by S J Grey
She didn’t want to sit here any longer than necessary. Not while Mark lay in a hospital bed. Again.
Chapter Forty-Seven
Mum and Dad were given the all clear to return home, and Devin was ready to drive them. As a precaution, Devin would stay with them overnight, along with a local police officer, to keep watch outside. It seemed that until Caleb had been found and the people who snatched him were in custody, nobody was taking any chances with keeping her parents safe.
“Being kidnapped once was enough for a lifetime,” announced Mum.
They’d been terrified, mostly for Emma’s safety, but they’d been well treated. Blindfolded and with their hands tied behind their backs, they were kept together in the back of a van, from how it sounded, and driven around a lot. Then a guy in a ski mask removed their bindings and told them they could get out. That was when they arrived in Johnsonville. It could have been so much worse.
“Do you want to come back with us, darling?” Mum slipped an arm around Emma’s shoulder. “Or are you going to see Mark first?”
“I need to see how Mark’s doing, and I need to find out what’s happening with Caleb. I’ll probably come back later, though. I’ve no idea what state my house is in.”
“You can come over any time,” said Dad, his voice gruff. “You know that.”
She did. And she thanked all the Gods that they were both safe. It was only after they left that she remembered Dad’s bike was parked outside the library in Palmy North. She’d break the news to him later.
Emma didn’t know what she was supposed to do with herself after Mum and Dad were taken home. Was she expected to leave as well? When Jonathan stuck his head around the door, she was overwhelmed to see a familiar face.
“Hi, Emma. There’s something trending on social media you need to see.”
That didn’t sound good. she followed him to an office with a setup similar to Mark’s—multiple screens on desks, and people clustering around one setup. She recognised some of the faces from earlier.
“Sit down and look at this,” said Jonathan as he guided her into a seat. Everyone around this set of monitors looked serious, expressions ranging from concerned to flat out pissed off. Okay. This wasn’t going to be a cute Christmas GIF.
“It’s been posted by someone claiming to have seen Caleb Rush and asking why the police don’t have Rush in custody yet.” Jonathan clicked the mouse, and a blurry video started to play.
Hang on. She recognised that car. Mark’s Falcon, but with the number plate obscured. That was Mark climbing out, Mossberg in hand. It must have been filmed from one of the SUVs.
The fuck?
The film had been manipulated to show Caleb’s face on Mark. To anyone watching, that was Caleb, climbing out of a car, pump-action shotgun in hand. Caleb, opening fire on the other vehicle, and after shattering the windscreen, escaping on foot, weapon in hand.
“Shit.” She huffed a sigh. “I mean, it didn’t happen like that. It was Mark.”
“We know,” said Jonathan, “but this has gone viral. Our intention to keep the incident away from the media has failed. And there’s another consequence too.” His gaze was sympathetic. “Because Caleb is now believed to be armed and dangerous, the Armed Offender Squad has been called in, and they’re leading the search of the cargo terminal.”
“You mean, if a trigger-happy police officer makes a mistake, Caleb might end up shot?”
“That’s unlikely. They’re very well trained. But it does increase the difficulty of extracting him.”
“But you know he was in Wellington at the time. You can prove he wasn’t there in Reikorangi, can’t you?”
“We’re trying to keep this operation low profile. Anything we do will compromise that. We don’t want to release the real footage of Mark with the shotgun, in order to protect his identity. And in any case, this has spread too far for us to be able to pull it back quickly.”
“So what can you do? There must be something?”
“There may be.” Jonathan shared a weighted look with TJ.
“And?” Emma urged him on.
“We can try to find him first. Get someone who he trusts to tell him to cooperate fully.”
“Me. I can do that.”
“I can’t let you.” Jonathan looked unhappy. “Mark was quite specific when he left. You stay here until one of us escorts you back to your parents.”
“Or could I go to the hospital, to visit Mark. Would I need an escort for that?”
“Yes, you would.” He left the words hanging, as though waiting for her to jump in.
It seemed an obvious loophole. “So if you were escorting me to the hospital, and we happened to drive past the cargo terminal, and I happened to see Caleb there, we could stop and talk to him? Just asking.”
“Mark would be very unhappy if we did that. Just saying.”
“And we’d all be unhappy if Caleb got shot. How soon can we go?”
Jonathan nodded, and everyone snapped to attention. The energy levels in the room lifted instantly. “We’ll fit you with an earpiece and mic, and you’ll wear a vest. That’s non-negotiable. Mark is going to kick my ass when he finds out, but we’ll take every precaution we can, to keep you safe.”
“A vest?”
“Bullet-proof. Come on, let’s get you set up.”
Things happened with dizzying speed. The heavy, bulky vest went over her T-shirt, and then she wore a dark zipper jacket over the top, a set of initials—SIA—printed in bright-yellow letters on the back. A laminated ID card on a lanyard went around her neck.
Accompanying her were Jonathan, TJ, and four others she didn’t know. Jonathan hustled her into the basement garage where they piled into two cars, and they set off at high speed.
It was dusk. Streetlights were coming on, and gold stripes creased the evening sky. Emma checked her phone, but there was no word from Mark. She made sure to set it to vibrate-only, before securing it in her pocket. The tiny earpiece felt weird, and she fiddled with it, trying to make it more comfortable in her ear.
Sitting beside her, TJ was busy on his laptop, checking details that he called out to the others. The jargon was meaningless, but she gathered that Caleb hadn’t moved in the past forty minutes. Either he was tied up, or he was wounded.
Or dead, muttered her subconscious. No. She refused to listen to that voice. They’d come this far. They weren’t going to lose him now.
They only had a short distance to drive, but the streets were congested. It was taking too long. Every time TJ called out an update, Emma braced herself for bad news. The police cordon around the waterfront made sense, as did the huge police presence and the multiple reporters and TV vans lurking around the edges. Among other things, TJ was monitoring the social-media networks, but so far, nobody had guessed this operation was to recapture Caleb.
Their driver eased them as close to the action as he could, based on the reassuring blips appearing on TJ’s tracking software. It seemed that Jonathan had neglected to update the police on Caleb’s exact location. It was a slim chance at best, but they might be able to get to him first.
Emma gazed out of the window at the dozens—no, hundreds—of cargo containers, some stacked two high. Floodlights blazed, voices rang out, and a bullhorn blared in the distance. She concentrated on listening.
“Caleb Rush. Armed police. Come out with your hands up.”
They repeated the message, over and over. What must Caleb be thinking?
“Radio test,” snapped Jonathan, and they spoke in turn to their concealed microphones.
Fear pooled in Emma’s stomach. This was it. She had strict instructions to stick to Jonathan like glue. She fully intended to do that.
They were about to climb out of the car, when TJ told them to wait. “Caleb’s moved,” he said, staring at the laptop on his knees. Looks like he’s in the harbour.” He rattled out a set of coordinates.
“Shit,” said one of the guys. “Did they toss him in the water?”
“There’s no movement,” said TJ.
“Let’s go.” Jonathan set off at a run.
Emma followed, holding up her ID card with the others when they raced past a checkpoint.
TJ continued to update them over the radio link, guiding them closer to the water’s edge.
“He might be hiding,” said Emma. “He’s a fantastic swimmer.”
So was Joss, but she still died in the river.
The bullhorn continued to blare. Sirens howled in the background. There was so much noise.
A shot rang out. It was close.
No. They couldn’t shoot Caleb. Not after he’d been through so much. Emma’s feet could have been glued to the concrete. This was like one of those nightmares where she couldn’t move fast enough. She turned around. Where did the shot come from?
A thudding noise caught her attention and she looked up to see a helicopter flying low, searchlights sweeping the area around her. More police?
Another shot. Closer.
“Get down.” Jonathan grabbed her arm and pulled her behind one of the giant shipping containers. He held a pistol in one hand.
“Was that you? Or did they find him?” She couldn’t get her questions out quickly enough.
He shook his head. “No and no. I don’t think they tossed him in the water. I think they’re also looking for him.”
Chapter Forty-Eight
If the bad guys didn’t have Caleb, that was good news, wasn’t it? “Why do you think that?”
“It was one of them that fired, not the police. I caught a glimpse of three guys that look like our targets, and they didn’t act like criminals trying to escape from a police raid. They seem more concerned about finding something in the water.”
“If Caleb managed to escape and jumped in, he’d swim as far as he could before surfacing. Like I said before, he’s a strong swimmer. He’d head for somewhere quiet, away from the police.”
Right on cue, TJ spoke through the radio. “Our boy’s on the move. Heading south. Away from the hot zone.”
Emma clutched at Jonathan’s arm. “I told you. He’s swimming away.” Hope unfurled inside her, strong and energizing. “He used to swim from one side of the harbour to the other in around twenty minutes. Let’s intercept him.”
“We’ll continue on foot,” Jonathan said into his mic. “Bring the cars around. My team, regroup outside the Wagamama restaurant. TJ, keep me posted on any direction change, no matter how small.”
They went through the police cordon, but were then slowed down by people milling around, trying to see what was happening. Jonathan led the way, Emma following, with another of his teammates behind her. They had to push to get through the crowd, and were bombarded with questions. Cameras flashed, and at least one journalist threw questions at them. Emma kept her head down and followed as quickly as she could.
Caleb’s tracker was moving steadily, almost parallel to them and going in the same direction.
The helicopter continued to fly low over the water, and another couple of shots rang out. Emma hoped the kidnappers would be taken into custody. An engine growled in the near distance. It looked like an inflatable rubber boat. She paused and peered at the water. Visibility was poor, now the sun had gone down. The chopper did another circuit, floodlights swirling, and she saw the police logo on the side of the boat.
Jonathan saw it too. He leaned closer to her. “They must be searching the water. We need to hurry, and hope he stays out of their way.”
The crowd thinned, and they carried on, picking up their pace. A couple of minutes later, they reached the brightly lit Wagamama restaurant, and saw their cars waiting for them.
As they scrambled back into the vehicles, Jonathan turned to face Emma. “You know him best. How far do you think he’ll go? There’s a set of ladders into the water outside Fergs. The kayak place.”
“Too close,” she said. “He might go right across the harbour, unless he’s tired or hurt. He hasn’t swum in years. There’s a chance he’ll head for the lagoon outside the Boatshed Pub. There are plenty of places to come ashore there, and it’s not as far as Oriental Bay.”
“Sounds plausible,” said TJ. “He’s maintaining a steady distance from the shore, probably to avoid people seeing him in the water.”
“Head for the Boatshed,” Jonathan told his driver.
Emma’s phone buzzed in her pocket, and she sneaked a quick look. It was a text from Mark.
Hey. Sorry I missed your call. I have to stay in overnight, which is a giant pain in the ass. Where are you? Jonathan’s not answering his phone, so I don’t know if you’re with him. If you are, will you please ask him to give me an update? Thanks X
Uh oh. How best to reply? She hesitated, her fingers poised and ready to type.
Hey, you. I’m with J right now. Hoping to come and visit you later, before I head back to Mum and Dad’s tonight. Talk soon xx
She tucked her phone safely away, and then passed the message to Jonathan.
“He’ll have to wait,” came back the curt reply. “We’re almost at the Boatshed. Looks like there’s an event tonight.”
There was another crowd of people around the open space, but these looked relaxed and carried drinks in their hands. Live music spilled from one of the many cafés, and myriads of coloured lights were strung across the courtyard. Any other time, Emma would have wanted to check it out, but tonight it was another hindrance.
Their driver ignored the No Entry signs and parked right outside the pub.
“Our target is going past Frank Kitt’s Park,” said TJ. “At this speed, he’s a few minutes away.”
“Spread out,” ordered Jonathan to his team. “Emma and I will take point on the bridge. I want someone on the Frank Kitt’s side, and someone else by the kayak landing area in the lagoon.”
Confirmations rippled back through the comm link.
“Ready?” Jonathan was asking her.
She nodded. “Let’s go.”
A bridge connected the two sides of the sprawling waterfront area, and Emma ran alongside Jonathan to the centre, from where they could look down into the sea. It was dark here, but thanks to the party outside the pub, too noisy to hear the sounds of a swimmer in the water.
The inflatable skimmed past them. Was it watching where they went? Surely not. The police must be too busy, to keep an eye on a bunch of SIA agents.
Come on, Caleb, she urged silently. Show us where you are.
They waited. Emma had to stop herself from constantly checking the time.
“Coming in to shore,” called out TJ in her earpiece. “Right under the bridge now.”
Emma leaned as far over the rail as she dared. She couldn’t see a damn thing. If she shouted for Caleb, would he hear her voice?
As though reading her mind, Jonathan squeezed her arm. “Don’t call him. Just in case anyone else hears you. We don’t want to draw attention to our position.”
“Okay.”
“He’s going into the lagoon area,” said TJ.
“We’ll go to the kayak landing point,” said Jonathan, and off they jogged again.
Emma should be exhausted by now, but adrenaline was doing a wonderful job of keeping her alert.
It was a typical summer Friday evening, with people hitting the waterfront in search of food, drinks, and a good time. It shouldn’t be difficult for Caleb to pull himself out of the water and blend into the crowd, under cover of darkness.
They had to find him and get him to safety.
They hurried down the far side of the bridge and then rounded the corner, to run alongside the lagoon. Emma knew this area well. She often walked here at lunchtime, to watch the rays basking in the sea, or to buy a gelato. She was always careful to stay away from the edge. It was easily five metres’ drop to the water, and it was deep in this section. There was a diving platform here—another popular attraction on a hot day.
She needed to rest, to steady her breathing, and she slowed.
Jonathan turned to
her. “You okay?”
“Need to catch my breath. You go. I’ll follow.”
It was a short distance to the kayak landing area. Caleb could be hauling himself out of the water any minute. Apart from the inflatable boat and the helicopter, there were no other police visible in this section.
Talking of the chopper, it zoomed low overhead, the powerful beam picking her and Jonathan out in a swirling spotlight. They should be able to read the SIA on their jackets. The noise was deafening and she covered her ears. The radio squawked, but she had no clue what anyone was saying.
She bent her head and pressed the button on her radio. “What? Repeat. I can’t hear you.”
Something whistled past her face. A mosquito?
And when would this freaking helicopter move out of the way? She felt like a soloist on stage at an improv festival.
Jonathan stumbled, and then fell over. He sprawled face down on the flagstones, and that was when Emma realised what happened. He’d been shot.
She froze. She needed to help him, but she was too petrified to move.
“Jonathan’s down.” She shouted into her radio. “Send help. And a medic.”
It was a shame she didn’t have the Mossberg right now. When it came to weaponry, she had nothing. A movie quote hovered at the edge of her mind. What the hell am I supposed to use, harsh language?
Who shot him? From where? And was she next?
That thought was enough to get her sprinting towards Jonathan. She needed to get out of this damn searchlight, but it continued to illuminate the area. People gathered, pointing up at the chopper, and someone ran towards the fallen Jonathan, but Emma was still metres away.
Something slammed into her back. The blow made her knees crumple. She threw out a hand, to save face-planting the ground.
The shock of hitting the flagstones knocked every last bit of air from her body. She wheezed, but her lungs refused to work.
She’d been shot. Some fucker shot her in the back. It was hard to take in.
Thank God for the vest. Was Jonathan wearing one?