by David Beers
He would know it, because Luke had told him how to stop this.
Luke would keep laying the dead there, right in front of Christian, until he did what Luke commanded. The bodies would pile so high and so wide, that Christian would see nothing else. No friends, no family, only the dead with their open eyes staring right back at him. Their torn apart bodies decorating his vision like Christmas ornaments on a tree.
But would he break?
Or was he too strong?
If so, that was fine. Luke’s purpose would still be served, the affront to God growing greater with each death.
And, yet, he wanted Christian to break. God had put Christian in Luke’s way, even if Christian didn’t believe it. God didn’t need Christian to believe, and neither did Luke. To break Christian would be the greatest affront—to see the good bend at the knees and accept what they are, what they’ve become. Then God would watch Luke’s creation.
The wind blew harshly against Luke’s cheek.
It was time to stop his wool gathering. It was time to begin stacking more bodies in front of Christian.
Steven Poe was nervous as hell, and it wasn’t easy to make such a man nervous. He had seen war, terrorism, and all kinds of private security ranging from diplomat escorting to out-and-out assassination.
Still, Steven Poe knew what he was doing as he drove the van through the Birmingham streets. He’d known since he received the call two days prior: he was participating in a new kind of war. Steven had been watching the television over the past week (as, he imagined, was the rest of the country), and most people were saying this type of war couldn’t be defined. It wasn’t terrorism; there were no political means to be gained here. It wasn’t warfare with another nation. This was a private war, one dictated by the whims of one man and the end goal unspecified.
The talking heads on the television said the world had entered a new era. Though they were all careful not to define it, Steven knew its definition: they had entered the Luke Titan era.
And, apparently, Steven had signed up for the man’s army.
The pay was right, which was all that mattered. The covert wars in the eighties let Steven understand that flags weren’t worth dying for, but money might be. Plus, when one saw the hell he and his colleagues created by killing dictators and creating a power vacuum—Steven decided he’d get paid good money to ruin lives.
Fifty thousand dollars to create hell on Earth simply wasn’t worth it.
Steven had been contacted three days ago and the price was fair. Now, he only had to drop this van off at the building three blocks away, and he would be about ten years closer to retirement.
The plan, as had been laid out, was simple. Security had been increased across the country, but Birmingham, Alabama—despite what they might portray to the outside world—was still behind in most areas of life. That included FBI security, apparently. Steven had received credentials yesterday, and he was to show them to the security guard, then pull the van right up to the front door. The front of the building was shaped like an arrow, and Steven would park at the crux of it.
He’d get out and then walk off.
Simple.
Once he was three or four blocks away, he would press the clicker in his pocket, sending a radio signal to the van and detonating the equivalent of four tons of dynamite.
Steven felt nervous though, regardless how simple the plan was. If something went wrong—the credentials didn’t work, someone asked to look in the back of the van—he would either end up dead or in jail. Neither of which sounded great. Still, he kept a calm appearance as the vehicle rolled past the last stoplight and up to the security checkpoint.
“How are you doing?” one of the security guards asked. Security might be lighter than the rest of the country, but Steven still didn’t like what he saw. The guard house had three people inside it, including the person who’d stepped outside. He didn’t see any automatic weapons, but everyone was packing.
“Not bad. Monday, though, ya know?” Steven said.
“Believe me, I know. Can I take a look at your identification?”
Steven pulled the two cards he’d been given from his wallet. One was a fake driver’s license, the other a fake employment ID.
“One second,” the man said, stepping back into the security post.
Steven placed both hands on the steering wheel and looked out the front window. The moment of truth, whether or not things would go as simply as he hoped, or whether he would have to shoot this man in the face, speed the van to the front, and then take off running down the street. Steven would do all those things, if necessary. The money was that great.
The security guard returned from the post, credentials in hand.
“Here you go, sir. If you’ll pull around back, someone will be there waiting for you. If they’re not, there’s a doorbell for shipments.”
“Thanks a lot.”
“Not a problem.”
Steven pulled the van through the gate, knowing that the security guard would be dead in about five minutes, most likely unidentifiable. His family would only know he died because he was at work. They wouldn’t find his body, and if they did, it would be in pieces and the place he was laid to rest would contain an empty coffin.
Steven took a right instead of a left, hoping that the security guard wasn’t paying attention. He wouldn’t pull the van to the back; the structural weakness rested in the front of the building, and the building had to collapse in full.
The money was contingent on it.
He parked the vehicle, and took the keys with him as he stepped out. If they did find what was in the back of this van, they wouldn’t be able to move the damned thing before Steven pressed the clicker in his pocket.
There was only one entrance and exit to the premises, so Steven started walking back the way he came.
“Sir, you can’t park that there,” the security guard said, exiting the dugout.
“Sorry, I needed to ask you one thing. The back, it’s—” Steven whipped the gun from the holster hidden by his jacket, and fired a silenced bullet into the guard’s head.
The man stared forward for a second, and then collapsed in a heap.
Steven didn’t even pause. He walked forward, entered the dugout, and killed the other two guards.
Four blocks down the road, he pressed the button in his jacket pocket.
The wind had been blowing from the east, but the blast wave surged forward from the north.
Despite only being able to see the top half of the building, Luke watched the first flames rise upward as if hell itself erupted.
He held the binoculars to his face, refusing to take them down for anything. He would watch from this vantage point, just as God watched from his.
It all happened in mere seconds, but Luke’s mind slowed it down, taking it apart piece by piece.
The blast moved up, windows breaking as the outside pressure grew too great for their structural integrity. Internal metal rods snapped, forcing thousands of pounds of pressure on the outside bricks, causing them to fling into the parking lot. A roaring fire rose from below, spreading out in all directions (though Luke knew it would have been more effective to focus it only in the building’s direction, but some things couldn’t be helped). It blazed through the building’s front doors, and though Luke couldn’t see them, human bodies were now burning. Screams echoed inside the building as flesh melted from bones.
And, finally, Luke saw the building begin its collapse. The heat and pressure working their lethal magic.
It came down in seconds, killing everyone inside, and sending a plume of shattered stone and brick into the air.
Luke watched for a second longer before forcing himself to put the binoculars down. Sirens rose into the sky as the world came to know another attack had taken place.
Chapter 13
The room was in shock. Even Waverly stared at the television screen with an absence of focus that Tommy hadn’t seen before.
The three
of them sat at a conference table, a TV mounted on the wall showing the wreckage. The sound was off, so no one could hear what the reporters were saying. There wasn’t any need.
Another FBI building, just one week after the last attack. This one had been completely destroyed, brought down by a van with chemical explosives in the back.
Tommy looked to Waverly, pulling his eyes from the smoke and debris filling up the screen. The man was ghastly pale, closer to a ghost than a human.
This is personal to him, Tommy thought, and then, Of course it is. He’s at the helm and Luke is taunting him, dancing around him like a child who knows the adult is too slow to grab him.
“Sir, we have information from the last attack,” Tommy said.
“What are we considering the last attack? The one that happened this morning or the one that happened last week?” Waverly didn’t take his vision from the TV.
“The one last week.”
“Let’s hear it then.”
“Local cops caught one of the mercenaries last night. He was pulled over just before the Mexican border, apparently trying to cross it.”
Finally Waverly looked to Tommy.
“When did this come in?”
“We got it this morning, had been preparing to send it to you, and then this.” Tommy’s eyes flicked at the television before bringing them back to the Director. “We planned on requesting to fly down and interview him.”
“Go ahead. Go now.” Waverly reached forward and picked up the phone sitting on the conference table. He hit ‘1’ and the line went directly to his assistant. “Hey, get a plane ready for Tommy and Christian. They’re going to need to leave within the next two hours … It’s heading to?” Waverly looked over at Tommy.
“El Paso, Texas.”
“El, Paso, Texas,” the Director repeated. He hung the phone up and looked to Christian. “You look like I feel.”
“Sir,” Christian said, taking his eyes from the television for the first time since they’d sat down. “I’d request that Veronica be allowed to come with us.”
Veronica? Tommy wondered. He knew that Christian had brought her to the east coast a few days ago, but having her fly around on the FBI’s jet?
You know why. He’s not letting her out of his sight.
“That woman isn’t as bad as Luke, but she’s close. First she comes out on national TV, telling the world that Titan is responsible for mass murder, and now she’s wanting to fly private on the taxpayers’ dime.”
Christian said nothing, but held Waverly’s stare.
“I’m not going to make you give me an ultimatum, Christian,” the Director said. “Go ahead and bring her, but don’t make me regret it.”
“Thank you, sir.”
Tommy and Christian were riding in one car, and Veronica was being brought in another—she had an FBI escort at all times now. Christian and Tommy hadn’t had time to go to the hotel and pack. Waverly sent some underlings to get what was needed, and they would meet them at the plane, the same as Veronica.
Tommy’s wheelchair was in the trunk and he sat in the back of the town car to the right of Christian.
The past hour and a half had been spent learning about the man they were heading to interview.
Patrick Drexler. Thirty-eight years old. Six-foot-two, two hundred pounds. He had spent eight years with the army, the majority as a Ranger. Once he retired from the military, he went into private security—Blackstone Consultants was the name of the firm. He did two or three tours (the records grew a bit hazier with the private company) in the middle east, and one in Russia. Once he left Blackstone, he and any record of him simply vanished.
Analysts were still working on finding out more information about the man, but Tommy didn’t hold out much hope. Spooks like Drexler didn’t drop off the map accidentally. He’d gone underground to make more money than legitimate companies like Blackstone could pay him.
They would study more on the plane, though Tommy was curious to see how Christian acted around Veronica. Would he be able to focus, or was he back in some kind of lovey-dovey state?
Tommy would have smiled if he could, because the person sitting next to him didn’t seem capable of that anymore. It wasn’t long ago, though, that Christian had been asking him if he should call Veronica back after their first kiss.
The desire to smile faded as Tommy thought about the distance between those two extremes: who Christian used to be, and who he was now.
“What’s bothering you?” Tommy asked. He was somewhat slumped in his seat, but that happened any time he was out of his wheelchair and sitting somewhere without the necessary restraints. It was an indignity that he had to look past.
“Besides the fact that Luke is bringing down entire buildings?”
“Yeah, besides that,” Tommy whispered.
Christian chuckled though it contained no humor. “Nothing, Tommy. That’s the only thing bothering me.”
“Fuck you. Don’t lie to me.”
Christian’s face was still busted up, though the worst of it was behind him.
“I know the story you gave Waverly is bullshit. Luke didn’t break in and beat you up. I haven’t said anything because I know you have your reasons, but don’t think I can’t see through your lies.”
Tommy watched Christian stare out the window, still not saying anything.
“It would help us if you told me.”
Still, his partner was quiet.
“I’m not your wife, but I am probably closer to you than anyone else in this world. We’ve both lost a fucking lot. To keep me out of this … it’s insane, Christian. What am I going to do? Run and tell Waverly what actually happened in your hotel room? Is that what you think?”
“No.”
“Then what is it?”
“Nothing, Tommy. I just need some time to think through everything that’s happened.”
“More bullshit,” Tommy said. “When you say you need time, it means you need a few hours at most. This has been days.”
Christian said nothing and Tommy finally looked elsewhere. He could speak until his vocal chords died completely—it wouldn’t matter. Whatever happened in that room, whatever was bothering Christian, he wasn’t going to talk. At least not to Tommy. At least not yet.
And what did Luke do when he wanted to know something? Tommy wondered. The bastard set up a surveillance system inside Christian’s house. He knew everything that happened, everything Christian thought.
Why don’t you do something similar?
If you want to know what he’s thinking, why don’t you pay attention when he doesn’t think you are?
“You’re the cop Titan paralyzed?”
Christian didn’t look away from the man in front of him, even as he taunted Tommy.
“You were all over the news for a while. It felt like I couldn’t turn on the TV without seeing something about you. And now, here you are, in the flesh. Small world, I suppose.”
Patrick Drexler. Former military turned mercenary. Christian had learned everything he possibly could over the past few hours about the man. It was six in the evening and the plane had landed an hour ago. The cops had transferred Drexler to the FBI building in El Paso, giving up jurisdiction willingly enough. As with the rest of the world, they wanted nothing to do with Luke.
“Look,” Tommy whispered. “I don’t want to sit here talking to you any longer than I have to, so tell us what you know, and we can move on to getting you in front of a judge.”
“I asked for my lawyer six hours ago. Why isn’t he here yet?” Drexler said.
“We haven’t been able to get in touch with him,” Christian spoke up. “Mr. Lawrence is a tough man to find, apparently.”
“Yeah, I’m sure he is. Why don’t you try calling the number I gave you?”
Of course Drexler was correct. They hadn’t actually called the phone number they’d been given, though a federal prosecutor would find it tough to prove. The IT group had used some IP rerouting to ‘call’ the l
awyer’s number, though in the end, the call went nowhere. A technical forensic team could figure out, but right now, no one in the FBI really gave a damn.
“We’re still trying to find him. In the meantime, why don’t we just talk?”
“Even by saying that, you’re violating my constitutional rights, Special Agent Windsor. Don’t they teach you anything about the Constitution at Quantico?”
All of it was true, but again, Christian didn’t give a damn.
“Tell us who hired you and we’ll get you all the lawyers you want. Hell, I imagine you’ll be granted immunity if you testify. We’ve got a lot of leeway on our side, Patrick.”
“You know, I had no idea we were working for Titan. Not until that woman started talking on television, and then you guys were forced to admit it. To be honest, I didn’t really know what the point of the operation was, only that they were paying more than anyone else at the time.”
The man spoke so freely because he knew none of this could be used against him. His rights had been violated and he could sing a tune for the next sixteen hours, detailing out all the crimes he’d ever committed, and in the end, he’d walk.
“He did a number on your face, boy. You know that? I’m surprised you survived. A knife through the skull like that ….” The man shook his head. “Should have caused more damage than it did. Maybe Titan isn’t so deadly after all.”
Or maybe he did exactly what he wanted to, you arrogant prick, Christian thought.
“You know you can say anything and we can’t use it against you. So why not just give us a name? One name and Tommy and I will find a way to get you out of here. Might not be today or tomorrow, but maybe you just got pulled over for a broken taillight and no one found an AR-15 sitting in your trunk.”
“Aren’t you military spooks supposed to be smarter than that?” Tommy asked.