“What is Victor planning at Bryant Park?” Anvil asked, taking the stairs two at a time. “Do we know?”
“Mayhem and murder? His usual?”
“That will be the end result,” she said, rounding a corner. “What is the purpose?”
“Since when has Victor needed a purpose?” I asked, rubbing my nose against the overpowering smell of disinfectant. “Have to tell maintenance to cut back on the bleach. Clean is good, but this isn’t a hospital.”
“Victor always needed a purpose, a justification—always,” Anvil said, unsheathing her knives as we reached the lowest level.
“For him, it was usually money,” I replied, taking shallow breaths. “Victor isn’t that complicated.”
“Don’t make the same mistake HALO is making. Think. This is Victor. He always acts with an agenda.”
She was right. Victor was a homicidal madman, but he was a madman who always felt he had a reason to be that way. In his mind, the ends justified the means, even if that meant the death of innocents.
His words rushed back: In today’s world, no one is an innocent, no one a neutral. Inaction is an action. Indifference is inexcusable, and silence is complicity. You are either oppressed or with the oppressors. Me? I prefer to destroy the status quo.
“We need more intel,” I said, drawing my gun. “We don’t know why he’s planning on hitting Bryant Park.”
“What does he want more than anything?”
“Chaos,” I answered. “He wants to prove that no one is safe. That it’s all pretend. The population is being lulled into a false sense of trust and security.”
We headed down the corridor that led to the power plant. The reinforced steel door at the end secured the power plant area.
“Correct. How would you do it?” Anvil asked. “How would you erode that trust?”
“I’d hit vulnerable targets first, the ones people don’t think can be hit.”
“Those are hard targets for a reason,” Anvil said. “Stop thinking like you, think like him. Out of all of us, you know him the best, and are the most like him.”
“Thank you…I think.”
She pointed to the floor near the edge of the door frame. A thin wire, nearly invisible, rested near the door. If this was Black Wolf, it was misdirection. I looked closer and saw the second wire across the top.
“It seems to be some kind of failsafe,” she said. “I can probably disable it. Give me a second.”
Both were designed to throw us off. I grabbed Anvil by the arm as she moved closer to examine the door, pulling her back. I pointed out the barely visible pressure plate in front of the door with wires leading up the wall and into the brick next to the door. Knowing Victor, one of those bricks was a shaped charge designed to shred us to small, bloody, unrecognizable parts.
We backpedaled slowly and headed out of the corridor.
“Like I was saying,” Anvil said, flexing her jaw and narrowing her eyes at the deadly trap. “You know him best.”
“Backup entrance,” I said, moving out of the corridor. “This is meant to slow us down.”
“It was too obvious,” Anvil said, looking around. “He wants to delay us.”
“It’s working,” I said, sniffing the air. “What’s that smell?”
Behind us, the sound of hissing filled the corridor. I stopped and made a move to look back when Anvil redirected me to the nearby stairwell.
Anvil sniffed the air and scrunched up her nose. “That’s the smell of us getting the hell out of here. Now!”
“Smells like sulfuric acid—” I started as she slammed the stairwell door closed, pointing to the stairs.
“Move your ass, Shep!”
“That bastard. It had to be on a timed release when we didn’t trip the charge. Fucking clever.”
“You can admire his homicidal ingenuity later,” she snapped. “Right now, we need to go. Bleach and sulfuric acid…”
“Holy hell,” I said, heading up the stairs. “That’s bad.”
“No shit, get moving!”
She shoved me forward, as yellow mist crept out from under the door.
We were racing up the stairs when the lower level erupted.
NINE
Anvil ran up the stairs. I pumped my legs faster, as a toxic inferno formed beneath me. Bleach and sulfuric acid are easy to deal with independently; together, they are dangerous. When mixed, the reaction is explosive, releasing intense amounts of heat. Heat, that was barbecuing my back as the chemical fire raced up the stairs behind me.
“Everyone out of the building…now!” I yelled over the com, trying to calm the urgency in my voice. “Quemi, we have a chemical fire in the lower level—bleach and sulfuric acid. Any ideas?”
“Yes. Get out. I’ll let the first responders know what they’re facing, when they arrive. I’m heading to R2.”
“Can’t you get enough of Banshee online to deal with it?”
“No,” she answered. “I’m showing the power plant has suffered a catastrophic failure. No power plant, no Banshee. What happened?”
“Someone left us a message.”
“That’s some message,” Quemi replied. “I don’t have anything to deal with a sodium hypochlorite sulfuric acid mix. What were you doing down there?”
“Not enough,” I uttered under my breath. “Fuck.”
“Nothing you could have done would have altered the outcome,” Anvil said, sheathing her blades. “This building is not RHINOS. It’s not who we are.”
“I know,” I said, securing the stairwell fire door behind me and looking around. “It still pisses me off. I was just getting used to this HQ.”
“Let’s secure the weapons we can and evacuate.” Anvil looked at the door. “The fire won’t be contained for long by those doors without Banshee’s suppression system.”
“Q, did everyone get out?” I asked, concerned. “How far along are you in securing Banshee?”
“All personnel are en route to R2,” Quemi answered. “Security took out the trash and dumped them a few blocks from Front Street. Banshee’s main processor is online at R2. We’ll meet you there.”
“Everyone rally on The Tank and head to R2. Bella, get everyone out, even if you have to create a new exit,” I said. “Anvil and I will secure what we can from the cache and load the Armadillo.”
The Armadillo wasn’t as robust as The Tank. It had thinner armor and was based on the frame of the 2019 Ford Bronco Concept vehicle. It had six-inch doors and plexan glass windows that were capable of stopping .44 caliber rounds. The body was three inches of military-grade armor, including armored floor plates. All of this sat on support ring run-flat tires that could go two hundred miles before needing a replacement.
The offensive capabilities were state-of-the-art. A six barrel mini-Gatling gun could periscope to the roof with a remote HUD. It was also equipped with night vision cameras, firefighting equipment, and the ability to be hermetically sealed with a self-contained environment.
It was basically a mini version of The Tank, but faster. Much faster.
We reached the weapons cache. Many of the weapons were gone. I checked the experimental area and noticed the two sonic sniper rifles were gone. I could only assume Bella and the team had loaded them up. Quemi would never leave those weapons behind.
I removed some of the larger rifles and placed several large crates of ammunition outside in the corridor. The ammo was important. The weapons weren’t essential, but having them made me feel better. Most of the experimental ammo was gone, except for a few last crates.
“That’s it,” Anvil said. “Fire is getting too close, and they took the essential weapons. The ammo comes with us, but those weapons will just take up space, Shep.”
She was right. I was being nostalgic. I tossed the weapons to one side and loaded up the ammo crates.
“We can’t leave this ammo,” I said, stacking the crates in the rear of the Armadillo. “Quemi will kill me if I forget these.”
“She will most c
ertainly make the attempt,” Anvil said, grabbing one of the crates. “Let’s load up the remaining ammunition and go.”
With the last crate secured, she jumped into the Armadillo, putting on the specially designed glasses. She strapped in her seat harness and activated the Gatling gun HUD.
“You expecting a hostile escort?” I asked, looking at her as she tested the gun and tracking radius. “I don’t think—”
“Better to have it and not need it, than need it and not have it.”
I nodded and jumped into the Armadillo with a grunt. The engine roared to life with the press of a button after the biometric scanner read my fingerprint. It settled into a throaty purr as I climbed up the ramp and out onto the street. The sound of sirens filled the air as I sped away from our HQ.
TEN
“Boss, we have a problem,” Cans said over the com. “Someone just took out Union Square.”
Anvil gave me a sharp glance as I took a breath.
“Union Square? Clarify. The park? The station? The entire neighborhood? Which part? How long ago?”
Union Square was the rectangular neighborhood from 14th to 18th Street, and from 5th Avenue to Irving Place. The centerpiece of the neighborhood was Union Square Park. Beneath the park was a large underground hub allowing eight subway lines to serve over one hundred thousand people daily.
“Twenty minutes ago, the 14th Street station on the Lexington Avenue line was reduced to rubble,” Cans answered. “Massive casualties. Numbers are still coming in.”
“The entire station?” I asked, thinking about the amount of explosives required to bring down that part of the station. “What kind of explosives?”
“This is where it goes from a problem…to our problem,” Cans answered, his voice grim. “It wasn’t an explosion, it was an implosion.”
“We have company,” Anvil said, switching on some screens in front of her. “It looks like a HALO van, but it’s alone.”
I checked the rearview mirror and saw the unmarked van keeping pace.
“One van?” I asked, accelerating. “Seems underwhelming. Keep an eye on it. Let’s see if they are really following us.”
“Of course.” Anvil nodded and primed the mini-Gatling. “If they are hostile, it won’t be for long.”
“I said ‘keep an eye on it’, not ‘shred it.’”
“This is just in case it goes from one van to a full pursuit maneuver.”
“Continue, Cans,” I said, shaking my head. “Implosion?”
“You two good?” Bella asked. “I could ride out there and play ‘crush the HALO’, if you need.”
“Everything is icy,” I said. “Make sure Banshee covers R2. All defenses online. I don’t want another breach. I’m going to see what HALO wants.”
Cans cleared his voice with a cough. “Get to the point, Cans,” I said, swerving around some taxicabs. “Anvil, get me a route to the Westside. One that doesn’t jam me up.”
She started typing on her keyboard, pulling up maps.
“Maiden Lane to Church Street, then right on Fulton. Little to no traffic.”
I swerved onto Maiden Lane as Cans’ voice came over the com.
“Witnesses to the event said they felt a tremor before the station collapsed,” Cans continued. “Considering we’re on Manhattan schist, even though it’s farther underground in the area, earthquakes aren’t the norm. I ran some of the footage from nearby cameras—sending it to the Armadillo now.”
“Shit,” I heard Anvil say under her breath. “This is bad. So many dead.”
“Damn,” Bella said. “How often do earthquakes hit New York that hard?”
“They don’t,” Cans answered. “Not at that intensity. This was a very targeted seven on the Richter scale. Confined to just that location.”
“Damage pattern, Cans?” I asked, keeping an eye on the van behind us. “Why are we this concerned about an earthquake? It’s rare, but not impossible.”
“You’ve seen this damage pattern before, boss. Epicenter with massive destruction, then ripples of damage in a semicircular pattern from the point of origin.”
My blood became ice at his words. I knew the answer, but needed to make sure.
“Where?”
“Turkey. This earthquake was caused artificially…with an Earthquaker.”
“Same damage pattern?”
“Identical.”
“Dark coms, now,” I said, touching my earpiece. “Shit. Are you sure?”
“I thought the Earthquaker plan was scrapped?” Bella asked, as I heard the mini-Gatling start warming up. Anvil pressed a button, and it rose up several feet. “Those things were supposed to be too hard to control.”
“Seems like someone disagreed with that assessment,” I said.
“You’d better call HALO,” Anvil said. “Before I reduce this van to scrap metal.”
“Cans, get Bullock on the com,” I said. “By now, they’ll think we have something to do with this attack.”
“Except we didn’t,” Bella shot back. “This just happened…we were busy getting out of our HQ.”
“We were the only ones to ever use Earthquakers in the field,” I replied, pulling into an empty lot. “I have a feeling the van following us is a real indication HALO thinks we’re involved in some way. Scramble the defenses at R2. Nobody in or out.”
“It’s a no-go on contacting Bullock, boss. He’s not taking any calls.”
“No need to contact him,” I said, getting out of the Armadillo, but leaving it running. “It looks like we’re about to have a conversation.”
“You better do it fast,” Cans answered. “CITADEL is on its way to you. They seem to be tracking the signal that van is transmitting.”
“ETA?”
“Twenty minutes, on the outside.”
ELEVEN
Bullock stepped out of the van and kept his hands where I could see them. Smart move. The Gatling gun on the roof of the Armadillo tracked him as he approached.
He gave it a nervous glance as he raised his hands.
“I wouldn’t make any sudden movements,” I said. “Anvil is in a foul mood and looking for a reason…or a target.”
He glanced at the Gatling gun again.
“Point taken,” Bullock said, lowering his arms slowly. “We need to talk.”
I let my hand rest on my Chameleon and set my com to scramble the dark frequency with a touch. Only my team could hear us now. HALO was known for having next-gen tech. I wasn’t going to take any chances with him.
“So, talk.”
His next sentence would determine if he was part of the frame. If he was, I’d let Anvil wing him. Although, neither Gatling guns nor Anvil were designed for glancing shots. Still, if he framed us—he deserved an angry Anvil.
“CITADEL is on its way,” Bullock said, looking at my hand. “Lydia wants your head on a pole, and some of the brass at HALO agree.”
“Must be my charming personality.”
“You have about fifteen before she gets here.” He looked down at his watch.
“How would she know to be here?”
“I work at HALO, but I work directly for Adams,” Bullock said. “There’s a difference, and you know it. Despite that, CITADEL is tracking me—the new guy with questionable motives. They just don’t know that I know.”
There was a difference. It meant Adams trusted Bullock and suspected a mole in HALO—which suddenly explained a few things, starting with the breach at our HQ.
“You’re taking a serious risk if she catches you here. You should cut and run—while you can.”
“Adams sent me to warn you.”
“That bought you another five minutes of my time,” I said. “Cut to the chase. I’d rather not have to shoot Lydia today.”
“You and your team have a problem.”
“CITADEL is the least of our worries,” I said. “Who else is dealing with Union Square?”
“You heard?” The surprise in his voice seemed genuine. “That was…fast.”
“Yes.” I gave him a hard stare. “Someone just melted my HQ and tried to melt me and my team in the process.” I pointed over to the smoky cloud some distance away. “Unless you have a point, this is the part where I drive away. Thanks for the heads up about Lydia. Next time, text me.”
“Aren’t you curious how I tracked you?”
I started turning away and stopped.
“Actually, yes I am. How did you find me?”
“ELF wavelengths are almost impossible to detect,” Bullock said. “Unless you know what to look for. I know what to look for.”
“I’m listening.”
“I’m not,” he said. “I can’t hear what you say, but I know when the frequency is being used. Your method is clever, but not foolproof.”
I heard Quemi curse under her breath over the com.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I said. “What does Adams want?”
“Of course, you don’t,” he said. “HALO thinks you destroyed the subway.”
“The subway?” I asked, looking off to the side. “I heard that was an earthquake. Happens all of the time—all over the world.”
“Not in this city. This one was different—special.”
“My team is good. But we aren’t that good. We don’t go around causing acts of God.”
“HALO disagrees.”
“And Adams?”
“I think my presence here answers that question.”
“Why does HALO think we’re responsible?” I asked. “We’ve been a little busy trying to not die in a chemical fire. We didn’t have time to start an earthquake, even if we could.”
“They evaluated the attack on my team—your ‘audition’ as you call it,” Bullock started. “No one else knew about our meet. I filled out the standard incident report because of the casualties and might have mentioned that detail.”
Typical bureaucrat: always covering their asses.
“You mean, you hung us out to dry while covering your ass,” I said, letting the edge enter my voice. “You’re doing a piss-poor job of convincing me not to shoot you.”
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