by Cliff Hedley
“I want you to know that you got the bastard,” Grange said. “It looks like Miller was acting alone. We’re still working our way down the rabbit hole to see if he had any other connections we need to be worried about but we found all the radio kit for his drones. Once we had that, we figured out where he got it and found an address from there — we got his workshop full of devices and tools. Word is, there’s only one set of prints they’ve found so far, which belong to Miller.
“Are you looking at how he got back here? And what happened to him?”
Grange sighed. “That’s above my pay grade, I’m afraid. I expect Homeland and the FBI will be fighting over the juicier details.”
“Fair enough. Hey, I wanted to say thanks. That was quick thinking you getting the disposal unit to me like that.”
“I took a risk. I knew it would draw attention but I also figured it would save some time. I’m glad it paid off.”
“Me too. I’ve had enough of close-up white phosphorus detonations for a while.”
Grange chuckled.
“What about the girl?”
“We took care of her. She’s back with her parents, safe and sound. The bastard snatched her from a school outing.”
“OK, good. Thank you.” Chase exhaled, relieved.
“She and her folks wanted me to thank you for saving her life. They’d like to visit when you’re feeling up to it.”
Chase nodded an approval.
“Any thoughts about what you want to do when you get better?”
“I just got one idea.”
“Well, I was thinking I could make that consultant position a little more permanent. If you’re up for it, that is. Maybe even turn you into a sworn officer.”
“Thanks. That sounds good but right now, I just don’t know what’s next. That could have been me, you know?”
“Miller?”
“Yeah. We both got messed up but the only difference is that I had people that pulled me out. He wasn’t so lucky. I’m not sure what would have happened to me if I’d been left out there and survived.”
“I guess not. That’s a hell of a thought.”
“Don’t worry,” Chase smiled. “My shrink will be around soon enough. I’m sure I’ll be made to talk about it whether I like it or not.”
“Good. We need you well. Sometimes it’s not just the physical scars, you know?”
“Yup.” Chase nodded, thinking again of Miller. It wasn’t his appearance that had bothered him. Something had twisted him inside. There was obviously a lot of hurt, way beyond the physical that had eaten him up.
Grange seemed to pick up on Chase’s expression. “I better get going. You need your rest. Don’t forget, you did good out there. You saved a lot of lives.”
“Thanks, Grange — for everything. Oh,” he added, suddenly remembering. “Could you thank the SWAT sniper who got that shot into Miller for me? That extra second they bought me by winging him made all the difference.”
Grange gave a wry grin. “SWAT never got to you. They couldn’t get a clean shot in the crowd and lost you both when you ran down the block. I was the first one on the roof after you.”
It was Chase’s turn to be confused. His brows furrowed as he stared at Grange. “So who took the shot?”
“Somebody else is waiting to see you, if that’s OK.”
“Sure. I guess,” Chase stammered, more than a little perplexed.
“I’ll leave you to it. I’ll catch up with you later.”
With that, Grange stood and held the door open. “He’s up for visitors. Come on in.”
A large athletic frame filled the doorway. The man stood with a crutch and limped his way in.
Chase’s jaw dropped. “Freeman?”
“Hey, Chase. Or should I call you Mr Roboto now? You look like shit either way.”
Chase tried to stifle a laugh but it made him wince all the same.
“It’s good to see you but what was that about you shooting Miller?”
Freeman smiled. “Sorry. I was aiming to put him down but it was a tricky shot.”
Chase felt a chill run up his spine. He realised how close he had just come to dying — again.
“The shot was perfect. If you’d hit centre mass, I’d be vapour. It would have hit his explosive vest.” He slowly exhaled and gathered himself. “Where were you? How did you even get there?”
Freeman eased himself down into the chair beside Chase’s bed. “Did you get my last email?”
“No. I mean, I hadn’t had a chance to check for a couple of days before all this went down.”
“Thought not. Anyway, remember how I said I only got along with my brothers in short doses?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, they had some leave and came home to see me. I was staying with my folks once I got out of the hospital. They live pretty close, so I was getting picked up to go for treatments and physio. It was a small house growing up but even smaller with those sailor idiots staying and giving me shit. They were fine for a few days but after they got over the leg thing, they were back at it. I gave as good as I got. Long story short, I thought I’d take a chance and head north — take a break from them. I got clearance to come up and used one of the Army transfer shuttles. They brought me straight here. I figured something was off as we pulled in. Cops everywhere and the front windows were boarded up. The driver told me there had been a bombing of some kind.”
“Yep. It almost got me.”
“I heard. I spoke to the folks on reception and asked after you. They said you were out with the Bomb Squad but that you usually came back at night. They hooked me up with a room, so I figured I’d check in with you later. I decided a stroll around the city would be a good way to pass the time.” He emphasised stroll as he tapped his prosthetic leg with the crutch. It made a metallic clink sound.
“How does a stroll put you on a rooftop with a gun in your hand?”
“Settle in and I’ll talk you through it.”
“I’ve got no place else to be.”
Chapter 25
The previous day
Freeman found himself at a loss. He had been shown to a room by one of the nursing staff and true to his experience with military hospitals, the colour scheme was white, green and grey. The nurse hadn’t stayed long. It was all hustle and bustle. Not just standard military efficiency but something else. There was an uncomfortable level of tension. He’d asked about what happened to the doors and the woman at the reception desk had filled him in. Chase had been in the thick of it, which didn’t surprise him in the least.
He had no interest in sitting in his room when he was in New York City, so he freshened up and made his way down to the ground floor. The receptionist called him a cab and it was only moments later that it was pulling up in the turning circle outside. He eased his way into the back, which was a little trickier than the space the transfer shuttle had afforded.
“Where to, my friend?” The driver seemed chipper.
“Times Square.”
The cab lurched away from the kerb and was soon out of the hospital driveway and into the busy traffic. “You heading to the money-drop thing?” the cabbie asked.
Freeman had zoned out as he looked at the buildings and traffic all flowing around them. The question snapped him back. “Uh, what’s that?”
“Some big promo they’re doing at Times Square. Some product launch or something, I figure. Money dropping from the sky. It’s all over social media.”
“Sounds too good to be true.”
“You’re probably not wrong, my friend. Fear and greed. Welcome to New York.”
Before long the cabbie pulled up close to the corner of Forty-Seventh Street and Broadway. “Times Square, my friend.”
Freeman handed over a couple of bills then shuffled his way back out of the seat. He swung his prosthet
ic leg out onto the kerb and grabbed his crutch from the seat so he could stand up. He looked around, taking a moment to soak up the buzz. He’d always liked big cities and New York was his favourite place to come as a getaway. He’d been up a bunch of times as a kid, so he’d covered a lot of the tourist attractions back then. Right now, his priority was food. After that, if he was lucky, he might find a decent piano bar or blues club to come back to later.
He made his way to the end of the block and took in the view across to Times Square. It was busy but that wasn’t unusual. He made his way across to the pedestrian area and stood in the middle to take it all in. Satisfied, his attention turned back to his stomach, which had begun to rumble.
Having no particular idea of which way he would go, he looked at the opposite end of Forty-Seventh Street and headed towards it. It might be good to get a little clear of the crowd and it looked as good a place as any to find an eatery of some kind. He shuffled his way along the block, enjoying the sights and sounds of the city. The other pedestrians gave him a respectful distance but they were all moving much faster than him. He wondered if his new pace would help him slow down and notice the little things more. A little way down the street he paused to scan the signs on both sides. Spotting a likely pizza place, he turned to make a beeline for it. As he swung awkwardly around, he bumped into a man in a dark hoody.
“Oh, I’m sorry.” Freeman offered.
The man’s face was partially obscured by the hood but their eyes met for an instant before he dropped his head again. His face was a myriad of scars. “No, my bad,” he said before hurrying off up the street.
Something in Freeman’s mind set off an alarm. It was long-buried but there was something about the man he recognised. Then, in shock, he realised he had just seen a ghost.
“Miller?” he called. The man looked over his shoulder just enough to make sure Freeman wasn’t following and increased his pace.
There was no way that Freeman would be able to keep up but his curiosity overcame his hunger. He shuffled back after him towards Times Square. He caught glimpses of the man, then heard a faint clank of feet on a fire escape. Up ahead was an alley. Freeman made it over just in time to see a dark-clad figure disappear over the top rung of the ladder and onto the roof.
He scanned the street again, just in case he’d got it wrong but he was sure it was the same person he’d just bumped into going over the top of that ladder. He shuffled his way forward, reaching the bottom of the ladder. He stopped to look up. It was high.
There was no way he could take his crutch up. He thought about keeping it hooked over his arm by its plastic cuff but that would probably get in the way of his climb. He still wasn’t great at walking without the extra assistance but he might just be able to climb to the top and stay on the ladder. That should give him enough of a view of what was happening.
He leaned the crutch against a dumpster, out of view of the street. Nobody would easily see it or take it. He had a plan of attack: he would step up with his good leg, then put his weight on his prosthetic, before stepping up with the good leg again.
He hauled himself up and soon had a regular motion going. It was a little awkward but he was making progress. As he went to pull up again, his prosthetic leg slipped off the rung and he fell just enough to swing himself hard into the steel ladder, before his good foot found a lower rung. He hit with a clang and winded himself slightly, as well as smashing his shin. Still, he hung on.
Shit. So much for the element of surprise.
Freeman pulled himself up again, regaining his composure and momentum. When he reached the top of the ladder he went into a slight crouch, allowing him to take a quick peek over the top of the wall before ducking his head down again. He didn’t know what to expect. Miller could have taken a swing at him, or a shot. Either way, he was vulnerable.
The quick glimpse, however, revealed absolutely nothing. He straightened up again, taking a longer look around. There were air vents and an access door, the usual stuff he’d expect to see on a rooftop but no sign of Miller. He wasn’t sure whether to be relieved or disappointed but figured he’d come this far so may as well check it out.
Getting from a climbing position to the rooftop would be his next challenge. Luckily the large handrails looped over the top of the ladder high enough that he could use them to support his weight while he stood up and over the edge of the roof. He stopped to listen but couldn’t hear any sounds of footsteps or activity near him.
Awkwardly, he reached out from the ladder and tried to take a few steps towards the nearest air vent. He still struggled to balance without the crutch but he could walk in short bursts without it.
Then he saw Miller. He was a long way ahead, and putting further distance between them. There was no way Freeman would try to follow this time. The hooded figure had pulled himself between the first lot of buildings via a taut line strung between them. He ran across a lower rooftop further up the street, then jumped to another. Finally, he disappeared over the edge of the next building and out of sight.
“Damn,” Freeman muttered to himself. “This guy moves like a cat!”
He shook his head. Miller was long gone, so he wondered what to do next. He was ninety-nine per cent sure this was the same EOD he had served with years ago on his first stint in Afghanistan. There was a hanging doubt though, due to one small problem. He had seen Miller die in a hellish onslaught of gunfire and explosions when his squad had been ambushed by the Taliban, with Miller on point and taking the brunt of it. Freeman could still remember the smell of burning flesh. When the dust had settled, he had tried to go in looking for him but there was nothing left. He was sure he’d seen him get vaporised. Then the Taliban opened up on him again and he and the rest of the squad were forced to retreat. Certain that Miller was dead, his sergeant called in an airstrike before they were overrun themselves.
He shook the memory off and shuffled further along the rooftop edge to the far corner of the building. The view over Times Square was spectacular but that wasn’t what grabbed his attention.
“Holy shit!” What he had found, hidden in a corner, away from anyone who might take a casual glance at the rooftop, was a cross between a snipers’ nest and a command centre. It was Miller’s fall-back position. There was a rifle set up with a scope, pointing towards the Square. Sitting next to it was a bunch of electronic gear, with remote controls rigged to more equipment he didn’t recognise.
He wondered what in the hell he could do but figured his best bet was to dial 911. He patted his pockets, checking if he’d brought his phone with him. He had a tendency to leave it on his bedside table and forget it but let out a sigh of relief when he found it. First, he’d need to figure out which building he was on, so he brought up the map application. The marker showed him where he was, perched above Forty-seventh Street. Satisfied that he had his position, he switched to the phone and began to hit the numbers.
Before he got a chance to hit the call button, a massive explosion knocked him to his ass. He fell hard against the air vent behind him and his phone fell to the ground. It hadn’t been close but the surprise of it and the shock wave had both smashed into him. As he sat himself up, he could see a billow of smoke rising from Times Square.
There was a mass of people swarming into the Square, some pushing in from the outside, others running towards the explosion. Moments later, another explosion rang out and another column of thick black smoke filled the air. His phone had fallen within easy reach, so he grabbed it and went to dial 911.
He wasn’t able to connect. Either everyone in the area was trying to call at the same time, or something was jamming the signal. There was nothing he could do but watch the carnage unfold. There were more explosions below: people were running and screaming, some making their way up the street towards him, doing their best to escape Times Square.
Freeman was exasperated. He tried again to get a call out and again it faile
d. The local cell towers were probably overloaded with 911 calls and he was getting lost in the queue. Then something else grabbed his attention. The hooded figure he had tried to chase, who he was sure was Miller, clambered back to one of the rooftops between his position and the square. He was lower down and still some distance away but it had to be him. He moved easily, comfortable on the roofs and ladders around him.
The man in the hood peered over the side of the building, towards an alley he must have just climbed up from. Then he crept away from the ladder he had just come up and hid behind an air vent. He was still facing the ladder but the air vent obstructed Freeman’s view.
Then he caught a brief glimpse of another figure. Just a head, really, bobbing up above the edge of the building at the top of the ladder the hooded figure had just climbed. A shot rang out with a crack and sent chips of brickwork and dust flying into the air above the ladder.
Again the figure bobbed up from the ladder and again the crack of a gunshot echoed through the air towards him. This time, the man on the ladder rolled onto the roof just after the shot was fired, dashing away for cover.
Whoah. This guy is out of his damn mind.
The first man fired again and missed, while the second man made it to cover.
Freeman needed a better look. Then he remembered the rifle. The scope. He was still sitting, so he commando-crawled his way across the roof towards it. It was set up on a low tripod so the shooter using it could lie prone on the roof. He checked that it was loaded by sliding the bolt back part-way. The safety was already off; a round was chambered. He slid the bolt back into position.
Peering through the scope, he took a moment to find the men. They seemed to be in hand-to-hand combat now. As they circled around each other, the second man turned and took a slashing knife wound to his side. He lunged backwards but the blade still caught him. Now Freeman could see his face but he didn’t believe it at first.
Holy shit. Is that Chase?