by Robert Boren
***
Lance was typing like a maniac on his laptop. The trap door opened, Victor coming down.
“You okay?” Victor asked, his brow furrowed.
“You think I’m worried about the Royals or the UN?” he asked, not turning from his screen. “The Royals weren’t part of the plan, they’re just trying to protect family. All of the important assets at the UN were out of there before the place got overrun. It’s a tempest in a teapot, but I hope it makes our quarry feel nice and comfortable.”
“You’re awfully happy,” Victor said, pulling up a chair.
Lance stopped typing and looked at him. “I just found some important information.”
“What’s that?”
“I found out the hiding place of Jared Carlson.”
Victor looked at him, his face blank. “We know where the Samson Corporation plants are. He’s just at one of them, right?”
“Nope, he’s in the middle of nowhere, unprotected. We’re gonna nail his ass. That’ll be a big funding problem for General Hogan and Ivan.”
{ 16 }
The Stairwell
L angston and Creighton were almost to the opening of the secondary tunnel, turning onto the dirt road.
“Heads up,” Langston said from the passenger seat. “Two vehicles driving out of that catch basin.”
“That’s where the tunnel lets out?”
Langston nodded, getting onto his phone, hitting Russell’s contact, putting it on speaker.
“Hello, Langston. Find something?”
“Two vehicles just left the catch basin that the secondary tunnel from Maggie’s estate dumps into.” He read the license plate of the second vehicle, giving a description of the small van. “There’s a car in front of the van, but I haven’t been able to see it’s license plate number yet.”
“They’ve made us, mate,” Creighton said, swerving behind some bushes as a machine gun barrel showed out of the back door of the van. They fired, hitting the front of the vehicle in the engine compartment. Steam rose from the hood.
“Dammit, they just shot our radiator,” Langston shouted. “I’ll get back with you.”
Both men leapt out of the vehicle with their assault rifles, opening fire, peppering the back of the van with bullets, the van rolling into a bush, the other vehicle trying to speed up on the bumpy road, Langston reading the license number, his phone to his ear in an instant as Creighton fired at the second car, a few bullets hitting the rear end, the car swerving but continuing on.
“Put away the phone and let’s check out that van,” Creighton said.
Langston stuffed the phone back in his pocket. “I just let Russell know the license plate of the other vehicle.” They ran towards the van, the side door opening, two men out with machine guns, firing. Creighton dove behind some brush, Langston doing the same, bullets just missing him. They both opened fire, hitting the van, somebody inside crying out, one of the men with a machine gun hit in the chest and neck, the other breaking into a run, going for a stand of trees a few yards away.
“Try to wing him,” Creighton yelled, on his feet again as Langston fired, hitting the fleeing man in both upper thighs. He screamed in pain, hitting the ground, tossing his gun away while he waited to be nabbed. The sound of police sirens floated towards them.
“Let’s get to that van,” Langston said. “Don’t worry about the other guy, he’s not going anywhere.”
“Got it, mate,” Creighton said as they rushed to the door. There were two men in back, one shot in the side, a small older man, looking at them with terror in his eyes. The other man sat stoically, eyeing Langston as he approached.
“I’ll talk,” he said quietly.
“Recognize them?” Creighton asked.
“Charles Livingston and Jean Caron,” Langston said.
“That’s what I thought,” Creighton said. “Are we taking them prisoner?”
Langston shot him a glance, then looked at Charles and Jean. “Who was in the other vehicle?”
“Rayan Mertins,” Jean said.
“He’ll kill us for that,” Charles said.
“Where’s Maggie being taken?” Langston asked, ignoring Charles.
“We don’t know,” Jean said. “That’s the truth. They wouldn’t let us go with them. She’s still in a coma.”
“Who wouldn’t let you go with them?”
“Some commandos,” Charles said. “I’m willing to negotiate.”
Langston chuckled. “Where’s the rest of the twenty?”
Charles shrugged. “You already know about Mateo. The rest are in hiding. I can help you find them.”
“Sure you can,” Creighton said. “That’s why you tried to sneak over here, mate.”
“Who are you?” Jean asked as the sirens got closer.
“MI6 and Scotland Yard,” Creighton said, Langston shooting him a shut up look.
“Those commandos, as you call them, were RaSP. The Royals have been put under house arrest. It’s over. So are you.”
“What are you doing?” Creighton asked.
“Following orders,” Langston said, firing his machine gun, killing both men.
“Bloody hell,” Creighton said, watching Langston shoot pictures of the bodies with his cellphone.
“Russell said shoot to kill. These creeps have lawyers that cost about ten times your yearly salary per week. Let’s go see what that Merc has to say, before the local police muck it all up.”
They left the bloody van, trotting out into the field, standing over the man on the ground, Langston taking a moment to frisk him, pulling out a switchblade out of one pant leg and a pistol out of an ankle holster on the other.
“I want lawyer,” the man said.
“Belgian or French,” Creighton said.
Langston nodded. “Where’s your boss going?”
“I not talk without lawyer.”
Langston stepped on the wounds, grinding in his heels, the man gritting his teeth.
“I eat limeys for breakfast,” the man grunted.
“That’s why you’re lying here in your own blood,” Creighton quipped.
“You’re not gonna talk?” Langston asked.
“Yes, I talk. Get me lawyer.”
The sirens were almost to them.
“Time’s up,” Langston said, shooting the man in the head.
“Why’d you do that?”
“These folks are animals, and they need to be put down,” Langston said. “All of them. Let’s see if the van still runs. I don’t think the engine got hit.”
“What about the bodies?”
Langston chuckled. “What, afraid to ride with them?”
“No. How about the keys?”
“I saw them in the ignition. Let’s go. I’ll drive. We’ll have to show ID to the local cops. They’ll be here before we can get off this dirt road.”
“All right,” Creighton said. They ran back to the van, slid the side door shut, then closed the back and got into the cab. Langston tried the ignition, the van starting. He backed away from the bushes and got back on the road. The police cars arrived, blocking them.
“Get out your badge and sit tight,” Langston said, pulling out his MI6 ID as several cops ran to the cab with their guns drawn.
“Hands on the wheel,” shouted the first officer there. Langston showed his ID. “Blimey, it’s MI6.”
“The other bloke is Scotland Yard,” said the second officer.
“Please move your vehicles,” Langston said. “We’ve got somebody to catch. I’ve already notified MI6 about this location. Everybody’s dead. Don’t touch anything. This investigation will be handled by Scotland Yard. Secure the area so nobody else can come in, please.”
“I’m not sure about this,” said the first officer.
“Knock it off, Rob,” said the second officer. “Let’s get out of their way. Now.”
The first officer was silent for a moment, then shrugged. “Okay, we’ll let you be on your way.”
Th
ey trotted back to their police cruisers and moved them, Langston driving past.
“Where do we start?” Creighton asked. “That car is kilometers away by now.”
Langston tossed his phone to Creighton. “Pin is 8264. Hit Russell’s contact and put it on speaker.”
Creighton did as he was told.
“Langston?” Russell asked. “What happened?”
“I just killed Charles Livingston and Jean Caron. They’re in the back of the van I’m driving. The local police are here. I told them to secure the area and wait for Scotland Yard.”
“Good, I’ll notify the Yard to get somebody there in a hurry. They say anything?”
“Yeah. Rayan Mertins is driving the car that got away.”
“I figured,” Russell said. “We knew he was in the country. I had two agents on him, but he slipped away in London during all of the excitement.”
“He’s related to Daan Mertins, isn’t he?” Creighton asked.
“Brother,” Russell said. “That car is new enough to have a transponder. We already see it. It’s on M62, half way to Birchwood.”
“He’s making for Liverpool, ten to one,” Creighton said.
“Yes,” Russell said. “Charles or Jean say anything else?”
“Charles said everybody was in hiding but he could help us find them. He wanted to negotiate.”
Russell laughed. “Of course, and he would’ve escaped from any place we tried to hold him. That’s why the PM ordered me to have them shot on sight. The UK government is riddled with traitors. You won’t believe what we’ve been finding out during the last several hours.”
“At this point, nothing would surprise me,” Creighton said.
Langston nodded. “I’ll be shocked if Rayan is still in that car. He knows about the transponders. Hell, his damn company supplied a lot of them to the auto industry.”
“I agree. We’ve got everybody and their brother watching, but he’ll probably escape.”
“Anything on that sub?”
“It’s already been captured,” Russell said. “Guess who wasn’t on it?”
“Expected that,” Langston said. “Anybody have an idea where she is?”
“Not yet, but we’re working it. Follow whatever leads you can on Rayan. Then come back here. This is far from over. Oh, and I’ll have one of our assault vehicles delivered for you at Birchwood. They’ll take the van and the bodies off your hands. How’s your ammo?”
“We could use some, and perhaps some of our other toys.”
“Very well, they’ll be waiting for you there. I’ll see to it.”
“Talk to you later, sir,” Langston said. “Thanks.”
“We aren’t going to find him,” Creighton said. “I can feel it.”
“Yeah, I’ve got the same hunch,” Langston said. “We’re on the same wavelength. How happy are you at Scotland Yard?”
“It’s okay. Why?”
“I can probably get you hired by MI6. I could use a new partner.”
Creighton chuckled. “I’ll have to watch how I speak.”
“You’ve got the most important skills,” Langston said. “All kidding on the side.”
They headed for M62.
***
Penko and Albena were at UN headquarters, the mob still going room to room, destroying whatever they felt like.
“We need to find Mateo’s office,” Penko whispered. “You know there’s gonna be stuff there. It might help us to find the others.”
Albena laughed. “Yeah, he was stupid. Who knows what he left behind, although if the authorities are smart, they’ve already locked that down.”
“What authorities?”
Albena looked around her, watching the party atmosphere of destruction, then turned back to him. “You’ve got a point.”
“I was pleasantly surprised when the NYPD opened fire on the UN forces. Gives me goose bumps just thinking about it.”
“Me too. Do you know where to start looking for Mateo’s office?”
“Carl told me where it is, basically,” Penko said. “It’s in the big tower. Penthouse level.”
“Of course. Simply upper crust. There’s the building. Lots of broken windows on the first two floors. I can only imagine what the inside looks like.”
They pushed their way through the throng of people, getting to the doors, the first floor lobby even more tightly packed than the outside.
“I’ll bet the elevators don’t work,” Albena said.
“I’ll bet you’re right.” They walked past them, several with broken doors, one with a fire-axe stuck in it. Penko cracked up. “Wish I had time to take pictures of that.”
“There’s the stairs,” Albena said softly. “Hope it’s not full up with people.” They made for the door. A scruffy-looking young man standing by it caught their attention.
“The third-floor landing doors are locked with a big chain. One of my buddies went to get bolt-cutters.”
“That explains why the windows are only broken on the first two floors,” Penko cracked as he held the door open for Albena. The young man laughed, Penko laughing too as he closed the door behind himself.
“What a moron,” Albena said. “You see the black mask hanging around his neck? He’s one of those. They helped start this mess.”
Penko nodded as they climbed the stairs, rounding the corner, catching a young couple making love on the steps. The girl shrieked, and the couple hurried down the stairs.
“That looked like fun,” Penko said.
“No way in hell,” Albena quipped as they climbed. “There it is. Not such a big padlock.”
“Bigger than I can break with anything but this,” he said, taking out his handgun. He pulled his silencer out of another pocket and twisted it on, then turned towards her. “Stand back.”
Albena went back against the far wall, watching Penko shoot the lock, the gun making only a loud snap. The padlock moved violently but didn’t break.
“Tough lock,” Penko said, shaking his head. He changed the angle and tried again, the lock breaking open. Penko turned and smiled at Albena. She giggled, and came to help him un-wrap the long chain from the door handles.
“Here goes nothing,” Albena said, trying the door. It opened and they both slipped in, closing the door behind them. The inside of the door had push bars. “Tie them together with this chain. It’ll hold them for at least a little while.”
“Good idea,” Penko said, wrapping the long chain around a few times and tying it like a rope. “Good enough.”
They went up the stairs to the fourth flight, it’s doors blocked open by a file cabinet.
“This is gonna be easier than I thought,” Albena said.
Penko shot her a worried glance. “They did this so they could rush out a lot of stuff. Everything we’re looking for might be gone. Want to check out the floor?”
“No, we have limited time, and it’s a long climb to the top. Let’s go.”
The two continued on, seeing each door blocked open by furniture or file cabinets, until they got to the eight floor, where the doors were closed.
“Uh oh,” Albena said.
Penko tried the door, and it opened. “Not locked. Let’s go.”
They closed the doors behind them and kept going, the next several floors the same, doors closed but not locked.
“How many floors are there?” Albena asked, her breath coming hard.
“Don’t know. Might have to break into the top floor. That’s where the muckity-mucks had their offices.”
Albena laughed. “Yeah, we know about the muckity-mucks. Wonder how much booze and coke we’ll find up there?”
Penko shook his head, laughing. “I just hope we don’t find any dead women. You know how those creeps are. Maybe we should try to block another door, just to give ourselves more time.”
“Can you figure out a way to do that quickly?”
“Let’s try on the next floor,” Penko said. “I’ve got an idea. Might be able to take the wheels of
f one of these office chairs and jamb the legs into the push-bars.”
They got to the next door, Penko rushing ahead, rolling back an office chair.
“Oh, I see what you’re thinking,” Albena said. “Should’ve done this on more of them.”
Penko struggled to get the wheels off the chair legs, finally taking off his right shoe and hammering on the casters, getting them off. “That worked. Take an end.”
Albena grabbed one side of the chair, Penko the other, and they walked it to the door, sliding down the five legs, dropping it into place. It worked, the chair wedged in tight.
“That will hold better than the chain,” Penko said.
“Yeah,” Albena said as they went up to the next landing.
“This is the top floor. See, the landing ends.”
“Yep, thank God,” Albena said. “Won’t have to go to the gym tomorrow.”
Penko laughed. “Since when do you go to the gym?”
“Shut up.” She tried the door. It was locked.
“Shit,” Penko said. “Wonder if it’s the door lock or if it’s blocked up with something? If they did what we did, we’ll be stuck.”
“Shoot the lock.”
“Stand back,” Penko said, pulling his gun. He pointed it at the lock cylinder and fired, the front of it breaking apart.
“That wasn’t very strong,” Albena said.
“No, but it might not get us through.” He pulled out his cellphone and turned on the flashlight, looking at it. “I think we can get through, but I’ll have to use another bullet.”
“Do it,” she said, moving back. Penko aimed right into the cylinder and fired, the bullet pushing the rest of the mechanism out onto the floor beyond the doors.
Penko tried the door. It moved, but felt stuck, so he shook and pulled, the door moving more and more.
“Wish they opened inwards, so we could kick it,” Albena said.
Penko got back on the handles again, pulling out on each. “Give me a hand.”
“I’m not that strong,” Albena said as she approached.
“It’ll still help.” They each got on a handle, pulling and shaking, and Penko’s side popped free, causing him to land hard on his butt. “Ouch!”