Red Wolves

by Adam Hamdy

  ‘What are you going to do?’

  Elroy sighed. ‘Can you see the big picture, Ziad?’

  Ziad felt his mouth fill with saliva and fought the urge to be sick. He nodded.

  ‘Then look to me,’ Elroy said. ‘I’ll let you know when the time comes.’

  Chapter 115

  The nausea stayed with Ziad when they finally made land. The Red Wolves worked tirelessly to unload the crates into a waterside warehouse. Elroy posted two men Ziad hadn’t seen before to guard the stockpile and the crew of twenty-two Red Wolves split between five vehicles, which headed east. Eddie and Kirsty Fletcher rode with Ziad and Elroy in a black Toyota Landcruiser. Awut drove them, and Ziad would occasionally catch the Thai assassin glancing at Elroy, who sat in the front passenger seat.

  There was an atmosphere of hostility and distrust and for much of the journey no one spoke. Ziad struggled to cope with the tension and silence. His mind filled the void with memories of Essi. She laughed, held his hand, whispered her love for him. Then she died, over and over again, each time reborn as a happy moment before suffering choking agony. Ziad tried to mask the turmoil, but his emotions must have showed.

  ‘You OK?’ Fletcher asked.

  ‘I’m . . .’ Ziad began, but his voice caught, so he cleared his throat. ‘Just feeling a little sick from the boat. I’m fine.’

  No one said anything until they reached the RPM bar around dawn. The convoy pulled into the parking lot, which was almost empty. Red Wolves spilled from the vehicles and headed into the bar.

  Eddie and Kirsty stepped out and Ziad followed. He was about to go into the bar when Elroy said, ‘Ziad, a word.’

  Ziad hung back to wait for Elroy, who was taking his time. Awut jumped out of the Landcruiser and followed Eddie into the building.

  ‘Yeah?’ Ziad said.

  Elroy didn’t reply. He simply gave an almost imperceptible nod towards the bar, and Ziad turned with a growing sense of dread. He knew what was about to happen. Awut was going to tie up this loose end.

  Chapter 116

  Wollerton had seen the convoy pull into the RPM car park. His legs were stiff and his back was sore, but his eyes were sharp and his mind alert, despite hours spent watching the crowd in the raucous bar dwindle through the night. The rain had finally stopped a couple of hours ago, making his tedious task slightly less unpleasant.

  As people got out of the vehicles, Wollerton spotted five of their principal targets – Eddie and Kirsty Fletcher, Narong Angsakul, Ziad Malek and Elroy Lang. Wollerton produced his Ghostlink and called Pearce.

  ‘Go ahead,’ Pearce said.

  ‘I’ve got eyes on the whole gang,’ Wollerton replied.

  ‘Any sign of Cresci?’ Pearce asked.

  ‘None.’

  ‘Stay put,’ Pearce said. ‘We hit trouble, but I’m on my way to you now.’

  ‘You OK?’

  ‘We’re fine,’ Pearce replied.

  ‘Should I—’ Wollerton was cut short by the sound of gunshots coming from the bar.

  He peered through the branches of the pine tree and saw Narong Angsakul spring from the building. Inside, a cloud of white powder filled the windows, and as it began to settle, Wollerton saw the occupants choking, clawing at their throats, desperately trying to breathe.

  Narong ran towards a black Landcruiser where Ziad and Elroy waited.

  ‘Oh my god,’ Wollerton said.

  ‘What?’ Pearce asked. ‘Kyle? What’s happening?’

  ‘Narong has detonated a device inside the bar. They’re all dying,’ Wollerton was horrified by the suffering inside the building and had to look away. He’d never expected Elroy and Narong to turn on their own.

  ‘They’re cleaning up,’ Pearce observed. ‘Tying up loose ends.’

  ‘There’s three of them,’ Wollerton said. ‘I’m going in.’

  ‘No. Stand down,’ Pearce commanded.

  Wollerton was going to ignore his friend, but hesitated when he saw Kirsty and Eddie Fletcher stagger through the doors. Kirsty had a pistol in her hands. Both were struggling to breathe and their legs were failing.

  Wollerton saw Elroy produce a pistol and shoot Kirsty twice in the chest. He watched her fall before joining Narong and Ziad inside the SUV.

  Eddie Fletcher crouched beside his fallen wife, and Wollerton could sense the dying man’s grief. The Landcruiser made a U-turn in the car park, and Fletcher took Kirsty’s gun and made a monumental effort to force himself to his feet. He staggered towards the SUV and tried to raise the pistol, but he was too weak. The Landcruiser didn’t even slow as it hit him. Eddie Fletcher bounced off the bonnet and was tossed into the dirt beside his wife.

  The Landcruiser turned onto the deserted country road and sped west towards the city.

  Shocked, Wollerton realized he could hear the dawn chorus. The road was silent and the bar was still.

  ‘Kyle?’ Pearce asked, stirring Wollerton from the haze of shock. ‘Kyle, are you OK?’

  ‘They’re dead,’ Wollerton replied. ‘They’re all dead.’

  He ran through the trees to the R1.

  ‘I’m going to follow them,’ Wollerton said into his Ghostlink before slipping it into his pocket.

  He jumped on the motorbike, started the powerful engine, and set off in pursuit of the men who’d just slaughtered their own people.

  Chapter 117

  Wollerton hung back and followed the Landcruiser from a safe distance. The black SUV drove west towards central Seattle, and as they approached the outskirts of the city, the rush hour traffic started to build.

  Wollerton tailed them through Renton, an industrial district to the east of the city, and as he rode past large warehouse units that were interspersed with small aluminium-sided homes, he thought about the horror he’d witnessed at RPM. He’d expected a conventional assault from Cresci, but to see Elroy Lang callously kill his own people made Wollerton wonder what kind of monsters they were dealing with. Narong had used a chemical weapon for what seemed like the third time in a matter of days, and had casually murdered people he knew.

  Up ahead, the Landcruiser turned left onto North 4th Street, and Wollerton followed, taking the inside of a four-lane road. The Landcruiser stopped at a red light, and Wollerton pulled up at a line of cars that formed behind it.

  A plain grey van drew alongside Wollerton in the outside lane, but instead of proceeding to the intersection, it stopped beside him. Wollerton’s spidey-sense tingled and he reached for the pistol concealed in his waistband as the van’s side door slid open and a masked man jumped out with a syringe in his hand.

  They made me, Wollerton thought, and he swung the gun towards his assailant.

  The big man stepped forward and drove his elbow into Wollerton’s forearm. He winced and dropped the gun, which clattered onto the road. The masked man swung the syringe towards Wollerton’s shoulder but he quickly dismounted and pushed the motorbike towards his assailant. The guy jumped back as the R1 toppled over and hit the road.

  A shot rang out, and Wollerton turned to see Narong, Elroy and Ziad by the Landcruiser. Narong was targeting him with an assault rifle. Cars started veering away from danger, their tyres screeching as they sought to get clear as quickly as possible.

  Wollerton skipped backwards and crouched behind an old Jeep Cherokee that hadn’t moved. Ahead of him, the masked man with the syringe was running around the fallen motorbike. His companion, the masked driver of the van, was out of the vehicle and sprinting towards Wollerton. To his left, Wollerton saw Ziad, Narong and Elroy running in his direction. There was no way he was going to allow himself to be taken. He tried to move round to the driver’s side of the Jeep, but the van driver and Narong opened fire, pinning him down.

  He heard the Jeep’s engine roar as the driver tried to escape, but nothing happened. The car must have been in neutral. As he heard the crunch of a gearbox wrestling with an over-revved engine, Wollerton realized he only had moments.

  The revs died down as Wollerton
removed his helmet. He heard the thud of the Jeep locking in gear and swung his helmet in an arc, burying his face in the crook of his elbow. The helmet smashed the Jeep’s rear window, sending glass flying everywhere.

  The syringe-wielding man was a few feet away when Wollerton jumped through the shattered window. The driver, a middle-aged brunette, screamed as she stepped on the accelerator and the car lurched forward. There was a scrape of metal as the Jeep hit the car in front, but the driver swung the wheel, sending Wollerton tumbling into the bags of groceries lined up in the boot. He heard the sound of gunshots and the thud of bullets hitting metal as the vehicle gathered speed.

  When he finally pulled himself upright, Wollerton saw Elroy, Ziad, Narong and their two masked accomplices receding as the terrified driver sped away.

  Chapter 118

  ‘Police have asked anyone who saw anything to come forward,’ the reporter said earnestly. She was standing by a barricade some distance from the RPM bar, now another major crime scene. ‘There has been no official statement, but sources are linking this terrible attack to the atrocities at the Meals Seattle warehouse and the Salam Islamic Centre. There is speculation that this is the work of the so-called Midas Killer.’

  ‘Thanks, Jennifer,’ the anchor said, as the screen split between the scene at RPM and the studio. ‘I also understand police are concerned about the whereabouts of Detective Evan Hill, the officer who was leading the Meals Seattle investigation?’

  ‘That’s right, Dan,’ Jennifer replied. ‘Coming so soon after the disappearances of officers Jared Lowe and Dean Ollander, there is growing concern that someone might be targeting the police.’

  Pearce leaned forward and switched off the television. He looked round the room. Leila was at her computer, looking half dead. The grey light cast by the cloudy sky robbed her skin of colour, making her look even more drained. Clifton was slumped in a chair, struggling to stay awake. He kept catching himself nodding off. Brigitte sat nearby, utterly exhausted.

  He and Brigitte had made it back to shore and had ignored the complaints of Marty and Ellen, who were annoyed by the loss of one of the drones. Clifton had driven them back to Huxley Blaine Carter’s building, and Brigitte had taken the duffle bag into the bathroom, where she’d undoubtedly changed her patch. When she’d emerged from the bathroom, she’d shot Pearce a knowing look and stowed the duffle bag with the rest of the gear.

  ‘Detective Hill is either in the wind, or someone’s got to him. The Red Wolves are gone,’ Pearce said, ‘at least the Seattle chapter. And there’s a huge shipment of tainted fentanyl somewhere on the West Coast. And we’ve got no idea where Kyle is. Every lead we had is dead or gone and I’m out of moves.’

  ‘The Salamovs,’ Leila suggested. ‘They might know where the Red Wolves would stash their shipments.’

  ‘They’ve gone to ground,’ Pearce replied. ‘They’re not answering their phones, and I think it’s a long shot. Whoever is behind this doesn’t want any connection to RPM. After what happened there, the cops are going to be all over anything to do with the gang. You get anything on Elroy Lang?’

  ‘Nothing here,’ Leila replied, turning her laptop screen for Pearce to see.

  ‘So it’s dead ends in every direction?’ Wollerton asked.

  Pearce looked round to see his old mentor standing by the elevators.

  ‘Kyle,’ he said. ‘What happened?’

  ‘I lost them,’ Wollerton replied with more than a hint of frustration. ‘They tried to grab me.’

  ‘Are you OK?’ Clifton asked.

  Wollerton nodded. ‘Nothing more than wounded pride. What’s been happening here?’

  ‘We’re running out of options,’ Pearce replied. ‘Elroy Lang, the people he’s working for; they’re good. The fact you saw them at the bar means the shipment made landfall, but with the Salamovs in hiding and the Fletchers gone . . .’ He trailed off and started pacing in frustration. His mind felt fuzzy and he knew he needed sleep, but they were against a clock. The toxin would start hitting the streets soon, if it wasn’t already out there.

  ‘What about the crooked cop?’ Wollerton asked. ‘If he’s still alive, he’s a link to Elroy Lang. If we find Hill, maybe we can get a lead on Lang.’

  ‘The NSA has a back door into most hotel reservation systems,’ Clifton said. ‘If he’s gone to ground we could piggy-back the NSA network and search for any hotel rooms taken in the Seattle area tonight.’

  ‘He’d pay cash,’ Pearce remarked. ‘And stay somewhere low-rent, off the grid. At least that’s what I’d do. Assuming he isn’t crashing with a friend. Or dead.’

  ‘Telemetry data from his car,’ Wollerton suggested.

  ‘It’s parked outside the South Precinct,’ Leila said. ‘It’s on camera.’ She switched windows to the precinct’s CCTV system, which showed the police car park, and pointed out Hill’s dark-blue SUV. ‘I’ve run his cards and phone and they all come up blank.’

  ‘The NSA has a gait identification programme,’ Clifton revealed. ‘It can identify a person by how they walk. If we could get a clip of Hill, we could run a search on the city’s traffic cameras.’

  ‘That would take weeks,’ Leila replied.

  ‘We’re reaching,’ Pearce said. ‘We need to find this stuff before it hits the streets. If Hill can help us and if he’s still alive, we need to bring him in today.’ He stopped pacing and turned to Leila. ‘You still have access to the Box social media accounts?’ he asked, referring to MI5’s propaganda and disinformation network.

  Leila nodded.

  ‘How would you feel about some fake news?’ Pearce asked.

  Chapter 119

  Ziad stood outside the loading bay, trembling as he wept. He saw Essi everywhere. He’d seen her in the windows and doorways of the city, in the brooding sky, in the puddles, in the cars and buses they’d passed on their way back to the warehouse.

  What have I become? Ziad thought, but he knew it was a question that didn’t really need an answer. He had too many bodies to his name to ever have a hope of living a good life. And one more than any other troubled him. She was in the raindrops and even in the flesh of his eyelids when he shut them. It had seemed so just, so necessary, but after all the carnage and death it didn’t feel like justice now. It felt more like a nightmare made even more horrendous by the knowledge he could never wake up. This was his life and there was no way out.

  Take off the patch.

  The words came unbidden, but even though they were heard only in his mind, the voice wasn’t his, it was Essi’s.

  Take it off. It’s quick.

  He gazed out at the lights of the port, the place where it had all started; where he’d become enmeshed with the Salamovs, where he’d slipped their heroin beneath the radar, where he’d spent countless days dreaming of his life with Essi. He wished he’d never set eyes on the place. She’d still be alive and he’d be someone else with another life. Not this miserable, rotten creature. He sobbed, the tears mingling with rain blown beneath the loading bay’s high canopy by the vicious wind lashing Seattle. He hated himself and everything he’d become.

  Take it off, Essi’s voice told him. End this life. Start again.

  He lifted his collar and looked at the patch clinging to his shoulder. There were over a million of them stacked in boxes inside the warehouse. He imagined them as foul parasites released from Hell, biding their time until they could inflict their twisted suffering. But they weren’t his problem. Elroy had explained things simply and clearly. If people were prepared to dabble in synthetic opiates, they were willingly gambling with their own lives. They had already forfeited their right to that which was most precious, and one form of death was much like another. What did it matter if an addict suffered an overdose, or if they were poisoned?

  Ziad had lost his zeal to spread his pain so others could share it. But how could he tell anyone about his change of heart? The nausea was still with him. He felt a little sick that he couldn’t object to Elroy’s plan, and
part of him was even more disgusted that he didn’t really care. He was empty.

  ‘Ziad,’ Awut said, appearing in the doorway that led into the storage unit. ‘He wants us.’

  Ziad nodded, wiped the rain from his face and followed the mass murderer inside.

  ‘It is from such humble beginnings that revolutions are born,’ Elroy Lang said.

  He wasn’t the same man that had saved Ziad from prison. That man had been a hero. This one most certainly was not. He was distant, authoritarian, and untrustworthy. Ziad found himself imagining a life without Elroy Lang, one in which he’d simply endured his suffering and served his time in Al Aqarab, before being released to a quiet, anonymous existence. It would have been better than this.

  He glanced round the large warehouse at the other men in the room. There was Awut, the dead-eyed killer, Elroy, and Andel Novak, the quiet, thoughtful man Ziad had met in RPM. Novak was in his customary light-blue suit, and stroked his long beard as he cast his indulgent smile at Ziad. Then there were two newcomers; the duo who’d been in the van and had fumbled the attempt to abduct the man who’d been tailing them on the motorbike. Elroy had simply referred to them as friends. One was a huge man in his mid-twenties with tree trunk legs, chiselled arms and a muscular neck. He had short brown hair and a deep tan and had been introduced as Buck. The second man stood a little under six feet and had long straight hair. He was slimmer than Buck, but was by no means scrawny and his sinewy muscles stood out whenever he moved. Elroy introduced this man as Snake, and from the way the newcomers behaved, it was clear they knew each other well. They used a lot of military slang when they spoke and Ziad suspected they might have served together. Both had deep Texan drawls and carried themselves with the confidence of men who considered themselves superior to anyone around them.

  These five men were now the only people in his life. Unless he counted Deni and Rasul, who hadn’t been in the house at Laurelhurst and who had cheated death once again. Ziad knew both men would very much like to see him, but only so they could kill him. Maybe mum and dad—? No, Ziad cut himself off. He’d been dead to them for years.