The John Milton Series Boxset 4

by Mark Dawson

  “I hear you. Stay on the line. Ziggy wants to speak to you.”

  There was another moment of silence as the phone changed hands.

  “I need you to send me your location,” Ziggy said. “Put the call on speaker and do as I say.”

  She did. Ziggy told her to launch the messages app and then to send him her current location.

  “Got you,” Ziggy said. “I know where you are. I’ll call the police and tell them that you’re trapped.”

  There was another heavy thud against the door.

  “I don’t have time for that,” she said. “It’s a riot. The police will wait for the army, but that won’t be for hours. The inmates know I’m in here. They’ll break the door down.”

  She couldn’t hear a reply. She pressed the phone to her ear.

  “Ziggy!”

  “Stay where you are. I’m working on it.”

  “Please hurry.”

  64

  MILTON FRISKED the body of the guard who had fallen to his death.

  He was unarmed, but, in his back pocket, Milton found a small Nokia cellphone.

  He took it and dialled the number that Josie had given him.

  The call connected.

  “It’s Milton.”

  He heard Hicks. “Where are you?”

  “There’s a full-scale riot. I need a way out.”

  “You can come out the front. The guards in the watchtower have cleared out.”

  “Anything else?”

  “We’ve got a problem. Hernandez is trapped inside.”

  Milton gripped the phone a little tighter.

  “Where is she?”

  JOSIE SAT down with her back to the sofa, planted the soles of her feet flat on the floor and braced her legs. There came another thump as whoever it was outside in the corridor tried to force the door. The sofa jerked a little bit farther into the room and the door opened a crack.

  “Open the door!” the man cackled through the gap.

  “I’m a police officer,” Josie shouted back. “And I’m armed.”

  “Sure you are, baby,” the man said.

  “I’ll shoot anyone who tries to get in here.”

  “Yeah? I say you’re bluffing.”

  Josie heard a gale of laughter and then a stream of salacious suggestions about what the men outside would do to her once they got through the door.

  She wished that she was armed. That might have given her a chance. But she wasn’t. Her gun was still inside the security lodge. If the inmates were logical enough and thought about it, they would be able to loot the office and arm themselves. That the situation could get worse was obvious, but it was also an irrelevance as far as Josie was concerned.

  It was already bad enough.

  There was no way out. No windows. No other doors. She was trapped, a female police officer lost inside the swirling chaos of rioting prisoners, many of whom had no hope of being released and no hope of ever being with a woman again. They had nothing to lose. The fact that they could take out their anger and frustration on a police officer at the same time would be just another bonus for them.

  There came another almighty thud as something was slammed against the door. It was weightier and harder than before, more solid than the shoulder charges that she had been able to fend off.

  A heavy object.

  There came a second crash.

  And then a third.

  Josie heard a splintering and, as she looked up above the back of the sofa, she saw that the door was splitting down the middle.

  MENDOZA SHOULDERED through the door that led into the main lobby.

  He stopped, his feet slipping on the floor.

  There were two orange-shirted prisoners blocking the way ahead.

  Mendoza didn’t pause. He reached into his jacket, yanked his Glock out of its holster, and shot both of them. The men went down, one of them dead before he hit the floor and the other trying to staunch the sudden rush of blood from his abdomen.

  Mendoza gripped the pistol tightly and ran for the door.

  Josie was still in there for all he knew, but he didn’t care about that.

  She was the reason he had come down here. Her interference and disobedience had put them both in danger.

  Maybe the riot would put an end to that once and for all.

  It would save him the job.

  Two more prisoners emerged from the security lobby.

  Mendoza turned and fired. Both rounds missed, but the prisoners got the message. They dived into cover.

  He had seven rounds in the magazine and another in the chamber. He had to get out.

  He backed away, the pistol aimed at where the men had hidden, and then he turned and ran.

  JOSIE PUSHED back until her thighs burned.

  She wasn’t going to give up.

  She closed her eyes and thought of Angelo.

  She would hold out for as long as she could.

  There came another crash and then another rending creak as the door panel continued to split down the middle.

  There was a fresh cackle of laughter, an exhortation to redouble efforts, and then…

  The sound of something heavy falling to the floor.

  Josie sat up.

  She heard a scream interrupted by a yelp of pain and then the unmistakable sound of something hard colliding with flesh and bone. There was another impact as something dropped to the floor. She heard a cry of angry indignation that was choked off before it could be finished and then the slap of running feet that quickly faded out.

  “Josie!”

  She pushed harder, her muscles burning. “Who is it?”

  “It’s Milton.”

  She stayed where she was.

  “Open the door.”

  Josie found that she was trembling, her muscles quivering uncontrollably. Was it Milton? He had found her? She was too scared to allow herself to believe that she might have a way out. Maybe it was a trap. But how would anyone else know to pretend to be him? There was no logic to suggest that it was anyone other than Milton, but panic was obscuring her logic.

  “Josie,” Milton said through the crack in the door, “they’ll be back. We need to move. Please. Open the door.”

  She got up and heaved the sofa aside. The door had splintered down the middle and wouldn’t have stood too much more punishment. She opened it: Milton was standing outside. He was holding a prison officer’s billy club in his fist. Three orange-shirted inmates sprawled on the floor, unmoving; one of them was bleeding freely from a wound to his scalp, the blood pooling around his head. Milton’s own orange shirt was flecked with red, and there was sweat on his face. There were fresh marks, too, and darkening patches that promised fresh bruises.

  “Ready?” Milton said.

  She nodded.

  “Come on.”

  He started to jog. Josie followed, matching his easy pace. He reached into his pocket for a cellphone and put it to his ear, speaking as he loped along.

  “Is it still clear?”

  Josie couldn’t hear the reply.

  “It’s Hicks,” he explained as he put the phone back into his pocket. “They’re out the front. They’ll pick us up.”

  “What about the police?”

  “There’s no one there yet.”

  “They’ll be coming. The army, too.”

  “That’s why we’ve got to hurry.”

  Milton led the way to the main entrance hall. A fire had been set in one of the adjoining rooms, and smoke was pouring out of broken windows and an open doorway. They saw other prisoners choking as they emerged into the dimness of the main room. The security lobby had been overrun, with inmates passing through the defunct scanner and making their way to the doors and the clean, open air beyond. They were fixated on the prospect of their freedom, and none of them stopped to give Josie any heed. The one man who did divert his direction to intercept them, making a lewd comment as he approached, was briskly persuaded to see the foolhardiness of his ways. Milton swung the baton at h
im in a diagonal downward swipe that caught him on the bony knuckle of his knee. He yelped in pain, rolling to the ground and clutching his leg.

  The main doors had been forced open, and now they swung impotently on broken hinges. Milton shouldered them apart and, reaching back to take Josie’s hand, led the way outside.

  She looked up at the watchtowers and remembered seeing the rifles of the guards stationed there. But the guards were not there now. More smoke piled out of smashed windows and formed vast pillars that were already several hundred feet tall. She saw the hungry yellow and orange of flames through other windows and heard the sounds of screams, whoops and breaking glass.

  “Run,” Milton said. “Don’t stop for anyone.”

  Milton set off to the main gate. Some inmates were gathered just outside, as if unsure what to do now that they had their freedom. She saw flashes of orange as others, perhaps wise to the inevitable arrival of enforcements, hurried across the neighbouring fields and into the dense vegetation that fringed them.

  The gates had been forced, too, and now they hung limply, creaking in the breeze.

  A car was approaching them at speed. It flashed its lights.

  “There,” Milton said, changing direction.

  The car raced up to them, skidding to a sudden stop. The rear door opened and Josie slid in, bumping up against Ziggy Penn. His laptops were still open. Hicks was in the front, and he reached over to open the passenger door. Milton slid across the hood, opened the door all the way and dropped into the seat.

  “Go!”

  Hicks did not need to be told twice. He stomped down on the gas and the wheels squealed as the rubber bit into the rough asphalt. The car jerked forward and then swung around as Hicks turned the wheel to full lock, the rear end fishtailing and smoke pouring out of the wheel arches. Hicks straightened up and, stamping down on the gas again, they raced away.

  65

  MILTON REACHED over and clapped his hand on Hicks’s shoulder.

  “Well done,” he said.

  “It wasn’t me. It was all Josie and Ziggy.”

  Milton turned. Ziggy was looking at him with a self-satisfied smirk on his face.

  “Good to see you again,” he said.

  “That was fun,” Ziggy said. “Impressed?”

  “You’ve never failed to impress me.”

  Milton knew Ziggy well enough to know that he responded best when his ego was massaged. He could certainly be irritating, but the fact of it was that he was able to back up his hubris with ability. Ziggy had helped Milton hack the headquarters of the Mossad. What he had done today was just the latest in a long line of increasingly impressive demonstrations.

  He turned to Josie. “Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine. Thanks for coming for me. You could’ve—”

  “No,” he interrupted. “Thank you. I’d still be in there without your help.”

  “I don’t have anyone else to turn to.”

  “I meant what I said.”

  “You’ll help?”

  “You need to help me first. Tell me everything.”

  Josie had explained her suspicions to Milton before, it was useful to have her rehash them. Milton and Hicks listened intently as she went back over the details of Milton’s arrest and how she had come to be so certain that he had been framed. She recounted the death of the bar owner and the role that her commanding officer had played in moving Milton from Manila down to New Bilibid so that he could fall completely under de Lacey’s control. She reminded him of the threats that she had received and her conviction that the same man was responsible for them.

  “He was there today,” she said. “It’s why I couldn’t get out. He grabbed me.”

  “Where is he now?”

  “I kicked him between the legs and ran. I don’t know what happened to him.”

  “What’s his name?” Milton said.

  “Bruno Mendoza.”

  “Ziggy?”

  “I’m already on it.”

  Milton watched as Ziggy’s fingers flashed across the keyboard. He had tethered his laptop to his phone and, now that they were north of the prison and he had a reliable signal, he was typing in a string of commands.

  “What are you doing?” Josie asked.

  “I’m going to find out where he lives.”

  “How?”

  “Hack the police database.”

  “This might be easier,” she said, holding up the phone she had taken from Mendoza.

  “That’s his?”

  She nodded.

  “Give,” he said.

  Josie handed it over. Ziggy plugged it into one of the laptops and started to examine it.

  “If he can find the address—”

  “Found it,” Ziggy interrupted. “He has a place in Makati City.”

  “Fine,” she said. “We know where he lives. What do we do now?”

  “Pay him a visit,” Milton said.

  She bit her lip.

  Milton could see that she was reluctant. “What’s up?”

  “Am I doing the right thing? I don’t know—maybe I should go and see the chief inspector. I mean, I could tell him what I know.”

  “You don’t know how far the corruption goes up the chain,” Hicks offered.

  “He’s right,” Milton said. “You know you can’t do that. It could be dangerous. It’ll also be slow. And we need to move today. When he finds out what’s happened and that I’m out, maybe he runs. He certainly makes it more difficult to get to him. You won’t be safe if that happens.”

  “And then? When we find him?”

  “We ask him who else is involved.”

  “You think he killed your friend?”

  “I don’t think so. I think I know who that was. But maybe Mendoza can help me find him.”

  “And then?”

  Milton knew what she was asking: how would he make her safe?

  “There are two ways we can play this—”

  “I don’t… I don’t want him dead,” she interrupted.

  “Then you’ll need to get the evidence to build a case.”

  It was clear to Milton that Josie could see the scale of her quandary now. It was obvious. She could find evidence and build a case, but she wouldn’t be able to do it alone. She would need help from senior officers that she could trust. And, from the look on her face, Milton could see that she was already struggling to think of anyone of sufficient rank that she could confide in. Maybe she didn’t know anyone well enough beyond Mendoza to be confident that they would not be involved and that they would take the side of a junior officer against her more senior colleague. Milton already knew that Josie was moral—she had worked to get him out despite the risk to herself—but now she would face a test of her convictions. Milton would be true to his word and would do whatever he could to make her safe. He didn’t have the same qualms as she did, though, and his way would be safer than any alternative. Following the law would bring greater risk. But she would have to choose. Milton would do whatever she asked.

  He looked at her. She was biting her lip and gazing out of the window.

  “Where are we headed?” Hicks asked.

  Ziggy recited an address in Makati City.

  “It’s an apartment,” he said.

  “Where?”

  Hicks waited for the satnav to calculate the route. “Not far,” he said, once the green line had overlaid the map. “We can be there in an hour.”

  66

  THEY PARKED the car in the underground lot beneath the apartment block.

  “Both of us?” Hicks said to Milton.

  “It won’t hurt.”

  “I’m coming,” Josie said.

  “You don’t need to do that,” Milton said.

  Josie shook her head. She wasn’t about to take a step back now. She felt as if she were in a maze, stumbling for an exit that she couldn’t yet find, but she knew that she had to be involved.

  “I’m coming. This is a police investigation. I’m not backing off now
.”

  Milton shrugged. “Fine by me.”

  “I’ll stay,” Ziggy said. “I’ll see what else I can get off his phone.”

  Josie stepped out. Hicks and Milton followed, and they took the elevator to the ground floor.

  Josie went up to the desk. She took out her badge and held it up for the porter to see.

  “How can I help you, Officer?”

  “Which apartment does Bruno Mendoza have?”

  “The penthouse,” the porter said. “Why?”

  “I need the key.”

  “Can I ask why?”

  “Police business.”

  “But I don’t understand. He just left.”

  “When?”

  The man looked at his watch. “Fifteen minutes ago.”

  “How was he?”

  “He looked like he was in a hurry. What is this, Officer?”

  “Give me the key, sir.”

  “Do you have a warrant?”

  “You really want to go through all that?”

  “Then I should call him. I can’t just let you inside.”

  “Last chance. I’ll arrest you if I have to, sir. What’ll it be?”

  The man blanched. He stood up, took a blank key card and programmed it in a machine on the desk. He handed it to Josie.

  “Here,” he said. “Top floor. The lifts are over there.”

  THEY TOOK the lift in silence.

  It ascended quickly, fast enough for it to add to the empty feeling in Josie’s stomach.

  She closed her eyes and thought of her son. What was the point of doing her job if she allowed herself to ignore what Mendoza was doing? She wanted to bring Angelo up to know right from wrong, and she would be worse than a hypocrite if she allowed her fear to take control.

  The lift arrived at the twenty-ninth floor and the doors opened.

  Milton stepped out first. They were in a lobby. The floor was thickly carpeted and the walls were decorated with tasteful pieces of art. It was gloomy, with dim lights set into sconces. There were two doors: one for the emergency stairs and the other for the penthouse.

  “Just because he’s not here doesn’t mean the flat is empty,” Milton said in a low voice. “We need to be careful.”