Ragnarok (The Echo Case Files)

by C.S. Stinton

  * *

 

  The heavy van, the mobile command centre, was silent. The driver had gone to join the team in the other vehicle, which Harrigan thought was odd - but law enforcement had seen cuts all around. Maybe even tactical teams were short-handed and their members needed to double up on responsibilities.

  It meant he and Navarro were sat in the back together, the young officer checking his sidearm. Harrigan could tell he was nervous, and bad at hiding it. For his part he just sat, arms folded across his chest, listening to the comm chatter between Ramirez and Tycho.

  There was nothing he liked about this situation. His every tactical sense was screaming at him that this was a terrible idea. He could only share Ramirez’s reluctance to rely on the HCPD, so he had no better ideas. But he didn’t like this.

  The chatter changed when Vincente’s men spotted the two Marshals inside, and Harrigan sat up. ‘They‘re in trouble,’ he said needlessly. ‘You gotta send in the tactical team.’

  Navarro checked his gun. And didn’t move. ‘Give them a chance.’

  ‘Give them a -’ Harrigan’s gaze locked on Navarro and found him already looking at him. ‘Oh, you‘re one slippery son of a -’

  ‘And enough of that.’ Navarro lifted his gun. Despite his casual words, he looked strained, sick.

  Harrigan tensed, hands resting on his chair, poised to move - but not stupid enough to act with the barrel in his face. ‘How much do Ragnarok pay you?’

  ‘You wouldn’t understand, a man like you.’ Navarro stood in the cramped space. Sweat had broken out on his brow, visible under the glowing lights of the console screens.

  ‘Probably wouldn’t.’

  ‘But that’s fine. I don’t need you to understand. I need you to be a man like you. So when I shoot you and tell them you were trying to escape, they’ll believe me.’

  ‘Fine, upstanding officer like you. Who wouldn’t believe you?’ But his heart was thudding in his chest and Navarro’s aim didn’t waver despite his obvious nerves. Over the speakers on the console he could hear Ramirez and Tycho, hear them talking about putting things down, hear -

  The sound was like thunder in the deep, shaking the building, shaking the walkway, shaking the van. Navarro swayed, head snapping around by instinct to look to the source.

  But Harrigan knew explosives. Knew what one going off in a network of buildings and walkways like this felt like. And knew that if he didn’t act now, he’d be dead. His shoulder hit Navarro in the gut, driving the younger man back and slamming him into the rear of the van. Left ajar by Tycho, the doors swung open and both men went sprawling into the open air, hitting the metal walkway underneath hard.

  Harrigan landed on top of Navarro and without thinking snatched his wrist, twisting the gun from his grasp. Then he was back on his feet, the cold, reliable metal of a pistol solid and heavy in his hand, and he looked down at the young officer.

  ‘It’s your lucky day, you son of a bitch.’ If he killed Navarro right now, nobody would believe him except, possibly, Ramirez and Tycho. And they were possibly dead. His gaze swept across the street to the warehouse. The doors looked creaky on their hinges, smoke billowing out. The explosion had been hefty, whatever it was. And there was no sign, no sign at all, of anyone getting out of there.

  Then he heard the gunshots from inside, heard the door of the other van slam open as the tactical team investigated despite a lack of orders. Navarro was still lying on his back panting, recovering from a shoulder to the solar plexus, and Harrigan realised there was no way he could stay with his gun pointed at a cop while his ticket out of here had just been blown up and shot.

  ‘Son of a bitch,’ he repeated in a low hiss, and kicked Navarro in the ribs before he turned to the walkway.

  And ran.