Lilburn took his time before asking the next question. “Is there livestock farming around Bethel?”
“Hell yeah. See straight ahead of us, in the distance, that odd-shaped building, looks like a fan? Then there’s those circular things around it that look like roads from up here? That’s where we’re headed. It used to be a six-hundred-acre dairy farm, now it’s a museum and place where they hold concerts. That’s where Woodstock was held. That’s mother earth to some folks, the Holy Grail.”
The gentle rolling green hills with pockets of lush tall trees was picture perfect. The center itself looked immaculate, with large buildings, paved and concreted areas, freshly mowed acres of lawns and large areas of sealed parking. Specimen trees had been planted, giving the area a park-like atmosphere. The other Homeland helicopter was sitting over in the parking area for coaches and large vehicles. The pilot could be seen standing next to his machine; he waved to the incoming chopper. Luke gently settled Gracie down a short distance away. Lilburn had scoured the immediate area for any sign of the director. Nothing. Ducking the rotating blades, he ran towards the other pilot whose apprehensive look suggested he wasn’t sure what was going on.
“You had Director Hall on board.” It wasn’t so much a question as establishing a fact.
The pilot looked from Lilburn across to Luke who was still winding his machine down. He would have preferred talking to his boss first, but that would have to wait. “Yes.”
“And he met someone here. What did he look like?”
“Middle Eastern, with a beard, Western clothes from what I could see. He didn’t get out of the car.”
“Hall recognized him?”
The pilot placed his thumbs in his pockets and took on a defensive attitude. “May have.”
Luke Major came to the rescue bounding over from his chopper, the engine off and the blades slowly turning, winding down. “Hey, Bud.”
“Luke.” The pilot, call-sign Lineman, placed a stalk of dried grass he had in his hand in between his teeth. His eyes reverted back to Lilburn. “Who you got here, Luke?”
“Matt Lilburn. He’s with Homeland.” Luke saw the two men eyeing each other up. “Down, boy, he’s OK.”
Lineman pulled the stalk from his mouth, spat out a small piece of offending stalk that had dislodged itself then placed the long piece back in, rolling it from one side to the other. “Yeah, well. The boss didn’t say much to me, kept as quiet as a church mouse all the way down from Albany, through Plum and on to here.”
“When he came back to the chopper from Plum, was he carrying anything extra?”
“Nope, just his jacket, same one he was wearing when he went inside.”
Lilburn pushed a little more. “Do you think he had anything wrapped in it?”
Lineman shrugged his shoulders.
“What can you tell me about the car?”
Again the shoulders were shrugged.
“Bud,” Luke broke in. “It’s important.”
Turning his head to the side, Lineman spat out the stalk. “1967 pale-blue V-dub beetle, 1490 cc, overhead cam with four-on-the-floor. Oh yeah, nearly forgot, roof rack on top.” Lineman’s face remained expressionless. He then smiled for all of one second before resuming his poker face. “No airbags.”
“Sure?” Lilburn couldn’t resist.
Lineman raised his eyebrows.
It was obvious Lineman was a petrol head, someone to whom vehicles and especially Volkswagens were a way of life. And he was a smartass. That was also obvious.
Lilburn grinned and thanked him, looking at him for just that second or two longer than necessary when he finished talking. Lineman got the message.
Two hours was a long time for Hall to have been away. There was only one road in to the site but the surrounding country was full of roads — the VW could be up any one of them. One thing was for certain, Lilburn had to look for it. From the air seemed the best bet. The heavy-vehicle park they were in was empty except for the two helicopters. Adjoining it was what appeared to be grass parking then beyond that another lot, graveled. Further on a large expanse of seal was painted with individual parking spaces. Lawn strips with equally spaced trees dissected the lot. There were thirty or so cars parked on the western side closest to the road. The main concert area and museum buildings were mostly hidden from view by vegetation.
“We need to get airborne, Luke. Both choppers. I have to find Hall fast.”
“It’ll be like a needle in a haystack.”
“Tell me something I don’t know.”
Lineman was reluctant but Luke’s coaxing saw both machines starting their engines. Luke was in charge of the search pattern; Lineman was to traverse south, Luke north. The helicopters took off simultaneously. The radio crackled as both choppers reached five hundred feet. It was Lineman.
“Bravo-Quebec-Alpha, this is Delta-Mike-Charlie, I have a visual on Sunray, over.”
“Bravo-Quebec-Alpha, advise position, over.”
“Delta-Mike-Charlie, we lifted off too early. Target is just reaching our last loc, over.”
Lilburn turned in his seat, orientating himself to the landscape below. Luke turned the helicopter around and hovered. Below them a VW, the same description Lineman had given, was on the road adjoining the car park. It turned in off the road then came to a halt. The passenger door opened, a figure got out and could be seen looking around then looked up. It was the unmistakable face of Director Hall. Luke barked a command out to Lineman.
“Take her down, Bud, block the road.” Luke banked his chopper and prepared to land in front of the vehicle. “Hell, Matt, I hope whatever you plan on doing is the right thing, ’cause if you’re wrong, the old man is going to rip your head off… and mine.”
Hall stood by the car looking up at the helicopters. Lilburn could see him look over his shoulder as Lineman eased his chopper down over the road, hovering some fifty feet from Hall’s vehicle, expertly avoiding the trees on either side of the road. Luke touched down on the sealed parking lot directly in front of Hall. The director leaned down and spoke to the driver. When he straightened up Lilburn could see he was fuming, even from a hundred feet away. The driver of the VW wasn’t so easy to see from where Lilburn was standing, though the black beard was clear. Hall slammed his passenger door shut and lurched towards Lilburn.
“He’s not happy, Matt, not a happy man at all.”
Lilburn undid his safety belt, exited the chopper and walked towards the director. Hall momentarily slowed his gait but then continued on. “This better be good, Matt, I’m busy and late for an appointment,” Hall yelled above the sound of the two helicopters.
The two men stopped five yards apart. Hall had positioned himself in between Lilburn and the VW, still blocking Lilburn’s view of the driver.
Lilburn breathed deeply. It was make or break time. To hell with it, he thought. “I know it was you.”
“You know what?” Hall placed his hands on his hips. “What the fuck’s going on? Who gave you permission to barge down here, on one of my helicopters and…”
“Like I said. I know what you did. I know about you, the virus and who’s in the car. It’s over.”
“That’s insubordination, Lilburn. I’ll have your fucking guts for this. How dare you accuse me!” The director’s nostrils flared, his face contorted with anger.
“Yes, I do,” Lilburn replied calmly. “I know you were as responsible for Evangeline’s death as if you killed her with your own hands.” He stepped a pace forward. With that step a little of his calmness gave way. He took another step. “Our men who were killed — all good men. You killed them, Hall.” Another step forward. Lilburn was inching towards Hall, confronting him to his face. At the same time his emotions were rising, his fists clenched and unclenched. “You set Lopez up, didn’t you, you treacherous asshole. What was she, just a patsy you used, abused then let go to end her life in a prison.” He stopped, an arm’s lenth away from Hall. “The man in the car — now let me guess — Bomani.” Lil
burn stepped to the side and stared past Hall towards the car. The man inside glared back, their stares met. There was no doubt in Lilburn’s mind. The Takfir terrorist.
Bomani made the first move. The driver’s door opened and he emerged, aiming a rifle. Lilburn reached for his pistol. Bomani fired, the weapon recoiled into his shoulder. He worked the bolt, the ejected cartridge tumbled end over end as the new round was rammed into the chamber. But Lilburn had already moved, firing off a volley of rounds as he spun through the air. The driver’s door window exploded in a shower of glass, peppering Bomani before raining to the ground like hail. Bomani pulled the trigger again then hastily retreated back into the car. His rifle, long and cumbersome, caught in between the door and the body of the vehicle. With bullets from Lilburn flooding the air around him, the weapon fell from his hands. Bomani didn’t even attempt to recover the rifle. He engaged the clutch, put the car in gear and headed towards Lilburn. The driver’s door swung closed then rebounded as it hit the rifle. Lilburn could hear the distinctive engine sound revving to its capacity as the little blue VW lurched forward.
Standing his ground, Lilburn aimed for the driver. The VW came on. The windscreen took bullets, holes opened up and starburst cracks rippled out through the glass. Hall had crouched down and shielded his head as the gunfire opened up around him. As he stood up he saw the oncoming car hurtling towards his direction. He went to jump sideways but his ankle rolled sending him to the ground. Lilburn swiftly leapt sideways avoiding impact, still firing at the moving target. Hall stood no chance — he had barely made it to his feet when the VW collected him. The chrome bumper-bar whacked into his shins, Hall’s upper body smashed into the hood, his head almost crashing through the glass before his whole body, limp and broken, careered feet over head and hit the ground with a sickening thud.
The car and Bomani carried on, then did a wide arc and stopped, facing Lilburn, the driver’s door flapping. Lilburn heard the revs increase again as Bomani pumped the accelerator. Lilburn, two hands wrapped around the Sig 9 mm, kept his aim on the driver. Through the damaged windscreen, he could see Bomani wipe blood from a wound to his head. There was a loud graunching of gears, a loud cry of “Allahu akbar!” and the charge was on. Lilburn fired again and again. With each shot went the silent image of the men and one woman the man had recently murdered. God speed, Lilburn said to himself. Bomani reached third gear before his head slumped over the steering wheel, gone to his God. His body held the car’s direction steady. Lilburn could only watch as the vehicle sped past him back out the car-park entrance, the way it had come. ‘Shit, shit!’ Lilburn threw his hands wildly up in the air. “Go, move it!” Lineman, still hovering on the entrance road, watched as the car kept coming on impact course with his helicopter. It was only skill and blind luck that the VW passed inches beneath his skids before thudding into the trunk of a tall tree.
Lilburn ran a hand through his hair then down the back of his neck. It was close.
Hall lay crumpled on his back, one leg at a grotesque angle, blood streaming from a neck wound, his eyes closed. His head rolled to the side and his eyes opened to meet Lilburn standing over him.
“Why? Why did you do this?”
Hall tried to smile, moved an arm and grimaced with pain. “Put a bullet in me. Now.”
“Like hell. You can suffer, you bastard.” Lilburn knelt down beside Hall. “What about Lopez, was she in on this as well, was she part of this?”
Hall was breathing through his mouth. “Of course not! Ah, it nearly worked.” He winced again. “Lopez just happened to be the right person to be… the fall guy. She has a kid all right — to that scientist, Ian Bradley. His death was no accident. He would have broken at some point and come clean he had a bastard with Lopez. I needed her to look as if she was a liar.”
“So why me? Why did you ask for me?”
Hall laughed bitterly, blood welling up in the corner of his mouth. He spat weakly, his chest heaving, before he answered. “Needed someone with credibility… someone who would do their utmost. You were it. Only thing was, I underestimated you…”
“You prick.”
“And I could have been a wealthy prick, if this had worked.”
“You did this for money?”
“This, that and a bit more. I told you, this job gets to you. You should get out, before it kills you.”
Lilburn turned his head and momentarily rested it on his arm before looking back. “Where’s the kid?”
“What’s it to you? She’s nothing but a bitch, always was.”
Lilburn curled his lip. “Where’s the boy?”
“Go fuck yourself.”
Hall’s broken leg was in reach. Lilburn placed the barrel of his gun fair and square on the bone protruding from Hall’s bloodied and torn pants and applied pressure. Hall screamed. When the screaming stopped he asked again.
“I’ve had a lot of pain, Lilburn. You think that will work? Piss off.”
Lilburn stood up. Others would get the information. Hall was injured but he would live.
“What did you do with the virus?”
“I was wondering when you’d get round to that.” Hall shuffled himself up so he rested on one elbow. “I need something up my sleeve, some insurance. When I’m provided that, then I’ll reveal where it is.”
“You gutless coward. You didn’t deserve the respect people gave you.”
“I earned that respect, Lilburn! I earned respect all those fucking years I slaved my guts out for this country, now it’s time for the country to pay me back.”
“By using bioterrorism? You didn’t even make it a threat; you went all out to make it happen.”
Hall laughed. “I didn’t say make this country pay money, I said make it pay. There’s a difference. The country paying me offered a damn sight more money than any ransom from this asshole of a place.”
“Save the crap for someone who cares. The kid, Hall. Tell me where the kid is.”
Hall smiled again. “Ask Abdul Baari Fawaz. And that’s all you get from me until I get a lawyer.”
Lilburn turned around and walked away.
“Hey, HEY! Don’t you turn your back on me.” Hall struggled to get up but fell back with the pain. “You little half-baked piece of shit. I’m more of a man than you’ll ever be! You’re nothing, Lilburn, nothing. Come back here and I’ll kill you with my bare hands.”
Lilburn didn’t look back, not even when he stuck his middle finger up in the air.
Epilogue
The funeral service for agents Dale Jones and Bryce Waterhouse, killed in action, concluded with the tearful next-of-kin being presented with the folded American flag.
Matt Lilburn had stood to attention for most of the service, a lump in his throat. It wasn’t the first funeral for colleagues he had attended, not by a long shot, and probably not the last. Standing by his side was the now acting head of Counter Terrorism, Rob Olson. The pair walked in silence across the green grass of the cemetery towards the director’s car. A staffer opened the rear door for Olson. Before he lowered himself into the seat he held out his hand to Lilburn. As the tall man shook it, Olson said: “I’ve made arrangements for you to accompany the body of Dr. Crawston back to London. I’ve also seen to it that you will be our representative at her funeral.”
Matt Lilburn did not, could not, say a word. He just nodded.
Copyright
This book is a work of fiction and, except in the case of fact, any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or organizations, is purely coincidental. It remains the copyrighted property of the author and may not be reproduced, scanned, used in any way or distributed for any commercial or non-commercial use without permission from the author.
BioKill
Copyright © 2014 by Stuart Handley
www.stuarthandley.com
All rights reserved
ISBN 978-0-9922619-3-1
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