Blood and Ashes jh-5

by Matt Hilton

  ‘Vince tried that already,’ I said.

  Vince got up from his chair, muscling between us to stand alongside Walter. ‘I have inside knowledge on their hangouts, it’s worth a try.’

  ‘What’s the likelihood of any of them being there, seeing as Hicks now realises you were a plant? They’ll have abandoned all the places that you were familiar with. Moved on.’

  ‘Not so many places a gang of skinheads can congregate without someone noticing,’ Rink offered.

  ‘I already thought of that and have the NYPD keeping a lookout.’ Walter glanced over his shoulder as one of his computers chimed the signal for an incoming message. He ignored it. ‘We’ve also coordinated with the Anti-Defamation League to see if they can give us any up-to-date information on the racist skinhead movement. SHARP is helping us too.’

  ‘Sharp?’

  Vince offered an explanation. ‘Skinheads Against Racial Prejudice. Anti-racist skins, if you can believe such a thing exists?’

  ‘I can believe it,’ I said. The skinhead movement began back in the UK. Originally it had nothing at all to do with racism and hatred; it was a working-class social commentary, all about pride and respect. As a youth, I’d even dabbled in the scene before the National Front and BNP subverted the movement to their blinkered way of thinking. Here in the US, the neo-Nazi organisations had taken on the uniform of shaven head and braces, the Doc Marten boots, and had twisted it until anyone with less than flowing locks was now looked on as a thug. As a Para, there had been times when I was on the wrong end of abuse, simply because I had a military haircut. I didn’t react to the baiting, because my accusers spoke from ignorance. Even now, most people didn’t know that there were skins out there who held to the original values: decent, law-abiding people who hated their bonehead contemporaries.

  ‘What about Homeland Security?’

  ‘They’re concentrating on the other angle,’ Walter said.

  ‘Any proof in it yet?’

  ‘They tracked an incoming Russian freighter. Preliminary tests on board the ship have proved negative, but they can’t be sure. The captain swore ignorance but did admit to having brought a small group of passengers from Vladivostok. They jumped ship to a private vessel thirty miles offshore at Montauk, Long Island. Homeland and the CIA are currently studying satellite imagery to validate and track the trajectory of this phantom boat. We should have the results through soon.’ Walter studied the tip of his cigar like it was a divining tool that would offer up all the answers. ‘They’re treating this as serious, Hunter. The passengers were all North Korean and they made no secret of their hatred of the USA. They were carrying a “very heavy” box between them when they disembarked at Montauk.’

  ‘It’s a lead-lined box?’ I asked. ‘Then the probability is that they have supplied Hicks just as Lloyd warned.’

  Walter nodded glumly. ‘That’s the problem with allowing the Koreans to continue running their nuclear programme. We can never be sure that their due diligence process will be as stringent as ours. If Lloyd was right and there is a black market trade in by-products, well, I hate to think what that means.’

  ‘Lloyd was more specific than that. He said that Hicks wanted a plutonium isotope. If they’ve got their hands on the makings of an atomic bomb… Jesus.’

  Walter’s eyes clouded as though searching distant memories and finding nothing he liked. ‘You ask me, Hicks doesn’t have the technology or expertise for that. But it doesn’t really matter.’

  ‘Not when they have the makings of a dirty bomb,’ I finished for him. ‘Can you imagine the devastation that could cause on this island?’

  ‘If we don’t find him soon, we won’t have to imagine anything.’

  Back in my days with Arrowsake I’d been put through an ABC warfare survival training programme. It comprised a number of technical sessions, interminable hours of videotaped instructions delivered by a morose voice-over. By the time it was finished I’d gained a multitude of injections jabbed into my veins and the knowledge that without the full protection of a hazmat suit I’d be fucked whether in the blast zone or not. If Hicks’ plan came to fruition, Manhattan wasn’t going to be the place to be for decades to come.

  A few days ago, running through the woods and cutting down my enemies, now that was my idea of combat, not being torn apart from within by a creeping isotope infecting my cells with cancer. I stole a glance at Rink. My friend shouldn’t have been here, he should’ve been back in the relative safety of Florida, but I wouldn’t say as much; Rink would be offended, and stick around out of sheer stubbornness.

  ‘We’d best get looking,’ I said.

  ‘There’s a place on Forty-Third Street I’d like to check, where some of Sam Gant’s buddies used to hang out,’ Vince said. ‘Maybe we can squeeze a location out of them that we aren’t already aware of.’

  ‘I’m all for squeezing,’ Rink said. ‘Lead the way, Special Agent.’

  I was all for getting moving. The longer we dallied here the easier it was for Hicks to put his plan into motion. But bashing in the door of a skinhead clubhouse wasn’t the way. Anyone who was important to Hicks’ plan would be working from a strict set of instructions, primarily one that demanded total secrecy. Smacking heads would alleviate some of our frustration, but that would be all. Time was too short for that. Maybe even too short for me to make a phone call.

  My relationship with Imogen Ballard was one we both recognised as being a shared convenience of comfort and friendship. When we first made love, I had wondered if she thought of her lost lover the way I did of her sister, Kate. But had her memory faded, and when we were together, did she now lose herself totally in me the way I’d reciprocated of late? I knew that I loved her, not with the full-on passion I’d found with Kate, or the lifetime devotion I felt for my ex-wife, Diane, but I loved her nonetheless. The least she deserved was a goodbye.

  Rink was already moving for the door, Vince wavering because Walter hadn’t yet given the go-ahead. I took the moment of indecision to feel for the mobile phone in my pocket. Both the phones were there — the one Vince supplied and the pre-paid I’d purchased, and I rolled them between my fingers. If I phoned Imogen then what was I going to say? Hi, babe, sorry but I won’t be coming to Maine next week like we planned, cause I’ll probably be dead by then! Did I just tell her something had come up, a matter of life and death… probably mine and about a million others? But then where did the farewells end? I also wanted to speak with Diane, ask her about Hector and Paris, my dogs. Tell her to give them a hug for me, tell her I still loved her despite what had happened between us. My mother, Anita, and stepdad, Bob, they deserved a goodbye too, as did my brother, John, if I could even find him. Harvey Lucas, Don Griffiths, Millie, Beth and Ryan, the list went on. For such a solitary person I had a lot of people who turned out to mean a great deal to me.

  Too many and too little time. The phones fell back into my jacket pocket. The only way I would see any of them again was if I stopped Hicks and his monstrous plan.

  I moved to follow Rink. One of Walter’s computers chimed another incoming message, and in the sudden silence it sounded more insistent than the one before. Walter grunted, stepping round the back of his desk, and I watched his face, sensing that the message just might be the lead we all needed.

  A shadow of a smile flickered at the corner of Walter’s mouth.

  ‘They’ve found him?’

  ‘No,’ Walter said. ‘But we’ve got a location on those who may have supplied him the plutonium. The FBI has them under observation in a titty bar on the Lower East Side.’ Walter tapped keys furiously, replying to the message. ‘I’ve told the team to hold back till you’re finished with them. If we want to know exactly what it is we’re up against we have to find out what they’ve supplied to Hicks. The way I see it: we haven’t time for the normal mode of lawful interrogation.’ Walter allowed his last words to hang between us.

  The message rang loud and clear.

  Chapter 37

/>   In the packed streets, men and women hailed each other, shaking hands, exchanging hugs, laughing and dancing jigs to their own music. Some held Graggers — noise sticks not unlike soccer rattles — which they shook in time with their laughter, adding to the general air of festivity. Many wore fancy dress, while others were happier with their everyday garb, predominantly black, but joining in the celebratory joy just the same.

  It made sense.

  The Purim Feast is an important public holiday in the Jewish calendar, marked by the exchange of gifts, feasting and general wine-induced merriment, a time for people to let their hair down and enjoy themselves. Traditionally celebrated in the Hebrew month of Adar, it was a feast to mark the liberation of the Jews from their Persian overlords, when Esther outwitted the wicked Haman and led the Jews to victory over their persecutors.

  It was the ideal time for Hicks to cause havoc and add validity to his statement to the government, more so when this year the fifteenth of Adar corresponded with today. Added to that he had found the ideal location. Lincoln Square between West Sixty-Sixth and Seventy-Seventh Streets on Amsterdam Avenue gave him everything he required. Here were the West End and Lincoln Square Synagogues, the Chabad of the West Sixties, all destinations of the Jewish community during this festive time. Nearby were schools, both Juilliard and La Guardia, which could only cause even more terror and confusion.

  He thought of Kristallnacht, and how he’d planned his own night of broken glass, and decided that his original plan of detonating a bomb in Times Square would have held nowhere near the significance it would here in the heart of the Jewish community. Here and now was more befitting his character and his message. Forget Crystal Night, this would be his Day of Broken Spirits.

  Feeling that there was no time like the present, he thumbed the button on his cell phone. A corresponding cell began to ring in a parked vehicle at the intersection of Sixty-Eighth and Amsterdam, but no one could hear it over the simultaneous percussive roar of flame and debris blossoming between the buildings. Carried on the super-heated wind was Hicks’ statement to the world.

  Chapter 38

  ‘Let’s hope that it’s nothing more serious than a car smash.’

  Squinting over Vince’s shoulder, I saw the traffic coming to a shuddering halt and I didn’t think a collision was the reason for this sudden hiccup to the flow of yellow cabs and limousines that normally hurtled along here. ‘Unless there’s an accident on the other carriageway as well, I wouldn’t bank on it, Vince.’

  The cars on our left were also coming to a stop, and their drivers were fiddling with the buttons on their car radios, dawning shock and disbelief on their features.

  ‘Holy crap,’ Rink moaned. ‘You think we’re too late? It’s happened already?’

  We were passengers in the back of Vince’s government car, Vince driving. We were on FDR Drive between the twin spans that arched over the East River towards Brooklyn Heights. On Manhattan Bridge the traffic heading on to the island was coming to a standstill and if I bothered to turn my head, I was sure that Brooklyn Bridge would paint a like picture. The only discernible movement was on those lanes of the bridge heading out of the city, and if anything they were speeding up as people realised they should make themselves scarce as rapidly as possible. As with any traffic jam, the air was filled with honking horns and racing engines. People were shouting wordlessly, some in frustration but others in anger or dismay.

  I dropped a window and smelled the tang of exhaust fumes, wondered if that was all the poison that the air held. From a distance came the wail of multiple sirens, first responders heading to a scene of catastrophe. ‘Turn the radio on.’

  Vince did and the voice of an announcer cut into the middle of an R amp;B track to confirm out worst fears. A bomb had exploded in the Jewish quarter at Lincoln Square. Details were sketchy, but preliminary reports said an improvised explosive device in the trunk of a stationary vehicle had detonated causing chaos and destruction. Casualties were in their dozens, but as of that time fatalities were unconfirmed by the police. The announcer suggested what everyone else must have been considering: that this was a second wave of attack launched by al-Qaeda or another radical-fundamentalist Muslim cell. The police were coordinating an immediate evacuation of the surrounding area, the announcer said in a grave voice, for fear that further devices were timed to explode.

  ‘That’s the lie they’re telling people? More bombs? They’re evacuating ’cause of the goddamn fallout.’ Rink shifted in his seat as if he wanted to climb out of the car. It wasn’t through fear of being irradiated, but from a need to put an end to this inaction. I knew exactly how he felt.

  Cars were jammed to the front and back of us, and to all sides. ‘We’re going to have to find another way up town.’

  Vince shook his head, as he started to lay his hand on the horn. ‘You honestly want to be anywhere near Lincoln Square? You’re crazy, Hunter.’

  ‘I’m not talking about going to Lincoln Square. We still have to get to the Koreans.’

  ‘Don’t you think that’s pointless now? Considering how Hicks has already detonated the bomb?’

  ‘Those bastards brought their poison here. They’re as responsible for this as Hicks is.’

  ‘We can leave them to the FBI,’ Vince said. By the look of him his plans didn’t include staying on the island for much longer.

  Rink touched my wrist. He held my gaze like we were children making a lifelong pact. ‘Brother, if that bomb was laced with radiation we’re already fucked. We might as well get a little payback before we start rotting.’

  ‘I’m with you,’ I said.

  ‘We should concentrate on Hicks!’ Vince twisted round so that he could look at us, his face stricken with anger. My take on it was that the young man was panicking as the truth of the situation began to dawn on him. If we stayed on the island, we were probably committing ourselves to a slow and painful death.

  ‘You heard what Walter said. We have to find out how much isotope he had with him. That’s our mission Vince, now suck it up.’

  Rink rumbled, ‘We’ll still get our chance at Hicks. You don’t think he was standing near to where the bomb went off, do you? He’s positioned himself upwind of the explosion, but my guess is he’s close enough to see the consequences.’

  ‘That’s quite a goddamned supposition,’ Vince said.

  ‘Would you want to be standing in the way of a dust cloud laced with plutonium?’ I demanded. ‘The wind’s blowing towards the north-east. If Hicks doesn’t want to get irradiated along with everyone else, my guess is he’s not a million miles away from where we’re going now.’

  ‘Have you seen the road?’ Vince indicated the jam of cars all around us. ‘We won’t be going anywhere soon.’

  ‘Jesus,’ Rink said. ‘What kinda lame-asses are Arrowsake employing these days?’ He stabbed a finger into Vince’s forehead, none too gently. ‘Don’t you have the capacity to improvise? Use your head, boy, cause there’s always more ways to get to where you’re going than swanning around in limo-fuckin-sines.’

  Stretching over the seat, I dug in the young agent’s pocket. ‘Give me your badge, Vince.’

  ‘Hey! What do you think you’re doing?’

  Snatching the FBI ID badge from his pocket, I threw open the door. ‘I’m improvising.’

  I approached two men on motorcycles who had been weaving through the stalled traffic, stepped in their way, forcing them to stop, and held up Vince’s badge. Rink clambered out of the limousine, Vince calling after him. ‘Hey, I can’t just abandon a government vehicle like this. They’ll have my ass if it doesn’t go back in one piece.’

  Rink leaned back inside. ‘So stay here. Leave what needs doin’ to someone who gives a shit.’

  Cowed, Vince came out of the car, jabbing numbers into his phone. I didn’t know who Vince was calling — and I didn’t really care. Vince swore as he listened to what was most likely a recorded announcement stating his call couldn’t be connected. All ove
r Manhattan other callers would be getting the same message as telecommunication systems overloaded. Vince returned to the car and used the satellite phone instead.

  When he came out, we were straddling the two motorcycles while their owners stood kicking at the road surface in bewilderment.

  ‘What about me?’ Vince asked.

  ‘Get on the back,’ Rink said. ‘Or stay with the car, the choice is yours.’

  Vince took one last forlorn glance at the Lincoln, then he climbed on the motorbike and wrapped his arms round Rink’s middle. ‘Y’know,’ Rink grinned, ‘I always wanted to commandeer a vehicle like you see the cops do in the TV shows.’

  We set off, weaving our way through the stalled traffic. Some drivers had left their vehicles and were standing in the road, hands on hips or shadowing their eyes as they sought some sign of the catastrophe a couple miles away. We shouted at them to move. A few cars picked up scratches as we squeezed through. There was a bottleneck where the jam had bunched up at the intersection for the Williamsburg Bridge, but then we found a clear stretch and hit the throttle, making up ground. At a turn-off I went right, swooping back under FDR Drive with Rink and Vince hurtling along behind. We skipped through service alleys, dodging parked vehicles and dumpsters, and came out on to surface streets that would take us back to Delancey where the Red Moon Club awaited.

  As we sped along, I thought about how this entire thing had started with a red moon over Bedford Well; now I was approaching another. I considered how symbolic that might be: would this be where the trail ended for me? Only one way to find out, I decided.

  The news of the bombing in Lincoln Square had apparently reached the interior of the go-go bar, bringing a halt to the proceedings as even the scantily clad dancers had jumped down off bar-tops to stare at TV sets or to try phoning home. Some had tried leaving the bar, to find that they had been blocked by a cordon of FBI agents and NYPD cruisers. The customers and staff were in a mild panic, which had grown ten times worse when the small group of Koreans realised who the real prisoners here were. By the time we arrived, the scene had descended into chaos.