The Edge of Armageddon

by David Leadbeater

  Quickly he removed the sturdy package and unstickered the Velcro straps that gave access to a small display and mini-keyboard. The panel was held down by four screws which Adam quickly removed. As the metal panel came free it unraveled a series of wires behind it, wires that ran into the heart of the newly revealed device.

  Marsh held his breath.

  Adam smiled for the first time. “Don’t worry. This thing has more than one failsafe and ain’t even armed yet. Nobody here will set it off.”

  Marsh felt a little deflated.

  Adam peered at the mechanism and the parts inside it, taking it all in. After a moment he checked a laptop screen at his side. “Leaking,” he admitted. “But not so bad.”

  Marsh shifted uneasily. “How bad?”

  “I’d advise you never to have kids,” Adam said without emotion. “If you still can. And enjoy the next few years of your life.”

  Marsh stared at Zoe as she shrugged. He’d never expected to outlive his egotistical father nor his supercilious brothers anyway.

  “I can shield it better now,” Adam said, taking a package from a suitcase he’d brought along with him. “As I would any device of this sort.”

  Marsh watched for a moment and then realized they were almost done. He met the dead eyes of their driver. “These cells Ramses spoke of. Are they ready? The chase will soon start and I want no delays.”

  A dry smile flickered back. “And neither do we. All five cells are now active, including the two sleepers that the Americans cannot possibly know of.” The man checked his watch. “It is now 6.45 a.m. All will be ready for seven.”

  “Fantastic.” Marsh felt his libido rising again and thought he might as well take advantage of that fact whilst he still could. Knowing Zoe as he recently did, they’d finish quickly anyway. “And the money transfer protocols?”

  “Adam will concentrate on finishing a program that will bounce our location around the world on an endless cycle. They will never track the transaction.”

  Marsh didn’t notice Adam’s expression of surprise.

  He was too concentrated on Zoe, and she on him. He took five more minutes to watch Adam arm the bomb and listen to the instructions on how to disarm the damn thing, and then made sure the man took the relevant photographs of the working device. The photographs were crucial in persuading the White House of the authenticity of the device and in engineering the chase that would divert attentions and divide the forces arrayed against him. Happy at last he addressed Adam.

  “The yellow one. That’s the disarm wire?”

  “Umm, yes sir, it is.”

  Marsh turned a genuine smile upon the driver. “So we’re ready?”

  “We are ready.”

  “Then move out.”

  Marsh held out a hand and led Zoe into the bedroom, tugging at her jeans and panties as they went, and trying to stifle a giggle. A flood of passion and excitement almost overwhelmed him as he realized all his dreams of power and importance were about to be realized. If only his family could see him now.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  As Drake stood upright the full weight of what was transpiring bore down upon him. Urgency coursed through his veins, frayed his nerve-endings, and one look at his team-mates told him they felt the same—even Kenzie. He’d really thought the ex-Mossad agent would have made her move by now but then, in truth, because of the bond between soldiers, he didn’t even have to ask her why she hadn’t. The same innocents she fought for were at stake here, the same civilians. Anyone with even half a heart would not let this stand, and Drake suspected there might be a lot more to Kenzie than half a heart, however deeply buried it may be.

  Seven-forty-five, the wall clock read and the whole team were on the move. The police station was filled with an uneasy chaotic calm, cops in charge but clearly on edge. News reports flashed across TV screens, but none that were relevant to them. Moore paced and paced, waiting for news from undercover agents or surveillance teams or roving cars. Hayden squared off with the rest of the team.

  “Mano and I will handle Ramses. We need two more groups, one to evaluate the nuke information as it happens, and one to chase down these cells. Keep everything quiet, but take no prisoners. Today, my friends, is not a day for fucking around. Get what you need and get it fast and hard. A lie could cost us dearly.”

  Moore picked up on what she was saying and looked over. “Today,” he said, “there will be no quarter.”

  Dahl nodded grimly as he cracked knuckles like he might a man’s skull. Drake tried to relax. Even Alicia marched around like a caged panther.

  Then, at 8 a.m., the craziness began.

  Calls started to come in, dedicated phones ringing again and again, their clamor filling the small room. Moore fielded them with efficiency, one after another, and two assistants ran in to help. Even Kinimaka took a call, though the table he perched on didn’t sound particularly happy.

  Moore collated the information at the speed of light. “We’re on,” he said. “All teams are go. Undercovers have reported back the most recent talk of secret meetings and chatter. Movements around known mosques have ramped up. Even if we didn’t know what was going on we’d be worried. New faces have been seen in the usual haunts, all determined and moving fast, purposefully. Of the cells we know about two have disappeared off the radar.” Moore shook his head. “As if we weren’t already up against it. But we have leads. One team should head to the docks—one of the known cells operates from there.”

  “That’s us,” Dahl grated. “Mount up, motherfuckers.”

  “Speak for yourself.” Kenzie sidled alongside. “Oh, and I’m with you.”

  “Ahh, do you have to?”

  “Stop playing hard to get.”

  Drake studied the teams, which had paired off quite interestingly. Dahl and Kenzie had Lauren, Smyth and Yorgi as comrades. He had ended up with Alicia, Mai and Beau. It was a recipe for something; that was for sure.

  “Good luck, mate,” Drake said.

  Dahl turned to say something just as Moore held a hand up. “Wait!” He covered the receiver for a second. “This was just patched through to our hotline.”

  All heads swiveled. Moore had fielded another call and was now sending a hand out, scrabbling for the speaker button.

  “You’re on,” Moore said.

  A disembodied crackle filled the room, the words spilling as fast as Drake’s legs wanted to run in pursuit. “This is Julian Marsh, and I know that you know almost everything. Yes, I do. The question is—how would you like to play it?”

  Hayden took point as Moore waved for a trace. “Stop dicking about, Marsh. Where is it?”

  “Well, that’s the explosive question, isn’t it? I’ll tell you this, my dear, it’s here. In New York City.”

  Drake didn’t dare breathe as their worst fears were undeniably confirmed.

  “So the other question is—what do I want next?” Marsh allowed a long pause.

  “Get to it, asshole,” Smyth snarled.

  Alicia frowned. “Let’s not antagonize the prick.”

  Marsh laughed. “Let’s not, indeed. So the nuke is armed, the codes all nicely entered. Clock is ticking, as they say. Now all that needs to be done is verify that it is real and provide you with a bank account number. Am I right?”

  “Yes,” Hayden said simply.

  “You want proof? You’re gonna have to work for it.”

  Drake leaned forward. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean the chase is on.”

  “Will you be getting to the point anytime soon?” Hayden asked.

  “Ah, we’ll get to it. First, you little worker ants have a job to do. I’d get scuttling if I were you. You see . . . you see how I made that rhyme? I was going to make everything rhyme, you know, but in the end . . . well, I realized that I didn’t give that much of a fuck.”

  Drake shook his head in despair. “Bloody ’ell, mate. Speak proper English.”

  “The first clue is already in play. A form of verification.
You have twenty minutes to get to the Hotel Edison, Room 201. Then there will be four more clues, some of verification and some of demands. Do you get me now?”

  Mai came back first. “Insanity.”

  “Well, I am a man of two minds. One of need, one of vice. Perhaps at their intersection sparks of madness fly.”

  “Twenty minutes?” Drake checked his watch. “Can we even make it?”

  “For every minute you are late I have ordered one of Ramses’ cells to kill two civilians.”

  Again the jaw-dropping shock, the terror, the mounting suspense. Drake clenched his fists as the adrenaline rose.

  “Twenty minutes,” Marsh reiterated. “From . . . now.”

  Drake sprinted out the door.

  *

  Hayden raced down the stairs and towards the building’s basement, Kinimaka at her back. Fury rode her and beat at her as if with a devil’s wings. Anger forced her legs to go faster and almost caused her to trip. Her Hawaiian partner grunted, slipped and picked himself up almost without stopping. She thought about her friends in dire peril, rushing off to different areas of the city with no idea of what to expect, laying themselves on the line without question. She thought about all the civilians out there and what the White House might now be thinking. It was all well and good to have protocols and plans and workable formulas, but when the real, working world became the object of extreme threat—all bets were off. At the bottom of the stairs she hit a corridor and sprinted. Doors flashed by to either side, most unlit. At the far end a row of bars were quickly slid aside for her.

  Hayden held her hand out. “Gun.”

  The guard flinched, but then acquiesced, orders from above having already reached his ears.

  Hayden took the weapon, checked the thing was loaded and the safety was off, and burst into the small room.

  “Ramses!” she shouted. “What the hell have you done?”

  CHAPTER SIX

  Drake dashed out of the building, Alicia, Mai and Beau at his side. Sweat already soaked the four of them. Determination sprang from every pore. Beau fished a state-of-the-art GPS out of a pocket and pinpointed the Edison.

  “Times Square area,” he said, studying the route. “Across third and over Lexington Avenue. Make for the Waldorf Astoria.”

  Drake raced into plodding traffic. There was nothing like trying to save the life of a New York cabbie as he tried desperately to break your legs at the knees, inching forward as best he could. Drake jumped at the last second, sliding over the front of the closest yellow cab and landing in full flow. Horns blared. Each member of the team had managed to commandeer a handgun on the way out and brandished them now whilst wishing they had more. But time was already wasting away. Drake checked his watch as he hit the sidewalk.

  Seventeen minutes.

  They crossed Lexington and then ran alongside the Waldorf, barely stopping as the cars along Park Avenue crawled along. Drake fought his way through a crowd at the traffic signal, finally confronted by an angry, red face.

  “Look, buddy, I’m crossing here first if it kills me. Bosses’ bagels gonna get cold and that’s a damn no-no.”

  Drake skirted the angry individual as Alicia and Mai burst past on the outside. The signals changed and the road was clear. Now with guns concealed they headed hard for the next main street—Madison Avenue. Again the crowds thronged the sidewalk. Beau skipped out onto 49th, hopping between cars and gaining a lead. Luckily, the traffic was now moving slowly and afforded them clear spaces in between rear bumpers and front fenders. The women followed Beau and then Drake fell into line.

  Drivers shouted abuse at them.

  Twelve minutes left.

  If they were late, where would the terrorist cells strike? Drake imagined it would be in proximity to the Edison. Marsh would want the team to know his orders had been carried out to the letter. A car door opened ahead—just because the driver could—and Beau leaped over the top just in time. Alicia took hold of the edge of the frame and slammed it back into the man’s face.

  Now they cut to the left, approaching 5th Avenue and even more crowds. Beau slipped through the worst of it like a pickpocket at a pop concert, followed by Alicia and Mai. Drake just shouted at everyone, his Yorkshireman’s patience finally running out. Both men and women blocked his path—men and women who didn’t give a rat’s shit whether he might be rushing to save his own life, one of his children’s, or even theirs. Drake muscled his way through, leaving one man sprawling. A woman with a baby glared at him hard enough to make him feel guilty, until he remembered what he was running for.

  You’ll thank me later.

  But, of course, she would never know. Whatever happened.

  Now Beau shot left, running down the Avenue of the Americas towards 47th Street. A Magnolia Bakery passed by on the right, making Drake think of Mano, and then what the Hawaiian might have gleaned from Ramses by now. Two minutes later and they were blasting up 47th, Times Square suddenly visible to their left. The customary Starbucks sat to their right, bustling and queuing out the door. Drake scanned faces as he dashed by, but didn’t expect to come face to face with any suspects.

  Four minutes.

  Time was spinning away faster and even more precious than the last moments of a dying old man. The hotel’s gray façade and golden entrance appeared to the left, fronting the sidewalk, and Beau was the first to swing through the front doors. Drake skirted a luggage trolley and a dangerously reversing yellow cab to follow Mai inside. A wide foyer and patterned red carpet greeted them.

  Beau and Alicia were already pressing the call buttons for separate elevators, hands close to concealed weapons, as a security guard watched them. Drake thought about producing the SPEAR team ID card, but it would only lead to more questions and the countdown was already inside the final three minutes. A chime announced that Alicia’s elevator had arrived and the team piled on. Drake stopped a young man from joining them, warding him off with an open palm. Thank God that worked, because the next gesture would have been a closed fist.

  The four-strong team gathered themselves as the car rose, shaking off the run and drawing weapons. Once the door opened they piled out, searching for room 201. Instantly, a whirlwind of fists and legs was among them, shocking even Beau.

  Somebody had been waiting.

  Drake flinched as a fist connected above his eye socket but ignored the flash of pain. A foot tried to sweep his own but he sidestepped. The same figure moved away and beset Alicia, slamming her frame into the plastered wall. Mai stopped blows with raised hands and then Beau struck fast, a one-two that stopped all momentum and drove their attacker to his knees.

  Drake leapt up and then punched downward with all his strength. Time was ebbing away. The figure, a chunky man wearing a thick jacket, shuddered under the Yorkshireman’s blow, but somehow managed to deflect the worst of it. Drake fell to the side, unbalanced.

  “A punching bag,” Mai said. “He’s a punching bag. Positioned to slow us down.”

  Beau drove in harder than before. “He is mine. You go.”

  Drake jumped over the kneeling figure, checking room numbers. Their destination sat only three rooms away and they had one minute left. They were down to the final seconds. Drake paused outside the room and kicked at the door. Nothing happened.

  Mai pushed him aside. “Move.”

  One high kick and the wood splintered, a second and the frame collapsed. Drake coughed. “Must have weakened it for you.”

  Inside, they spread out, guns ready and searching quickly but the object they sought was terribly obvious. It lay in the middle of the bed—an A4 size glossy photograph. Alicia approached the bed, staring from side to side.

  “The room is immaculate,” Mai said. “No clues, I will bet.”

  Alicia paused at the side of the bed, looking down and breathing shallowly. She shook her head and groaned as Drake joined her.

  “Oh God. Is that a—”

  The ringing telephone interrupted him. Drake leapt around the bed to t
he nightstand and snatched the receiver from the cradle.

  “Yes!”

  “Ah, I see you made it. Couldn’t have been easy.”

  “Marsh! You crazy bastard. You’ve left us a photograph of the bomb? A fucking photograph?”

  “Yes. Your first clue. Why, did you think I’d let you have the real thing? So stupid. Send it to your leaders and your eggheads. They will verify the serial numbers and all that other rubbish. The canisters of Plutonium E. The fissionable material. Boring stuff, really. The next clue will be even more telling.”

  At that moment Beau entered the room. Drake was hoping he would be dragging Punchbag Man along with him but Beau drew an imaginary line across his carotid. “He killed himself,” the Frenchman said in a bemused voice. “Suicide pill.”

  Shit.

  “You see?” Marsh said. “We are very serious.”

  “Please, Marsh,” Drake tried. “Just tell us what you want. We’ll do it right bloody now.”

  “Oh, I’m sure you would. But we’ll save that for later, eh? How about this? Get running for clue number two. This chase is getting better and more difficult. You have twenty minutes to reach the Marea restaurant. It’s Italian, by the way and they make a mighty mean Nduju calzone, believe me. But no stopping for that, my friends, because this clue you will find placed under a toilet bowl. Enjoy.”

  “Marsh—”

  “Twenty minutes.”

  The line went dead.

  Drake cursed, turned, and ran like hell.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  With no other option, Torsten Dahl and his team decided to dump the car and hoof it. He’d have liked nothing better than to hang on tight as Smyth threw a powerful SUV around half a dozen corners, tires squealing, objects shifting, but New York at this time was nothing but an angry snarl of yellow cabs, buses and hire cars. Gridlock was the word that entered Dahl’s mind, but it happened every day, most of the day, and still the horns blared and men shouted out of lowered windows. They ran hard, following directions. Lauren and Yorgi had shrugged into flak jackets. Kenzie jogged alongside Dahl, face turned down into a pout.