Kill Zone: A Lucy Guardino FBI Thriller

by CJ Lyons

“Hell, maybe they’re the ones behind those.”

  “Testing us?”

  “Gathering intel,” Walden said. “It’s what I would do. Face it, we’re up against an opponent who’s just as smart, just as well-armed, and better funded than we are.”

  “And with no paperwork to file or regs about not letting civilians get caught in the crossfire.”

  “Exactly. The more civilians panicking the better, as far as they’re concerned.”

  She glanced over at him. “Which means we haven’t seen the worst of it yet.”

  Before Walden could answer, he finally got through to the FBI offices on his cell phone. “Taylor, it’s me. Go to the training channel on your radio before this call gets dropped.”

  He switched to the radio and waited a beat. Then Taylor’s voice came through. “I’m here. Greally is deploying us.” He sounded excited, his voice cracking with adrenalin.

  “Is Greally there?” Walden asked. John Greally was the Special Agent in Charge of the FBI’s Pittsburgh Field Office.

  “Walden. What’s the situation?” A second man’s voice came through, older and calmer than Taylor’s.

  Walden gave him a quick rundown on what had happened at the 911 Center. “A DEA agent, David Haddad, ID’d the subjects who bombed the Communication Center as members of the Zapata cartel. They’re working alongside a local gang, possibly the Ruby Avenue Rippers. Lucy and Haddad are following a lead into Homewood.”

  “They left the 911 Center?” Greally didn’t sound too happy about that. It was definitely not protocol to leave a crime scene and mass casualty site unsecured. Especially not on a night when first responders were coming under fire.

  Damn, not even Saint Lucy had thought of that. “Sir,” Jenna said, “No one could have survived that blast. And Walden was shot. He needed medical attention.”

  “We neutralized all the subjects in the area,” Walden interrupted, his voice managing to match Greally’s administrative calm. As if they hadn’t almost gotten shot and blown up and burned alive.

  Jenna steered them onto the Parkway West. Traffic was light at first.

  “I don’t think you understand,” Greally snapped. “No US city has faced anything like this since 9-11. We have to clear every bridge and tunnel before we can re-route civilians, evacuate multiple targets—”

  Suddenly a sea of brake lights filled both lanes of traffic between the Tahoe and the entrance to the Squirrel Hill tunnel. There was no traffic coming the other way through the tunnel. They must have closed the tunnel, probably checking it for bombs. She didn’t hesitate, immediately steering the Tahoe onto the shoulder’s rough washboard pavement. Walden grimaced in pain as his leg bounced against the dashboard.

  “We think these operations are following the pattern set by the 2008 Mumbai attack,” Greally was saying. “Locating their base of operations could be crucial to stopping them. How definitive is this lead Lucy is following?”

  She glanced at Walden. Pretty damn tenuous, if you asked her. At least the part about the Ripper’s HQ. Jenna was certain she’d found her bomber in Andre Stone.

  An idea occurred to her. Why couldn’t they find the cartel the same way?

  “Sir, if the Zapata’s base is in Homewood, I can find them.”

  Walden stared at her.

  “And just how the hell would you accomplish that, Galloway?” Greally’s voice whipped through the radio.

  “They wouldn’t be relying on cell communications. Too unreliable with the towers overloaded. And radio is too easy to intercept; they’d save that for team members during an operation. Just like we do when we’re in the field.”

  “Go on.”

  “They must be using secure satellite communications. If so, we might be able to track them.” Unfortunately there were a ton of variables and not a small amount of luck involved. But hell, if she could find Andre Stone in the haystack of leads David had given her, why not Zapata?

  There was a long pause as Greally weighed the possible risk to civilian lives if he allocated a handful of agents to work this tangent. “What would you need?”

  “Just give me Taylor,” Jenna said. “He can support me from the Federal Building with the High Tech Computer Crime resources.”

  Taylor’s muttered complaint about being pulled from the field was cut short by Greally. “You got it. Make sure you coordinate with Lucy. And keep me informed. We’re setting up a Command Center here. The governor is mobilizing the National Guard, so let me know as soon as we have a hard target.”

  They passed the rest of the stalled cars and reached the entrance to the tunnel. The mountain loomed overhead. Two lanes had been carved through it going in each direction. As Jenna suspected, there was a cop car pulled across both lanes. Probably another one out of sight at the entrance on the other side of the mountain.

  Cars were honking, blinking their high beams at the lone transit cop blocking their path. He looked tiny sandwiched between the yellow glow of the tunnel lights behind him and the blinding glare of the headlights before him. He stalked over to the Tahoe, one hand resting against the butt of his service weapon.

  Walden reached across Jenna and flashed his credentials. Good thing because Jenna doubted her US Postal Inspector badge would carry much weight.

  “We’re going through,” she shouted over the din, using her best impression of Lucy. “I’ve got a wounded agent here.”

  The cop hesitated, glancing at the empty tunnel as if worried one SUV might bring the mountain down. “I was told not to let anyone in until the bomb squad gave the all clear.”

  “Well, now you’ve been told differently. Out of the way.” Jenna gunned the engine.

  The cop jumped back, motioned them past, unleashing a new spate of angry shouts and car horns from the civilians. Jenna sensed growing panic from the crowd and wondered if it might not be safer to simply let them pass through the tunnel rather than risking a riot.

  The Tahoe roared through the empty tunnel, its lights and siren creating a weird strobe effect against the polished white tile walls. The sounds of the horns faded behind them.

  It was an eerie feeling traveling through the empty tunnel. What if there was a bomb? She shook the thought aside. Where would the Zapatas strike next? “Mumbai, that was like a dozen men?”

  “Ten,” Walden answered. “Held the city hostage for three days.”

  “At first it was like this? No one knowing who was in danger or who wasn’t, where to go, what place was safe…”

  He nodded grimly.

  “Three days.”

  “Over a hundred dead.”

  They cleared the tunnel and sped towards Oakland.

  “In Mumbai,” Taylor’s voice came through the radio once reception returned, uncannily following their line of thought, “the terrorists had an operation center across the border in Pakistan. They communicated via smart phones, taking photos of high profile targets, giving and receiving orders via text. Even Googled maps and used nav satellite data to coordinate attacks and evade the police.”

  “That’s a lot of assets in one area,” Walden said. “Do you think the Zapatas would keep their command center here in the city?”

  “That’s my point. Jenna, your intel might be leading you into a trap.”

  Not her. Lucy had assigned Jenna ambulance duty. But he had a point. “If so, Lucy and David Haddad are about to spring it.”

  Chapter 20

  Andre looked out the garage window. Mad Dog and one of his men stood guard outside the door. The large sliding door on the back wall didn’t have any windows but Andre was certain there’d be men watching the alley as well.

  Mexicans, Rippers, Gangstas, and Raziq. Recipe for a bloody disaster that could turn Ruby Avenue into Kandahar—with folks like Grams caught in the middle. He hoped Callahan got her to safety before the shooting started.

  Come home to Pittsburgh and the only person he could trust was his shrink. Had to be a lesson in that. But Callahan had done right by Andre so far. No way t
he VA was paying him for all the time he’d spent making house calls, setting up his hare-brained remote treadmill therapy sessions, checking in on Andre during his burn clinic visits. The Doc had always been there when Andre needed him, despite Andre’s best efforts to push him away.

  Callahan would keep Grams safe. Andre just had to believe that and focus on the job at hand. Getting himself and Raziq’s family to safety before Darius unleashed whatever hell he had planned for Ruby Avenue.

  They’d taken Andre’s pistol, but left him with his waist pack. And everything here in the garage to work with. He wondered about that. Simple overconfidence? Or did they really not think he posed any kind of threat?

  Wasn’t like Darius not to have a Plan B. And a guy to take the fall for him should anything go wrong. Andre had a feeling that was his role in this game, just like it had been when he was a kid running errands for the Rippers. Don’t worry, Darius would say. You’re under age, cops can’t do shit to you, you get caught.

  Maybe Darius was counting on Andre’s loyalty to the Rippers. Maybe that was why he’d left him with the cellphone. He dialed and redialed. Nothing was getting through. Not 911, the Doc, even Grams. We’re sorry all circuits are busy. Please try again. Must have something to do with the fires.

  He stared at Fatima and the baby, assessing his options now that he had two civilians to protect. The baby stared back then crinkled up his little round face and began screaming.

  Andre took a knee, bringing himself to Fatima’s eye level. “Assalamu alaikum.” He hoped his pronunciation was close; it’d been over two years since he’d used the greeting.

  Fatima bobbed her head in a shy nod, still not making eye contact as she patted the baby’s back. “Wa alaikum assalam.”

  “You have a beautiful baby. What’s his name?” Andre kept his voice soft, hoping the baby would respond, quiet down.

  “Ali.”

  “How old is he?”

  “Seven months.”

  Now for the tough questions. “Are you okay? Did they hurt you?”

  She shook her head, angling her body away from his as she tried and failed to calm the baby.

  Why wouldn’t the kid stop crying? “Is something wrong with him?”

  She looked down at the infant, not up at Andre. “Your face. It scares him.”

  Idiot. Of course it did. Even babies knew enough to be frightened of monsters. “I’m sorry.”

  He stood, turned his back, fished his mask from his pocket, and struggled to slip it on. Hard to do without a mirror to help. He had to realign it twice before it felt close to fitting properly. “Better?”

  Her expression said no, yet she nodded. “Thank you.”

  “We’re going to get out of here.” He hated making promises he couldn’t keep, but he needed her calm. “Tell me what happened. How did you end up here?”

  She stood, jostling the baby against her hip, angling the baby so he faced away from Andre. Finally the baby quieted, clutched her arm, and drifted asleep. Poor thing was probably exhausted, the way it’d been screaming. “Our driver didn’t take us home. He said my husband was waiting for us. But when he stopped, they—” She glanced toward the door. “Men, black men, they killed him. Made us come with them. Come here. Please, is my husband safe?”

  The irony behind that question choked Andre to silence. Yes, Raziq was safe—as long as he stayed away from here, from Andre. Raziq was safe while his wife and child were in Andre’s hands.

  He nodded. “As far as I know.”

  She looked at the phone in his hand. “Please. You call? Ask him to come get us?”

  Andre hesitated. Raziq was the last man on Earth he wanted to have a civilized conversation with. His business with Raziq was anything but civilized. Maybe that was why Darius had left him his phone—Darius wanted him to lure Raziq here. But they could have done that themselves, made Fatima call, set up a meet.

  His eyes burned as he tried in vain to make sense of it all. Finally he simply handed her the phone, let her dial then put it on speaker. Wouldn’t you know it, Fate smiled and the call went through, first try.

  A man’s voice said, “Raziq residence.”

  The woman jerked and shoved the phone at Andre. “Rashid Raziq, please.”

  “Ah, what is this in reference to?” The man talked fast, his voice pitched high with excitement. He sounded young, like a kid.

  “His wife would like to talk to him.”

  A pause before the man responded. “Who is this?”

  “Doesn’t matter.” Andre was getting impatient. Where the hell was Raziq? “Put Raziq on.”

  Another pause. “He’s not here. Could I speak to Mrs. Raziq?”

  Andre turned to Fatima. She was flushed, shaking her head no. “Mina,” she whispered. “I want to talk to Mina. My daughter.”

  “Is her daughter there? Mina? She’d like to talk to her.”

  “You sick bastard. What’s your game?”

  What the hell? Andre took the phone off speaker and raised it to his ear, moving a few steps away so that Fatima couldn’t hear. “I don’t know who you are or what’s going on, but I hope you can help. Mrs. Raziq and her son are being held against their will. They’re in a garage behind 411 Ruby Avenue. If her husband or daughter is there, it would be a comfort for her to speak with them.”

  “Are they okay?”

  “So far.”

  “Who are you?”

  What did it matter? “Just call the police. In the meantime, could she speak with her daughter?”

  “I am the police. And her daughters are dead, if you don’t already know that.”

  Andre froze, his entire body tensing. “What happened?”

  “How about you tell me.”

  Andre realized the cop was stringing him along, probably trying to trace the call or something. Fine by him. He wanted them found, sooner the better. But the cop sounded beyond stressed. His voice was high-pitched, rushed, like he was a kid left on his own for the first time. Young. He sounded young. “Look, I’m just an innocent bystander trying to help out. I don’t know anything.”

  “We’ll see about that, Andre Stone.”

  “Good for you, you can read caller ID. Now what are you going to do about getting this woman and her baby out of here?”

  “Where are you again?”

  “I told you. Ruby Avenue. Ripper hangout called Kujo’s.”

  Another pause. “Ripper territory.”

  The man was an idiot. Why did he make Andre repeat everything? “Yeah and they’re gearing up for war. You’d better send SWAT.”

  “Are you nuts? Do you have any idea what’s going on?”

  “What the hell you talking about?”

  “Cops all over the city are under attack,” the kid’s voice raised in anger. “Fire and EMS, too. We lost Dispatch, we lost 911, hell, the phones are only working half the time. We can’t even save our own people, in our own station houses, much less make it to Ruby Avenue.”

  Shit. The fires. Darius must be behind them. But what was his end game, attacking the cops? That was suicide. “You talk like there’s a war going on.”

  “That’s exactly right. War. And you, my friend, are smack dab in the center of enemy territory.”

  “So who are you sending?”

  A long pause. “I’m sorry. There is no one to send. No one’s coming any time soon.” The anonymous voice sounded genuinely sympathetic. “I’ll try to put a call in, maybe get a car over to you. But for the time being you’re on your own.”

  “A single car?” One cop up against Rippers cranked up and ready for war? “Don’t bother. They’ll be massacred.”

  “Best I can—” The call was dropped. Andre stared at the handset, unwilling to face Fatima and tell her her children were dead. Or that no one was coming to save her.

  He was Raziq's wife and son's only hope. Laughter from his dead squad roared through his brain.

  Andre had long ago figured out any god up there was a joker with a wicked sense of
humor, but this was taking things too far.

  “Please,” she said. “My husband, he is coming?”

  “Uh, no. He’s been detained,” Andre adlibbed.

  “Mina, my daughter?” Her eyes were tight with worry and he knew she knew something was wrong. How could she not after what she’d seen tonight? Hijacked, a man killed in front of her, held hostage.

  He sat down beside her on the cot. She shrank away. He hesitated, not sure where to look or what to do with his hands. He shouldn’t touch her, he knew that, but how could he just blurt out that her kids were dead without at least taking her hand?

  Finally he simply looked her in the eye and said, “I’m sorry. That was the police at your house. Your daughters are dead.”

  <><><>

  Channel 2 Breaking News:

  As the holiday season is upon us, Pittsburgh is experiencing anything but a silent night, holy night. In an unprecedented move, authorities have imposed an emergency curfew on the entire region.

  A spokesperson for the Mayor’s office told Channel 2 that unidentified gangs were responsible for the spate of bomb threats and shootings. She implied that drugs might be involved and reassured the public that the local police had matters under control.

  “Again, we want to make sure everyone understands that while we have things under control, we do ask that everyone in your viewing audience return home and stay there for the duration of the emergency. Police will need roads clear of all civilian traffic in order to respond as fast as possible. We apologize for any inconvenience but we’re sure that the citizens of Pittsburgh want to help us deal with these isolated incidents as quickly as possible.”

  Chapter 21

  “What’s the plan?” Haddad asked Lucy as they turned off the Busway.

  “I was hoping you had one,” she said only half jokingly. Two of them against Lord only knew what kind of opposition and civilians in the mix. “Turn left here.”

  “Is this even a road?” he asked as they bounced over pavement that was more dirt than macadam. They passed an auto body shop, a line of graffiti painted corrugated metal-walled buildings on one side and a faux-Tudor house, condemned and sagging off its foundation, on the other.