by Tom Barber
‘We’re not there yet,’ Sorenson said. ‘Hang tough, Lieutenant.’
‘Copy that.’
Ending the call, Sorenson switched his attention back to the news feeds covering the mayhem in the Southeast of the capital city. Once they’d been sure Harry Ledger was in D.C. and before the rioting had broken out, Sorenson had been pleased to have been handed the reins on this case by his superiors.
Although anticipating a strong public response to the shootings, no-one had anticipated the sheer scale of the violence, or the speed with which it had taken hold, particularly here in the city. Rioting had occurred in Ferguson, North Carolina and Baltimore in recent times, but Sorenson simply hadn’t anticipated it in the capital city and was now regretting that complacency.
He watched the pictures coming in, knowing the entire nation was watching the same images.
And Harry Ledger is out there in the middle of it somewhere, he thought.
They find him, we’ve got one more homicide.
At least.
Inside the electrician’s van in Barry Farms, the group was looking at the surveillance photos on Angela’s I-pad, the pictures she’d taken from outside Ledger’s apartment a few days before.
The shots showed four men dressed as employees of a telecoms repairs company, fluorescent vests over their t-shirts, all of them keeping their heads down under hard-hats.
‘What’s your routine, Harry?’ Archer asked.
‘Shift is 11pm to 7am, typically. Close out, get some breakfast, go home, take sleeping tablets and go to bed. Wake up at 7 or 8pm, rinse and repeat.’
‘FBI lab said they found a shitload of Oxy capsules in your beside cabinet. Eight of them.’
He nodded. ‘Sounds about right.’
‘So you take them like clockwork?’
He nodded.
‘And you didn’t deliberately overdose yesterday?’
‘No.’
‘The dose you took were 160mg strength.’
‘What? That’s dangerously high.’
Archer nodded. ‘They probably switched them up. They wanted you to kill yourself accidentally.’
As Ledger considered this, Archer studied the shots, recognising the pair who’d tried to take them out at Harry’s hideout earlier and then at that chaotic attack at the intersection. He figured the other two had to be the ones who’d opened fire from the street outside the house when Jesse tried to leave. One had severe scarring on his face and neck, the other a tall man, probably six four or five.
All four men looked to be in their thirties, hard-bitten, tough.
Four NSA field agents.
Four killers.
‘These guys watched you long enough to know your routine,’ Archer said to Ledger, who was looking at the screen. ‘Once you were out cold, having taken your usual dose, they took your car, shot the two victims on consecutive days and after they killed Nate, changed your clothes, planted the rifle and left, expecting you to be found dead after overdosing. A neat end to three murders. Throwing up saved your life and complicated theirs.’
‘That’s a lot of planning, confidence and patience,’ Ledger said. ‘And with a twenty four hour gap between each kill. Not easy to carry all that off.’
‘And after Marcia, they took out the boy in Boston, Tyron Scrace, and then Josh’s son,’ Angela said. ‘Made to look like innocent victims of a psychopath.’
‘In reality, they shut Marcia up, their real target, killed two more innocent people to hide her death in the noise and then framed me, knowing I was dating her,’ Ledger said. ‘My military background was a gift for them. Bet they couldn’t believe their luck when they checked me out.’
‘She didn’t give you anything at all on what she was going to leak, before she was killed?’ Jack asked Angela. ‘Even the smallest detail?’
‘She said she didn’t dare give out any details until we could talk face-to-face. All she said was it had huge ramifications for the Agency.’
She saw the look on Archer’s face.
‘What? What are you thinking?’
‘Seems a very public way to silence a potential whistle-blower. There are a lot of other ways they could have done it without attracting so much attention.’
‘Maybe they had to shut her up fast; hadn’t got time to plan anything with more finesse.’
‘And to go to all that trouble to frame Ledger? That took time and effort.’
‘You risked a lot coming to help me,’ Ledger said.
‘I was devastated when they told me Marcia had died. But the timing wasn’t a coincidence. I knew someone from the Agency was onto her and that what she was going to leak was big. She’s about to drop some serious information to me and gets shot with a rifle? I’d been on your apartment when she was shot so I knew you weren’t the killer. Marcia was adamant you were legit and not playing her, but I’m her big sister. I needed to make sure.’
She paused.
‘Three innocent people were killed and an innocent man framed for it. When I heard on the news you’d been seen entering D.C. this morning, I packed up my gear and came down here to try and find you.’
‘How did you get to that intersection so fast?’ Jesse asked.
‘Tracked the FBI scanner,’ she said, holding up the battery-powered radio system. ‘Another trick from my days as a reporter. That’s how I found out they’d located your position. I’d only just made it into the 7th Ward when the call came through.’
Across the van, Archer had gone quiet, not taking part in the conversation, looking at the I-pad photos instead.
‘This makes sense,’ she said, noticing his reticence and assuming it was doubt. ‘I’m sure of it.’
He nodded, keeping his thoughts to himself. Going back in his mind to when those two cops had found the three of them in the house, he recalled the greyish hair at the temples of one man and the snaked tattoo on the right hand of the other.
He looked at the photos.
Under the hard-hat he was wearing to cover his face, the first man’s hair was jet black.
And there was no sign of a tattoo on any of the other men’s hands.
On the street adjacent to the black van, a gang of twelve men from the Anacostia neighbourhood were standing outside a store in enemy territory, watching it burn. A fire engine had just showed up but the driver had been forced to pull back when they were pelted with bricks and shot at, a member of the gang capping out three of the truck’s tyres as it reversed down the street.
As it disappeared out of sight, members of the group turned their attention to cars parked on the side of the street, smashing up the windshields and setting off the alarms.
One of the most dangerous gangs in this part of the city, they were now on another crew’s turf but they’d just raided a gun store, so were feeling pretty pumped. They’d been on the street for the past two hours and had already seen off another local gang and put four cops out of action.
The gang knew the rioting couldn’t last, so were making the most of the temporary breakdown in law and order. Time to settle a few scores. They’d heard on the street that other crews were forming alliances to take on the cops but they sure as shit weren’t. They didn’t need to.
‘Yo, check it out,’ one of them said to the guy next to him, looking at a message on his cell phone and talking fast, his pupils dilated from the meth they’d all smoked an hour ago.
He showed the other man the screen.
‘This legit?’
‘Dunno. Might be. Whoever it is sent me a message; put ten large in a bank account for me.’
‘For real?’ The other man nodded; his companion looked closer at the message. ‘They know where he’s at?’
‘Round here somewhere,’ he replied, the meth and his accent pronouncing the word summer. ‘Everyone he’s with goes down too.’
‘Worth our time? Every sum-bitch out here right now wants to smoke his bitch ass.’
‘There’s summin else.’
‘What?’
<
br /> ‘They put the same deal out to those bama bitches from Barry Farms. Guy told me it’s first come, first served.’
The challenge clinched it. The other guy nodded; reloading his weapon, the leader pulled the slide and whistled to the others, waving them over.
‘That money’s ours,’ he told the guy next to him as the others came forward, ready to hear what was up. ‘No more mindless shit right now. We’re gonna find that sum-bitch.’
TWENTY FOUR
A silence had fallen inside the black van as everyone tried to make sense of what Angela had just told them. They were also seeing the pictures on her I-Pad of the continuing violence in Wards 7 and 8, the screen showing CNN’s live newsfeed with the footage a clear indication of what their fate would be if they were found, the Faraday bag covering the device protecting NSA from tracking the signal.
The news switched to cover the school shooting at Wilson High, reporters commenting on how D.C. appeared to be in the centre of a maelstrom of violence tonight. The press were giving out the name of the boy who’d attempted to carry out the shooting; although he’d been a minor, now he was dead there was no need to protect his identity.
Jeremy Somers’ high school photo suddenly flashed up on the screen, a voiceover giving a brief bio of his fourteen years of life.
A lot of violence for just one day, Archer thought, looking at the boy’s photo.
‘We gotta get out of here,’ Jesse suddenly said, shifting his attention from the I-Pad.
‘We start moving around on the street, they’ll be onto us immediately,’ Angela said.
‘I’m not talking about the freakin’ NSA,’ Jesse fired back. ‘You don’t know this neighbourhood like I do. If any of the gangs round here find us, we’re dead.’
‘And if whoever owns this van shows up, we’re gonna get found out too,’ Ledger said. ‘We can’t stay here.’
As Angela went to answer, Archer suddenly grabbed the I-Pad, turning it over to hide the glare.
‘Get down!’
Hearing the urgency in his voice, they immediately did as he said. Ledger looked out of the window, seeing a large group of rioters had just appeared at the end of the street.
And they were heading this way.
Despite the heat, the members of the group were wearing bandannas so only their eyes were exposed, mistakenly assuming it would conceal their identities from the cameras when the reckoning came. All of them were carrying a weapon of some sort, bats, knives, bottles and anything else they could lay their hands on.
A lot of them had guns too.
‘They’re Anacostia,’ Jesse whispered. ‘Those are their colours. Shit, these guys are killers, man.’
Inside the van just ten feet away, Archer and Ledger looked through the blacked-out windows, both gripping their Sig Sauers, everyone tense as they heard the gang getting closer.
Moments later the men started walking past.
Some of them kicked the side of the van, the occupants staying totally still as it was thumped from the outside. Angela closed her eyes in fear as Jack and Jesse stared at the rear doors, Archer and Ledger gripping their weapons firmly as they continued to look through the blacked-out windows.
Two of the gang members had stopped right outside, one of them pulling out a meth pipe and a lighter, the pair taking it in turns to take a long draw of the smoke. One started laughing and scratching his face while his companion screamed, the sound chilling for the group inside the van.
However, one masked figure who’d stopped wasn’t taking a smoke.
He was looking directly at the van, and unknowingly, straight at Archer.
The guy suddenly walked forward, and using his hand to shield his eyes, peered through the dark window.
No-one inside moved, everyone holding their breath, watching the bandanna-covered face staring in at them.
He stepped away.
A few seconds later the handle of the rear door started to rattle.
It was locked but they could hear him fighting with it, trying to force his way in.
Then there was the sound of something hitting the door hard.
‘Yo, get over here!’ he shouted.
Just the other side of the door, Archer and Ledger were both crouching, their Department Sigs up as they heard more men gathering outside.
‘Tip it,’ they heard a voice say. ‘Then light it up.’
‘They’re not gonna be in there. They’ll be in one of these houses.’
‘Push that shit over.’
‘I wanna see if there’s anything good inside first.’
‘Oh my god,’ Angela whispered, staring at the door in terror.
Keeping his pistol up, Archer glanced out of the window to his right and his blood turned cold.
Another member of the gang was holding a bottle with a piece of cloth stuck in the end. He’d pulled a lighter from his jeans pocket and was sparking a flame.
Time had just run out.
‘Run and don’t stop!’ Archer whispered, taking hold of the door handle.
Just as he released the lock, he heard a whistle; glancing to his right again, he saw the guy holding the lit Molotov cocktail turn and look up the street at something outside Archer’s field of vision.
‘Cops!’
Quietly locking the door again, Archer cautiously moved up the van to the passenger window and watched as the man with the bottle ran forward and threw it towards a police car which had just turned into the street.
It landed ten feet in front of the vehicle and smashed out in a pool of flame, the rioters whooping and cheering, suddenly losing interest in the black van and focusing on the two cops inside their car instead.
As Archer and Ledger watched, the cop car was quickly reinforced by several more, including a riot-control squad van. Realising they were outnumbered, the mob took off, some racing down a side street while others ran back the way they’d come, the cop cars following, fender lights flashing and sirens wailing, passing the seemingly innocuous black van parked on the side of the road.
Holding his pistol tightly, Archer exhaled slowly and looked at Ledger, who sagged in relief too.
‘Nothing like visiting the capital,’ Ledger said.
TWENTY FIVE
On the other side of the Anacostia River, Peralta and Font were still at Georgetown University Hospital. They were standing inside the reception area along with an assortment of police officers and other law-enforcement agents, Peralta on the phone with Sorenson, Font standing a few feet away, alone for the moment and observing the scene around her.
Eating a makeshift supper of a Snickers bar from a vending machine, she looked out of the window at the mass of news teams still gathered outside the hospital. Even though they were being kept well away from the hospital entrance, none were showing any signs of leaving. Some looked decidedly nervous, checking around constantly, others waiting inside their vans until someone stepped outside to give a statement or they needed to talk to camera.
If it bleeds, it leads, Font thought, taking another bite from the chocolate bar as she watched them. Multiple sniper hits, school shootings, riots.
After today’s events, they’d be spoiled as to which took the primetime slot.
Peralta walked over to join her, having just got off the line with Sorenson. ‘We’ve got four more bodies reported from Southeast.’
‘Who?’
‘Teenage gang members near an intersection, shot up close with an automatic rifle. Hell of a mess.’
‘Ledger?’ she asked, screwing up the empty Snickers wrapper and throwing it in the trash.
‘Sorenson doesn’t know; with what’s going on down there, it could be anyone. But he thinks Ledger might have an accomplice.’
He looked around the reception area, then at the press outside.
‘I’m starting to think we’re focusing on the wrong guy.’
Font looked at him cynically. ‘An ex-army sniper with PTSD, who was confirmed by toll cameras to have driven to Portlan
d Monday, Boston Tuesday and New York yesterday? And with the rifle used in the shootings found in his apartment, his fingerprints all over it, as well as on the shell casing found from where he shot Nathan Blake? And he ran from arrest? C’mon, Rob. Get real.’
‘Ledger’s locked down in Wards 7 and 8 according to Sorenson, plus he’s got a gunshot wound to his shoulder now too.’
‘Who shot him?’
‘Sorenson doesn’t know; maybe a rioter. But you really think Ledger managed to get across the Anacostia, avoiding all those roadblocks, then drop Cummings from over nine hundred yards with a bullet wound to his shoulder?’
‘Maybe they’re wrong and he did get out of there. If that’s the case, the teams searching for him need to leave the riot zones and start checking this side of the River.’
‘He didn’t take this shot,’ Peralta said. ‘I’m sure of it.’
‘Doesn’t mean he didn’t take the others,’ she replied, looking outside again.
Behind them, the doors to the ground floor corridor swung open and the Chief Medical Examiner walked through holding a transparent evidence bag, a piece of paper visible inside. She’d been busy today; with their office just the other side of the National Mall shut for renovation, Jeremy Somers’ body had been brought to this hospital, the closest major medical facility to Wilson High. She’d been ordered by the FBI to work on Cummings as soon as she was finished with Somers. The Bureau had their own medical examiners, but Sorenson didn’t want to waste valuable time transporting the dead guard’s body across town.
Looking around, she spotted them and motioned for the two Boston agents to step to one side with her; the trio moved through to a side corridor where they were alone.
‘Just finished with the boy,’ she said. ‘Tox report showed no drugs or alcohol in his system and no trace of prior use. Nothing you don’t already know and that witnesses didn’t tell us. He was shot once with a .45 calibre slug. Bullet hit an artery and he bled out. Even if we’d had people right there on the spot, we couldn’t have saved him.’
