The Edge of Armageddon

by David Leadbeater

Drake saw Dahl with his body prostrate over the bomb as if he might shield his friends and the world from its terrible fire. He saw the metal casing bent, the insides dented, battered, surrounding the sledgehammer; and then he saw the countdown timer.

  Stuck on zero.

  “Oh fuck,” he said in the most heartfelt manner possible. “Oh bloody fuck.”

  One by one, the team became aware. Drake breathed fresh air he’d never expected to taste again. He crawled over to Dahl and slapped the Swede’s broad back. “Good lad,” he said. “Hit it with a big hammer. Why didn’t I think of that?”

  “Being a Yorkshireman,” Dahl spoke into the core of the bomb. “I wondered that too.”

  Drake dragged him backward. “Listen,” he said. “This thing’s stuck, right? Maybe broken inside. But what’s to stop it starting again?”

  “We are,” said a voice from behind.

  Drake turned to see both NEST and bomb squad teams approaching with packs and open laptops in hand. “You guys are late,” he breathed.

  “Yeah, man. We usually are.”

  Kinimaka, Yorgi and Lauren started to untangle Hayden from the bizarre mesh she shared with Zoe Sheers and Julian Marsh. The two Pythians were covered up as much as could be but didn’t seem overly bothered by their nakedness.

  “I helped,” Marsh said over and over. “Don’t forget to tell them I helped.”

  Hayden ended up on her knees, rolling each limb to allow circulation to return, and rubbing areas where joint pain had accumulated. Kinimaka gave her his jacket, which she gratefully accepted.

  Alicia grabbed Drake’s shoulders, tears in her eyes. “We’re alive!” she cried.

  And then she pulled him close, lips finding his, kissing him as hard as she could. Drake pulled away at first, but then realized he was exactly where he wanted to be. He kissed her back. Her tongue flashed out and found his, and their tensions fell away.

  “Now that,” Smyth said, “has been a long time coming. Sorry, Mai.”

  “Oh hell, I miss my wife,” Dahl said.

  Beau stared, his face set like granite but otherwise unreadable.

  Mai managed a weak smile. “If the tables were turned Alicia would be muttering something about joining in right now.”

  “Feel free.” Alicia pulled away from Drake with a throaty chuckle. “I never kissed a movie star before.”

  Smyth colored at the reference to older days. “Ah, I have now accepted that Mai is not in fact the great Maggie Q. Sorry about that.”

  “I’m better than Maggie Q.” Mai smiled.

  Smyth wilted, legs buckling. Lauren reached out to steady him.

  Alicia cocked her head. “Oh, wait, I have kissed a movie star. Jack something. Or was that his screen name? Ah, two in fact. Or maybe three . . .”

  Kenzie moved among them. “Nice kiss,” she said. “You never kissed me like that.”

  “That’s only because you’re a bitch.”

  “Ooh, thanks.”

  “Wait,” Drake said. “You kissed Kenzie? When?”

  “Old story,” Alicia said. “Barely remember.”

  He made a point of catching her full attention with his eyes. “So, was that a ‘glad we’re alive’ kiss? Or something more?”

  “What do you think?” Alicia looked wary.

  “I think I’d like you to do it again.”

  “Okay . . .”

  “Later.”

  “Sure. Because we have work to do.”

  Drake looked now to Hayden, the leader of their team. “Ramses and Gator are still out there,” he said. “We can’t allow them to escape.”

  “Umm, excuse me?” one of the bomb squad guys said.

  Hayden looked to Marsh and Sheers. “You two can earn extra credit if you have information.”

  “Ramses barely spoke to me,” Sheers said. “And Gator was the biggest lunatic I ever met. I wish I knew where they were.”

  Drake stared at him. “Gator was the biggest lunatic—”

  “Excuse me. Guys?” the NEST leader said.

  Marsh glared. “Ramses is a bug,” he said. “I should have stamped on him when I had the chance. All that money—gone. The power, the prestige—gone. What will I do?”

  “Rot in jail I hope,” Smyth said. “With a killer for company.”

  “Listen!” the NEST people shouted.

  Hayden looked over at them, then Dahl. Drake glanced past Alicia’s shoulder. The NEST team leader was on his feet and his face had turned pasty white, the color of absolute fear.

  “This bomb is a dud.”

  “What?”

  “The electrical detonators are missing. The lenses cracked, I guess possibly from the hammer. But the uranium? Although we can detect traces, which tell us that it was once here, it . . . it’s missing.”

  “No.” Drake felt his muscles tremble. “No way, you can’t be telling me this. Are you saying that this bomb was a fucking fake?”

  “No,” the leader said, tapping at his laptop. “I’m telling you that this isn’t the right bomb. It’s been rendered harmless by removing all the parts that make it work. Now, it’s fake. This man—Ramses—probably has the real one.”

  The team didn’t hesitate for a second.

  Hayden reached for a phone and dialed Moore’s number. Drake shouted that she should call in choppers.

  “How many do we need?”

  “Fill the fucking skies,” he said.

  Without complaint, they picked their aching bodies up and made a brisk sprint for the door. Hayden spoke fast as she ran, exhibiting no physical aftereffects from her treatment. It was the mental consequences that had the power to scar her forever.

  “Moore, the bomb over at Central Park is a fake. Stripped out, closed down. We think the innards and explosive detonators were removed, then inserted into another device.”

  Drake heard Moore’s gasp from three feet away.

  “And we thought the nightmare was over.”

  “This was Ramses’ plan all along.” Hayden kicked the outer door off its hinges without losing stride. “Now he detonates in his own time and escapes. Are there any choppers flying out of New York?”

  “Military. Police. Special Ops, I guess.”

  “Start there. He has a plan, Moore, and we believe Gator’s ex-Special Ops. How are the CCTV cams looking?”

  “We’re compiling every face, every figure. We have been for hours. If Ramses is fleeing through the city we’ll pick him up.”

  Drake hurdled a trash can, Dahl at his side. Choppers thundered overhead, two setting down on the road outside the zoo entrance. As he looked up, Drake saw beyond the churning rotors to the office buildings where, among the white blinds, many faces pressed to the windows. Social media would be imploding today, and allowing it to carry on had yielded zero results. Truth was, it had probably hampered their efforts.

  Hayden raced for the closest chopper, stopping just outside the rotor wash. “This time,” she said to Moore. “Ramses won’t be showboating. That was all a diversion to help him survive. This is about his reputation—the Crown Prince of Terror repairing his status and going down in history. He brings a nuclear weapon to New York, detonates it, and escapes scot free. If you let him go now, Moore, you’ll never see him again. And the game will be up.”

  “I know that, Agent Jaye. I know that.”

  Drake hovered at Hayden’s shoulder, listening, the remainder of the team chafing at the bit close by. Dahl was studying the nearby area, reeling off the best places for an ambush and then checking each one out with his field glasses. Odd, but at least it kept him busy. Drake nudged him.

  “Where’s the sledge?”

  “Left it behind.” Dahl did look a little unhappy. “Bloody fine weapon that.”

  Kenzie butted in. “I reminded him that I still don’t have my favored weapon. If he gets a sledgehammer, I should get a katana.”

  Drake watched the Swede. “Sounds like a deal.”

  “Oh, come on, stop giving her ammunition. And wh
ere would I pick up a katana around here anyway?”

  A voice broke in: “They’re out near Staten Island, Hayden.”

  Drake’s head whirled around so fast he winced. “What was that?”

  Hayden asked Moore to repeat and then turned to the team. “We have a sighting, guys. Phoned in by a civilian, just like Moore predicted, and confirmed by camera. Move your asses!”

  Head down, the team sprinted over the sidewalk and into the clear, barricaded road, jumped through the open chopper doors and buckled into their seats. Two birds rose, rotors clipping leaves off nearby trees and shooting garbage across the street. Drake removed handguns and a rifle, a military blade and Taser, checking all were in working order and fully prepped. Dahl checked the communiquės.

  The pilot cleared the rooftops and then veered sharply toward the south, piling on the speed. Alicia ran through her own weapons, discarding one she had taken from a legionnaire and keeping another. Kinimaka stole glances at Hayden, which she tried to ignore, still taking in information from Moore and his agents. Beau was quiet, in a corner, as he had been since Drake and Alicia kissed. For her part Mai sat serenely, unreadable Japanese features fixed firmly on their goal. The rest of the team double checked everything, all except Kenzie who complained about the helicopter’s ride, the buffeting winds, the smell of sweat and the fact that she’d ever laid eyes on the SPEAR team.

  “Nobody asked you to stay with us,” Alicia said quietly.

  “What else would I do? Run away like a frightened church mouse?”

  “So this is about proving you’re brave?”

  Kenzie glared. “I don’t want to see Armageddon. Do you?”

  “I’ve already seen it. Ben Affleck’s surprisingly gay and Bruce Willis rocks it harder than the damn asteroid. But hell, is this you trying to tell us that you actually have a heart?”

  Kenzie stared out the window.

  “The archaeological-artefact-thief has a heart. Who would’ve known?”

  “I’m just trying to get back to my business in the Middle East. Alone. Helping you fools will go a long way to doing that. Fuck your goddamn heart.”

  The chopper swooped above the rooftops of Manhattan as Hayden received clarification that Ramses and Gator had not left the island yet, having been sighted close to the Staten Island Ferry.

  “The bits that get lost in translation could kill us all,” Hayden sighed, and Drake recognized the truth in that. From the youngest schoolyard spat to a war between presidents and prime ministers—nuance was everything.

  Their destination came closer as buildings flashed by. The pilot dove between two skyscrapers to maintain velocity, arrowing in on their target. Drake held on with grim purpose. The bay’s rolling gray waters lay ahead. Down below they could see a cluster of landing choppers, all battling for space.

  “There!” Hayden cried.

  But the pilot was already plummeting, making the chopper land hard to get the primary space before a row of planters and a bus stop. Drake felt his stomach heave up through his mouth. Hayden shouted into her cell.

  “Of course the terminal’s closed,” she said. “If Ramses is here what’s he hoping to accomplish?”

  “There should be some railings behind you and a line of cars parked under the trees. The cops have a woman there who was the last one to see him.”

  “Great. So now we—”

  “Wait!” Alicia’s ears caught the sounds before anyone else’s. “I hear gunfire.”

  “Go.”

  Piling out, the team headed for the terminal, sprinting alongside the building. Drake spied that, behind the sweeping curve of the main entrance, a long concrete slip led out to the docking area. The shots were resounding from there, fired through an open space, not muffled as if by walls.

  “Back there,” he said. “It’s coming from the slipway.”

  Choppers filled the skies behind them. A groaning body lay in their way, a policeman, but he waved them ahead, exhibiting no signs of injury. More shots exploded through the air. The team drew weapons, ran in tandem, and searched the areas ahead. Another cop knelt before them, head hanging, holding his arm.

  “It’s okay,” he said. “Go. Just a flesh wound. We need you guys. They’re . . . they’re getting away.”

  “Not today,” Hayden said and ran past.

  Drake spied the end of the slipway, and the protrusions to his left, all concrete slipways used for the ferries. Waves lapped at their bases. “You hear that?” he said as more gunfire broke out. “Ramses has got himself a Squad Automatic.”

  Lauren was the only one who shook her head. “Which is?”

  “More rounds per minute than an AK. Six to eight hundred round mag. Interchangeable barrels for when it gets too hot. Not accurate, but intimidating as hell.”

  “I hope the fucker melts in his hands,” Alicia said.

  A group of cops knelt up ahead, constantly ducking for cover as the SAW spat forth its rounds. A tracery of bullets raced overhead. Two cops returned fire, aiming down at the slipway’s far end where a ferry was docked.

  “Do not tell me . . .” Dahl said.

  “We think he’s taking a ferry right there, from one of the maintenance slips,” one of the cops said. “Two guys. One trained on us, the other starting up the boat.”

  “He can’t escape this way,” Hayden protested. “It . . . it’s . . . game over.” Her eyes glistened with terror.

  “For him,” Alicia said smugly.

  “No, no,” Hayden whispered. “For us. We got it wrong. Ramses is literally going out with a bang. Sealing his legacy. Guys, he’s gonna detonate that nuke.”

  “When?”

  “I don’t know. Best guess? He’s headed for Liberty Island and the statue, and he’s about to plaster it all over social media. Oh God, oh God, imagine—” she choked up. “I can’t . . . just can’t . . .”

  Kinimaka hauled her to her feet, the big man growling with purpose. “We’re not going to let this happen. We have to do something. Now.”

  And Drake saw the flash of the SAW about fifty feet away, the deadliness of its rounds, the one thing standing between them and Ramses, and the nuke.

  “Who wants to live forever, right?”

  “Nah,” Alicia said quietly. “Forever would be boring as fuck.”

  And Dahl gave the team one final look. “I’ll take lead.”

  In that last split-second the heroes of New York made ready; the SPEAR team and then every single cop and agent within earshot. Everyone rose to their feet, faced the spitting weapon, and made the last choice of their life.

  Dahl started it. “Charge!”

  CHAPTER FORTY THREE

  Drake ran at the center of his friends, right where he wanted to be, gun up and firing hard. Bullets discharged from every single running gun at two thousand five hundred feet per second, multiple blasts echoing around the slipways. Windows shattered all along the ferry.

  In seconds they had halved the gap, still shooting hard. The SAW user modified immediately, shocked by the ferocity of the assault. Not that he stopped firing; his bullets stitched a trail across the slipways and out to sea as he quite possibly staggered back. Drake fitted the scope to his eyes, finger on the trigger, and made out the features of the man holding the SAW.

  “That’s Gator,” Hayden said through the comms. “Don’t miss.”

  The SAW panned around, heading back towards them and still spitting lead. Drake imagined the barrel had to be so hot right now it was on the verge of melting, but not fast enough. A bullet caught a cop in the vest and then a second broke the arm of another. At this point their hearts were in their mouths, but they did not stop the charge or reduce the gunfire. The lower-rear sides of the ferry fell away, shattered, the open rear end so perforated it resembled a cheese grater. Gator swung the SAW hard, over-compensating. Bullets laced the spaces above their heads.

  The dull note of the ferry’s engine turned to a slow roar, and that changed everything. Gator jumped aboard, still firing wild
ly. Water started to churn from the back and the vessel lurched ahead. Drake saw they were still twenty feet from the back end, saw it turning to the left and away, and knew they would never make it in time.

  Shouting, falling, he dropped to his side, skidding to a halt. Dahl dropped alongside. Hayden rolled, all this to further impair Gator’s aim, but the man didn’t seem to care anymore. His figure could be seen backing away, heading deeper into the ferry.

  Drake signaled to Hayden and Hayden called in the choppers.

  Black birds lunged to the slipway, dropping abruptly, and hovering three feet off the ground as the SPEAR team climbed aboard. At the cops’ and agents’ assembled salutes, a new bond formed that would never break, they saluted back as best they could, then the choppers practically leapt into the air. Pilots forced the machines to their limits, chasing the churning ferry and soon coming overhead. It was a sight Drake could never have imagined, the birds hanging like deadly black predators in the skies of New York, the famous skyline as a backdrop, preparing to take out a Staten Island Ferry.

  “Hit them hard,” Hayden spoke into the chopper’s radio. “And fast.”

  Plummeting now, two choppers dove toward the ferry’s rear. Almost immediately the irrepressible Gator popped his head out of a side window and let loose a vicious salvo. His third burst smashed into the choppers’ outer skin, punching through parts and glancing off others. The helicopters plunged like boulders, falling from the skies. Dahl cracked his door and returned fire, the bullets passing hopelessly wide.

  “Shoots like he shags,” Drake grunted. “Never hits the right target.”

  “Piss off.” Dahl gave up trying to hit Gator and readied for the coming impact.

  Three seconds later it came, only it wasn’t an impact just a sudden stop. The first chopper hovered above the ferry’s top deck as the second one hovered to the left side, the rest of the SPEAR team aboard. They exited fast, boots striking the deck and forming into groups. The choppers then ascended to join their brethren in the air, tracking the ferry.

  Hayden faced the team for a few seconds. “We know where he is. Engine room. Let’s end this right now.”

  They started to run, adrenalin pumping beyond measure, and then Gator clearly changed tactics on the deck below.