I asked her, looking at the screens. "Have they got him yet?"
"We have eight men inside, and more than a dozen outside, two manned boats at the back. He can’t escape."
"So where is he, I don't understand?"
"That's the question. There were shots, but my team reported no actual sighting. Just this grenade. There’s one man down because of the grenade, and another was scraped by a bullet in the arm, nothing serious. But no sight of Morgenthal. This motherfucker is really good."
"Could he have hidden in a panic room or bunker?"
"He could, but then we'll get him eventually, alive or dead. We don't know if there’s a panic room of any sort. As you know, the architectural records were scarce for this property."
"I can see a boat here," I pointed at the screen.
"Yeah, it's his, but we have two boats there, plus two more police boats with officers and divers. He can’t escape."
"Where is he then?"
I looked at the screens.
"What's this bush here beside the pier? It’s quite large, could there be another speed boat we missed? Or a hidden outlet?"
"Too small for a boat. Impossible."
One of the members of the SWAT team reported: "We've found some kind of a door. Reinforced, well built, and leading towards a chamber facing the water. We’re trying to break through it."
Then it struck me.
"There could be a tunnel towards the lake!" I shouted.
I took my headphones and shouted into the microphone.
"Martin, check if Morgenthal has a scuba-diving license."
Thirty seconds later Martin confirmed: "Yeah, he has and he's an active member of a diving club."
"I'm going in. I'll take the boat. Tell your guys on the boats and the police to watch out for a diver," I shouted while taking an automatic gun and a few clips from the rack in the van.
I ran towards the back garden, onto the pier, and jumped into a boat. A guy like Morgenthal would surely have keys somewhere just in case a speedy evacuation was required. I found them under the seat attached with an adhesive bandage.
I got out of the boat, went back onto the pier, and scanned the surface. The water was shallow and the visibility wasn't perfect, as there was a slight breeze and gentle waves muddying the water, but it wasn't too bad either.
I was looking for air bubbles and irregularities on the surface that would give way a diver's position.
The FBI crews were circling around the area searching too, so they must have got the orders already.
I loaded the automatic gun and started shooting into the water. After the first round, I inserted a new clip into the gun and did the same again, shooting far and near, left and right, to cover as much area as possible. Hopefully that would make him swim faster and expend more energy, thus requiring more oxygen. Thus making more air bubbles.
I put another clip into my gun and waited, scanning the water.
There was a slight change in the wind and the surface of the water was calmer now. I thought I noticed a few air bubbles and gentle ripples on the surface similar to those made by the thrust of flippers, around thirty yards away to the east along the shore, twenty yards out.
I jumped into the boat, fired up the engine, and followed the direction of the bubbles.
I could now see them clearly. I was moving slowly so as not to scare the prey. The bubbles veered slightly towards the left, towards the open water, as if he wanted to dive deeper. I sped up to catch him. Finally I could see a silhouette of a human body in a wet-suit under the surface of the lake.
The guy started turning towards me, probably aware of my pursuit. I slowed the engine and picked up my gun. Morgenthal started to swim to the surface.
"Funny," I thought to myself, "does he want to surrender? How easy that would be," I laughed. A bit prematurely it turned out.
Suddenly I noticed him holding a spear-gun and aiming it towards me. I ducked in a split second, which seemed very appropriate in this marine setting, and just glimpsed a harpoon passing an inch from my neck. I was not sure I actually saw it or imagined I saw it. It didn’t matter. The spear ripped a piece off the collar of my shirt. Fuck, that was a close shave.
I hadn't finished thinking about it when another harpoon shot through the bottom of the boat between my legs.
"Fuck, this guy is a pro."
I jumped to my feet and took off the FBI SWAT helmet and bulletproof vest, thinking I would make a makeshift decoy.
A third spear pierced the boat less than a foot away from me.
I took the helmet in one hand and the vest in the other, made a sort of human shape out of them, and stuck them out over the side of the boat. A fourth projectile hit the helmet precisely, throwing it a few yards upwards and backwards.
I noticed the direction of the missile, knew he had to reload the gun.
I grabbed the automatic gun, jumped to my feet, took aim, and started shooting, aiming for the lower body as far as possible to incapacitate him and keep him alive, just to be able to interrogate him if possible.
I saw him drop the harpoon gun and struggle convulsively, trying to swim. He must have taken a bullet or two in his legs, as he was struggling to move. I also noted broad streaks of blood in the water. I held him at gun point and waited for the approaching FBI and police boats. They were on their way as soon as they noticed my plight and my break-dance moves as I fought for my life against the flying harpoons.
The police had divers on board, and four of them plunged into the water. Three approached Morgenthal from behind and the side, and the fourth one secured the harpoon gun. There wasn't even much need for these precautions, as the target was seriously wounded and losing strength rapidly.
They lifted him to the surface and onto the police boat, where there was more space.
I tied my boat next to the police boat and jumped across.
Morgenthal was now clearly in bad shape, or to put it a little more poetically, he was just a shadow of a man.
I approached him and said: "Morgenthal, do you know who I am?"
"I know you, you fucking bastard. I know you," he said with a visible effort.
"Good. It's over now," I said.
He had three wounds in his legs, which were causing blood loss, but were not life threatening. Unfortunately, he had two bullets in his stomach, and one in the chest, both of which were very serious. I took a dressing out of the first aid kit and unwrapped it. It was already rolled into a cylinder, so I just compressed it with my fingers, unzipped his wet suit, and stuck the bandage into the hole in his stomach, the one which was bleeding most. He hissed with pain.
"You're bleeding. I wanted to stop the blood loss until the medical staff take over."
"Don't bother."
I said nothing.
"How the fuck did you find me? You’re cleverer than I expected. I should have killed you earlier."
"I'm glad you didn't."
"How did you find me?"
"Team work, as usual."
"Don't speak bullshit, who turned me in?"
"Team work, as I said. And besides, I don't reveal my sources," I replied.
"It doesn't matter now, I'm dying."
"Sorry to hear that, but principles are principles."
"Fuck it man, don't
deny me my last pleasure to know," he pleaded.
I said nothing for a while.
"By the way, do you know Erebus Loki?" I asked him.
"Heard of him, did business with him once or twice."
"Was he anyway involved in that whole school shooting?"
"No, he's not into that kind of thing. He's curious about various things, and he must have watched it on TV. But to be involved – he’s really meant for bigger things."
"What does that mean?"
"I don't know, just a gut feeling," Morgenthal said.
"So he had no involvement in the attempts on my ex, me, or the Wimbledons whatsoever?"
"Not that I know of."
I paused for a short moment. He was getting weaker by the second.
"Why are you telling me all this at all?" I asked.
"I don't care anymore. I don't belong to this world. It's not my fucking world now."
Despite the police guys’ attempts to patch him up, he was bleeding profusely. There was little hope in my opinion.
"Was it worth it, the massacre at St. Brigid School? Was that woman worth it?" I asked.
"It was an act of passion, I admit. I rarely do those. But it happened." He paused for a moment to catch his breath. He had difficulties talking. "And you know what? I enjoyed it a lot. I wouldn't mind doing something like that again." He tried to laugh, but instead he spluttered blood everywhere.
"Just one more thing," he said.
"Yeah?"
"You’re wrong on one point."
"Tell me," I said.
"It's not over yet. It's not over yet. It's just the beginning," Morgenthal said. He sighed, and his gaze became fixed. He stopped blinking, his eyes focused on a point far beyond this world.
One of the police guys confirmed: "He's dead."
44.
BACK ON SOLID ground, I borrowed a headset from one of the agents.
"Martin, Dermot, are you guys still on the line?" I asked.
"I'm on."
"I'm here too."
"You've probably heard the news. It's over. Morgenthal is dead," I couldn't disguise my pleasure.
"Great job Mike!" Dermot Clenaghan said. "Not everything went smoothly, but it's not your fault. You've actually saved the day. The FBI will have to do a debriefing session to analyze why things went wrong. I suspect it was just an accumulation of too many unknowns and a worthy adversary, this Morgenthal."
"I'll issue an invoice shortly," I smiled.
"Sure, I'll get the cash ready," Dermot said.
"I'll talk to you guys later on a private line," I returned the headset to the FBI agent.
I waved at Nora, the computer geek on my team. The front of the house had been destroyed by the grenade blast, but the rear was probably intact. We went around the house, Nora in her electric wheelchair. The garden door to the kitchen had been burst open earlier by the SWAT team. We were told the combat gasses were already gone, but we took gas masks just in case. We went inside and looked around. In a study off the living room there was an office and command center. A laptop, a few screens, including screens for the surveillance cameras.
"Good, let's have a look if there's something of interest here," Nora said as she tried to crack Morgenthal's laptop. While she was working, I went outside to speak to Special Agent Lorna O'Grady.
"Good job, Lorna."
"Thanks, it didn't go exactly as planned," she said. She wasn’t trying to take the credit.
"You guys did your best in the circumstances."
I looked at the surrounding havoc.
"Dermot from Research & Execution will speak with you about it. I don't want any publicity. Dermot doesn't want any publicity. You can take all the credit for the success of this mission. I didn't really participate in the operation at all. Understood?" I said.
"Understood, Dermot already called me about that," she confirmed.
"Great. One more thing, we’re going to scan the contents of Morgenthal's computers and feed the results back to Dermot. You don't need to get involved. If there's something of interest to the FBI, he'll let you know," I told her.
"Sure."
"Nice working with you," I shook her hand.
"You too," she said shaking my hand, her breasts jiggling with every gentle shake.
Sure, it was nice working with me, I thought. At the end of the day, I caught him.
Morgenthal's laptop was well encrypted, but with help of the rest of my IT specialists in the office Nora managed to get into it. Using a high-speed mobile router, she transferred the whole content of the disks to our servers in the office so that the geeks could start reviewing the data too.
"Mike," Nora said, "this is interesting."
"Yeah?" my curiosity was aroused.
"He developed an unhealthy interest in education," she said.
"What do you mean?"
"See this, these are plans, maps, access routes, satellite images, traffic diagrams for five, sorry, six schools. Ranging from grade school to college, mainly the North East and the East Coast."
"Was he planning to do more shootings in the future?"
"I've no doubt about it. Have you ever plotted a chart like this," she showed me one, "to pick up your girl from the school?" she asked rhetorically.
"No I haven't." Not entirely true, as I had to know the layout of my daughter’s school when I paid a visit to the Principal Van Klompf, and when I had to use my leverage at Research & Execution to disarm their surveillance system, but that was another story. Normal parents didn't draw access route diagrams of their kids' schools. I continued, "True, it was meant for something, surely not for picking kids up from school."
My phone was ringing, it was Martin.
"Mike, our guys found Morgenthal had at least nine million dollars stashed away in various accounts in the Caymans, Bermuda, Macau, and the Channel Islands. Still counting, so it could be more."
"Can you access it?" I asked.
"Yeah, we’ve found access codes on the hard drive."
"Good, then let's treat it as spoils of war. Finders keepers."
"The FBI won't be happy."
"The FBI won't know. It's Dermot's show now. We'll pay him a million into his personal account and a million into Research & Execution’s coffers. I'll tell him we're taking the rest."
"Sounds about fair."
"I'll earmark two or three million for Wimbledon's children as compensation for their father's death at the hands of Morgenthal. We'll spend a million on pro bono activities. Ask around in the office if the guys have any favorite charities or causes."
"Sure, will do."
My phone was ringing again. It was Dermot from Research & Execution.
"Mike, there's a media frenzy out there I heard. You'll need to sneak out somehow."
"No worries, I'll figure out something once I'm done here. We'll ride with Agent Lorna back to the airport. You owe me a return flight."
"Sure, no problem. You might want to turn on the TV. We’ve started feeding controlled bits of information to the media."
I went to the TV in the kitchen, which had mysteriously survived, and flipped through a few channels, all transmitting live coverage of the events. They weren't really saying too much. The camera crews must have been at least a few houses away, as the FBI weren’t allowing them closer. But it would be a matter of minutes before the press helicopters arrived. A blond reporter on the news was agitatedly delivering the news that the killer responsible for the school shooting had been apprehended. I flipped to another channel. An FBI news conference. They were quick, I must admit. I could see the Governor of Ohio, all smiles, while the Governor of Pennsylvania was on a live feed commenting on the situation. The shooting was in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, and today's operation was in Cleveland, Ohio. A perfect opportunity to get good publicity before the next elections, for both governors.
"They didn't waste any time," I laughed.
"They didn't," Dermot said. "Everybody jumps on the victorious bandwagon."
/>
"My guys are analyzing the contents of his computers. We've found something that would be brilliant for the press conference."
"Tell me about it."
"The Governor of Ohio will love it. The Governor of Pennsylvania will be over the moon."
"I'm listening."
"In all probability, Morgenthal was planning at least six more school shootings." I briefed Dermot in detail.
"Wow, I like that, we’re heroes, I mean the FBI, who averted a few major disasters!" he was thrilled. And added sarcastically: "I'll get a pay rise."
"I doubt it. But don’t worry, I have a pay rise for you."
"I'm all ears," Dermot was now even more interested in what I had to say.
"Morgenthal must have had employers with deep pockets. We counted a few million bucks in his accounts."
"Nice, how much precisely?"
"Six million so far, conservative estimate," I said. I lowered the real number slightly.
"Nice, I like that, what's my share, fifty-fifty?"
"Don't be greedy, I have a million for you. From my share, I plan to do some charitable work, for a million of so. And two million dollars go to John and Karrie Wimbledon."
"Don't be greedy, Mike, you're already set up, but I have to work for my pension."
"Dermot, I'm sure you're set up too after a few years in your job. But let's say I'll give another million to Research & Execution."
"Sounds tempting," Dermot replied, not fully convinced.
"You get one, one for R&E, two for the Wimbledons, one for charitable work, the rest – one million – for me to share between my team members. Couldn't be fairer," I said, summarizing the offer.
"Sounds about fair, but..." he tried to bargain.
"And I'll add a case of Macallan Speymalt 1938. Six bottles of Scotland's finest packed in a nice wooden box. Countless hours of pleasure for your senses."
"The one you squirreled away in the basement of your office, without telling me? The one I found out by accident when Martin mentioned it casually in conversation?"
The Hunt (Mike Greystone, Book 1) Page 24
