The next thing I remember was opening my eyes and seeing nothing but black. That panicked me a little. I blinked twice, and the black veil lifted, only to be replaced by uniform white. This troubled me even more, until the noises of the place imposed themselves over my confused thoughts.
Someone was moaning, and off in one corner I could faintly hear crying. I looked around at the scene before me, grateful that I had my eyesight back. This was a hospital, white walls contrasting with the suffering below them.
The moaning came from a man lying against the wall. His head, sporting a nasty gash from ear to Adam's apple, was supported by one hand. A couple lay huddled together, holding each other tightly as if afraid of being separated. They were the ones I had heard crying.
This was the hospital waiting room, and it was packed. Barely a square centimetre of floor was unoccupied. All the seats were taken by what appeared to be the more seriously injured. Many others lay on the floor. Medics and nurses knelt beside them to determine their degree of injury before rapidly passing on.
What was I doing here? I tried to stand up, but a strong hand pulled me gently back. Maria leaned forward and whispered to me.
"Easy now, Hugh. You've probably got a concussion or something."
"From what? I've got a damaged leg, a busted arm, and a shoulder that's numb, but I never got hit in the head."
"But you passed out on us twice."
"Put that down to fatigue and stress. I'm feeling fine. The nurses have more important things to do than look at me." As I spoke I waved my hand lazily about the room.
"It's best not to take any chances."
"You mean you brought me here just to be examined by a doctor?"
"Yes. You need a plaster cast."
"Alone?"
"No. Michaux came with me. And he came with two of his men."
I stood up sharply, shaking off Maria's arm. "Where is he? I've got a bone to pick with him."
Maria scowled at me angrily, but forced me to wait until we were admitted to the emergency room. The nurses, obviously rushed off their feet, quickly bandaged me and made a cast for my arm. They completely ignored me when I winced. I tried to make a fuss, but the head nurse turned on me and told me that my injury was minor compared to most of the patients who had come in during the day. Properly scolded, I let them finish without talking further.
When they had finished, though, I insisted on seeing Michaux. Maria must have caught a whiff of my resolve, because she immediately led me out and down a corridor. At the far end was the reception. That was full of people, too, and a lot noisier than the waiting room.
She stopped beside the public phone booths, and glared at me. Michaux was busy in the second one. His men were standing guard behind him, scanning the crowd. When he saw me, he handed the phone to one of his men. "Hugh, just the man I need--"
I interrupted him. "Hang on a minute. What's the idea of bringing me here? I'm feeling fine."
He raised his hands in submission "Okay. Okay. I can see that. My mistake. Sorry." He was about to continue, but I had opened my mouth to speak. "Okay, Hugh. You've got a question? Out with it."
I only had one question, and he had dealt with that promptly. He had pulled the rug out from under me. I didn't relish the idea of passing for a troublesome fool. I wracked my brains for a question. "Why are you using the public phones? Doesn't your GSM work anymore?"
Probably because he expected something more urgent to be on my mind, he laughed. "Don't tell me you've forgotten that we don't want anyone using them anymore?"
Of course. The bombs with their beepers.
"In any case," Michaux continued, "you can't use a GSM in a hospital. They interfere with the medical equipment. Is that all you wanted?"
I nodded sheepishly.
"Good. Now, listen carefully." He checked the corridor to make sure no one was listening in. "There were four pieces to the laser." Michaux waited for confirmation, which I gave him by nodding. "Assuming at least five men to retrieve one piece, that makes twenty. Right? We have twenty of Wellens' men to catch, in a city in full gridlock. Any ideas?"
Michaux's man grabbed the mouthpiece of the phone, and whispered, "We've got some. Downstairs."
Michaux spun round. "What do you mean?"
"Sir. All bodies are being sent here to this hospital. They are storing them in the underground car park for the moment. As you requested, the backup squad has started work. They are searching through the city for bodies. All those found on bikes or near them are being tagged. Two orderlies are in the car park sifting through them, sorting out those who had bikes or helmets."
"How come they're all dead?"
"Some of them got themselves killed in simple accidents. Four of them died at the site of one of the buildings the OPA destroyed. From what I could make out, it has something to do with punctured tires and large glass fragments. Not a nice way to go. Those are probably innocent victims of the OPA. Four of them have bullet holes in them. However, we got a call from someone who reported two bikers, shooting at each other, outside a warehouse. We found twenty bodies inside."
I laughed nervously. "Could that be Stephane's doing?"
"Possibly. They tried to double-cross him. He's getting his own back. That means they were more than twenty. At least twenty-two, including Stephane. And probably, the four downstairs to add to the total." Turning to me, he said, "Hugh, you stay here. We're going down to inspect the bodies. Maria, will you take him to the security room? Then join me downstairs."
Two doors down the corridor, she stopped and rapped sharply on the door. A uniformed guard opened up. She showed him her police ID, and said, "Could you keep this guy here for a while? He's a friend."
"Certainly, Sergeant." She left me there to join Michaux.
As I entered, I noticed the sign on the door. Security room. No unauthorised entry.
The guard closed the door, and ushered me to a chair. Once I was seated, he extended his hand, and said, "I'm Louis."
"Hugh. Pleased to meet you."
Around the walls were banks and banks of TV screens. All the entrances and exits were covered, and most main corridors had surveillance cameras fixed on them. The maternity ward was riddled with cameras. There were so many of them that the TV screens for that ward took up one whole wall.
For years, there had been many widely reported incidents in hospitals, such as baby snatching, theft of blood and drugs. For once the media, by picking up on these events, had played an important role in increasing security inside hospitals. The end result was this security room, manned by alert security guards.
It took me a while to locate the camera for the underground car park. It looked like nothing less than a war zone, with rows and rows of bodies lined up with a flimsy sheet covering the faces. Two orderlies came into the picture carrying a stretcher between them with a limp body on it.
In the far corner, another orderly, one with a very strong build, was dragging a body across to a row of corpses against the wall, four of which still wore motorbike helmets. Two other helmets lay beside them. The right hands of all the bodies were lying on top of each other.
The orderly dumped his load next to the other bodies, then bent down. He lifted an arm to examine it then let it go. Kneeling down he pulled something green out of his pocket, and placed it on the pile of hands. Next to him, he placed an open electronic notebook, tapped a button, then started writing on a little pad of yellow paper.
What was he doing?
I stood up. Getting closer to the TV screen, I tried to make out what was so interesting. Unfortunately, it was no good.
"Louis?"
"Yes, Hugh?"
"Is there some kind of zoom on this?" I asked.
"Yeah, sure. Which screen you want?"
I pointed, and immediately the picture changed. "That's great. Thanks."
"No problem."
I looked closely at the orderly, and at that precise moment he turned around. He was no ordinary orderly. To start w
ith, he was wearing a motorbike helmet, and the visor was up.
It was Stephane.
I hobbled quickly to the door. With the bruise on my knee, and the cast on my arm, I wasn't going to do much rushing in the next few weeks. The closest lift was on another floor up, but when it arrived it was empty. I pressed the button for parking level 1.
***
Akila was deep in thought as he entered the empty building. Wellens was dead, and Grayson was in custody, so neither was going to clear up the mystery for him. His brothers-in-arms had died for the one thing he despised above all else. They had died for money. Akila had cajoled, demanded and stolen funds before, but they remained just that, funds. He had used them to further his goals, procuring himself weapons to equip his troops, and medicine to keep them healthy. Even he had had to admit that the only real power in the world was money, but he didn't have to like the idea. Early on, he had discovered that a weapon acquired power because, by commandeering fear and respect, it quickly led to bargaining.
Inside the lift, he had checked that the knife he always carried was stashed and easily retrievable. Had he not been sure about what he would find inside the office, he would have been holding his gun in his hand. He headed purposefully towards the door of Wellens' office, placed his hand on the handle, and opened it slowly. In the centre of the room, Wellens' secretary was bound to the chair, exactly where he had left her. The expression on her face was fear. He was used to being feared, and that should have set his mind at rest, but he suddenly sensed that there was something else.
Her eyes flickered from him to a spot somewhere behind the door, and then back again. If he hadn't been looking directly at her face at the time, he would never have seen it. Her fear had been tempered by excitement.
Akila pushed the door open violently and whipped out his knife all in one smooth movement. The door didn't hit the wall as expected; instead it impacted something softer, then bounced back. He side-stepped the door, knife at chest height, and darted forward. Grabbing the figure that had been behind the door, he threw him onto the carpet at the foot of Wellens' secretary.
The man he only knew as Sam, Wellens' aide, cradled his elbow. He gritted his teeth, but looked up. "Kama?"
"Have we met?"
"What do you want?" Sam snarled.
"What do I want? You and Wellens set up a very devious plan. Surely, you must be able to guess my intentions?"
Sam pushed himself backwards slowly until he could lean on the side of the desk. "Your being here would indicate that you now realise Wellens and I set you up while we went about our business. You were not able to carry out your threats, the OPA were all eliminated, and you want revenge."
"Do not worry, I have had my revenge. Your friend," Akila turned to the secretary, "and your boss, is dead."
Sam closed his eyes for a second, then he looked up grimly. "You killed him?"
"Technically, yes. I killed him."
"Technically? What do you mean, technically?"
"Someone else had started the job. Wellens was dying when I arrived. It's doubly ironic, really. Firstly, you double-crossed me, but someone double-crossed you."
"We didn't kill the OPA."
"No, I know you didn't. Michaux and his anti-terrorist squads did. However, one of your men had a small but nevertheless important role to play - to start the fire-fight with the squads."
"That wasn't us. It was Stephane. He's the one who double-crossed us, and you."
Akila thought for a moment. "Could he have killed Wellens?"
"Certainly. We trained him well enough."
"Why would he kill Wellens, though?"
"We did try to kill him once he'd rid us of the OPA."
"Hmm. Don't you think he tried to force Wellens to divulge the location of the money you obtained for Grayson's weapon?"
Sam looked startled. "How do you know about that?"
"I have my sources," Akila answered with a smile on his face. "You and your boss were not the only ones with personal details of everyone involved."
Sam stood up slowly. "Wellens would never have talked. That's why he's dead. I must be the last man alive to know who you are. I'll never talk, and that's why you're going to have to make a deal with me."
"A deal."
"Yes. I will give you the location of the money, and in exchange you give me half of it."
"And what price do you put on your life? I have another proposal. If you give me everything you know, I will allow you to live out your worthless life."
Akila appeared to give him a minute to think things over, but in reality he, himself, was cogitating. There was still one person who could help him. Considering the way events turned out for Wellens, this Stephane was unravelling his plan. Which meant that he, too, was after the money? Maybe he was already in possession of it, or would be very soon. And that would indicate that Sam was bluffing.
Akila studied Sam's sweaty face. He thought he had perceived a flicker of fear, but it had been so quickly extinguished that he was not sure. In any case, he was tiring of bartering for this man's life.
"What do you say?" he muttered. "The money or your life? Choose, Sam."
"Half, take it or leave it."
Before he had uttered the last few words, Sam whipped around the desk, opened a drawer, and pulled something out. Wellens had always kept a fully loaded Colt inside his unlocked desk. Sam raised the gun and gasped.
The African was standing on the table, calmly looking down. He leaned forward and slashed Sam's throat. "If that's the way you feel." At the sight of the blood, Wellens' secretary fainted. He cut through the ropes tying her down, and hurriedly left the office.
***
The doors of the lift opened. Cautiously, keeping out of sight, I only peered around when nothing happened. To the right of the lift was a stretcher towards which I shuffled.
"Stephane, give up! You're surrounded." With all the concrete around, Michaux's voice echoed loudly. It sounded practically as if he were next to me.
I looked in the direction I thought his voice came from, and saw them. In the far corner, a lone car provided Michaux and Maria little cover. It appeared that I was on the opposite side of the parking area.
Stephane crouched about ten metres away from them. He had dispensed with the white orderly's jacket. On the screen in the security room, he had looked heavier than usual. Now I saw why. He was wearing body armour of the kind Michaux's men had used during the attack on the OPA. On top of that, he had donned a motorcycle helmet, one that was scratched in numerous places. And he had closed his visor.
Beside him lay the pile of bodies. As if in response to Michaux, Stephane let off a shot at the car, then immediately bent down, grabbed something from on top of the pile and swallowed it. Whatever it was it must be extremely important if he was ready to destroy evidence in the middle of a fire-fight.
This time I wasn't going to let him get away. If he did get away now, we would most probably never see him again. He had opened this city first to the OPA, then to Wellens. He had betrayed the city, the Transport Authority and most importantly he had betrayed me. And he had tried to kill me.
A weapon of some sort was what I needed. I looked at the stretcher. There was a long metal lever on the side with a black knob at the end. I unscrewed it, then hefted it with my good arm. It was quite heavy, and the knob was made of hard rubber. That would do, I thought.
The concrete pillars gave me cover until I was directly behind Stephane. Between him and me were several corpses that I gingerly stepped over as I crossed the distance to him.
He seemed to have finished with his notebook, and was in the process of putting it away. I swung the lever with all my might. The black knob hit the back of his helmet, and his head fell forward. He reacted almost instantaneously. His right leg came up, backwards, and hit me square in the belly. The wind was knocked out of me; I doubled over and collapsed.
When I looked up, he was standing over me pointing his gun at my head. My eyes fixe
d on his trigger finger.
"Hugh, still causing trouble for me." He shook his head. "Enough, I say." His finger was tensing. It was then I realised, just as he was about to shoot, that I had been too conceited. I had taken on the OPA and defeated them, determined Stephane was the traitor in our midst, escaped his attempts on my life, and had erroneously thought it was down to me. Discovering where the OPA had been hiding was probably the last clever thing I had done. Everything else had been pure luck.
I had made my last mistake - thinking I could stop Stephane by myself. Who was I trying to fool? I was just a simple traffic controller up against a professional. Stephane may have been a controller, but he was first of all one of Wellens' men. From the events of today, it was clear that all the people Wellens had worked with were extremely well trained, and had access to high quality equipment.
A shadow grew on Stephane's helmet. Two legs came flying at him. One barely missed the side of the neck, the other passed through the space between his chest and his outstretched arm.
At first, I thought whoever it was had muffed it, but then a pelvis slammed Stephane into the pillar behind him. He fell to the floor with Maria sitting astride him. She whisked out her gun, and shoved it under the lip of the helmet.
Stephane gave up then. With Maria's gun where it was, the body armour wouldn't be much use. I was later told that the helmet I had taken for a motorcycle helmet was, in fact, bullet proof, as well. Michaux lifted Stephane to his feet, and with Maria's help they twisted his arms to fit the handcuffs.
I put my hand out to lift myself up, but it touched an object. It was the notepad I had seen Stephane use earlier, when he was examining the bodies. Picking it up, I glanced at Michaux. Both he and Maria were having a hard time keeping Stephane still. The handcuffs hung loosely from one hand, and they were struggling to get his other arm close enough. Thinking it was better to bring up the subject later, I stuffed the notepad in my pocket, and stood up.
Michaux finally managed to tie the handcuffs on. He waited for his men to join him, then they hauled Stephane away. The lift was full, so Maria and I had to wait for the next one.
Neither of us spoke a word. In any case, I was still recovering from the shock. I had seen death up close, and I don't just mean the corpses in the parking area. I mean my death.
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