Omega Dog - 01

by Tim Stevens

  ‘Venn,’ she said.

  He shook his head.

  ‘I gotta go.’

  ‘Thank you. For saving my life. For saving the professor’s.’

  ‘It’s not over yet,’ said Venn. ‘Don’t forget that.’

  And with that he drove away.

  He’d told them his plan. Lomax had told him he was crazy.

  Beth had told him he was suicidal.

  His instructions to them still stood. Lose yourselves. Lie low for now. Don’t try to cross any borders just yet.

  He’d given Beth the address of his apartment. Asked her to donate the few items he possessed to a charity of her choice, if he didn’t make it.

  Night had fallen by the time Venn saw the lights of Manhattan in the distance. He took a different route in, crossing the Brooklyn Bridge and enjoying the view of a city he’d been starting to feel at home in.

  Enjoying the view for the last time, probably.

  Corcoran had started issuing him with instructions on the phone – meet us in this place, at this time – but Venn had cut him off.

  ‘My terms,’ he said. ‘Keep your phone on. I’ll call you later. Around eleven tonight. I’ll tell you where to meet me. It’ll be in Manhattan.’

  ‘You can’t possibly ask me to come on my own, though, Joe.’

  ‘Of course not. Bring a whole battalion, if you want to. Oh, and Corcoran?’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘You’re able to track my movements with the tag. But if any of your people try to ambush me between now and when I call you, the deal’s off. Arrest me, torture me, waterboard me, whatever. But I’ll never reveal to you where Lomax is.’

  And Venn killed the call.

  A little over twenty-four hours since he’d last been there, Venn let himself into his fifth-floor apartment.

  Everything seemed to be as he’d left it.

  He went over to his souvenir wall and took the handcuffs off their nail, and the orthopedic crutch from where it was propped.

  He needed to be slick at two maneuvers. He practiced them. One he was familiar with. The other was new.

  When he was satisfied he could execute them both rapidly, he took his Beretta and laid it on the table.

  He wasn’t going to be needing it.

  The night was cool as he made his way up the service stairs and out onto the roof. The East Village buzzed around and below him. Eight floors up, he couldn’t see much of it unless he walked to the very edge of the roof.

  Venn took out his phone. Dialed.

  Again, Corcoran answered immediately.

  ‘I’m at my apartment block, as you know,’ said Venn. ‘Meet me up on the roof no later than a half hour from now.’

  He didn’t listen for a reply. Just put the phone away and sat down to wait.

  Chapter 69

  Twenty minutes later, a man stepped warily out onto the roof. He wore a Kevlar vest and carried a rifle.

  Venn stood up, one arm raised. With the other he leaned on the crutch.

  The man said something down the stairs. Quickly more men followed, also Kevlared up and armed. Venn counted a dozen of them in all. They spread out in a concave semicircle around him, keeping their distance.

  Finally, Corcoran emerged. In the shadows he looked thinner and more cadaverous than ever, sodium light gleaming off his pale scalp.

  ‘Hello, Joe,’ he said. ‘What happened to your leg?’

  ‘Twisted my ankle,’ said Venn, hobbling forward a couple of steps.

  The men around Corcoran tensed, their weapons coming up. Venn laughed.

  ‘Don’t worry, fellas,’ he said. ‘I’m hardly going to beat your boss to death with a walking stick, now, am I?’

  ‘So what’s the deal, Joe?’ asked Corcoran.

  ‘Come over here and take this bomb off my leg, first. Then I’ll tell you where Lomax is. And I’ll tell you the other thing. The secret, that will make sure you don’t kill me.’

  Corcoran stepped forward hesitantly, but stopped again.

  Venn sighed. ‘Bring a couple of your bodyguards with you, if it makes you feel better,’ he said. ‘Yes, I could kill you with my bare hands if I wanted. But what would be the point? Your guys would put a bullet straight through my head.’

  More confidently, Corcoran advanced, two of his men in lockstep, their guns trained on Venn.

  Corcoran produced a small object that looked like a memory stick. He tossed it to Venn, who caught it with the hand that wasn’t holding the crutch.

  ‘That’s the key,’ said Corcoran. ‘Put it in the slot on the outside of the tracking device.’

  ‘Okay,’ said Venn. ‘As a measure of my good faith, I’ll unlock it only after I tell you what you want to know.’

  Corcoran gave a nod of acknowledgement.

  ‘Come closer,’ said Venn. ‘I don’t want these goons hearing.’

  Wary again, Corcoran advanced till he was an arm’s length away. Behind and to the sides, the two armed men had their rifles fully extended toward Venn’s head.

  Venn knew he’d have one shot at this. Only one.

  There was no room for error.

  Cuffing people one-handed is a skill that police departments over the world encourage. There’s an art to it, a pure sleight-of-hand movement that can only be achieved through hours of practice. It involves a flick of the wrist at just the right angle, and with just the right amount of force that the cuff snaps shut as it clasps the wrist.

  Venn had the cuffs up the left sleeve of his leather coat, one of them locked round his wrist, the other, free end held between the material of the sleeve and his arm.

  He raised his left arm sharply, as if shooting his cuff.

  Flick.

  The free end of the cuff shot out.

  And its jaws hit Corcoran’s skinny right wrist.

  And locked shut.

  At the same time, Venn’s right arm was moving.

  He raised the crutch off the ground. Earlier, in his apartment, he’d prized the rubber stopper off the end, and crimped the metal flat.

  He shoved the narrowed end downward, between his right ankle and the metal ring of the tracker/bomb clamped round it.

  Venn had practiced the movement earlier till he had it down pat. It was a tight fit, and he felt the skin tearing.

  That didn’t matter.

  He gripped the shaft of the crutch in his right fist.

  The two gunmen tensed, their fingers tightening on the triggers of their rifles.

  Venn used his Cop Voice. The one that was loud, and held authority, and carried, even though he wasn’t actually yelling.

  ‘Back off and listen up.’

  It was a critical moment. If they were going to shoot, they’d shoot now.

  Venn continued: ‘Corcoran is cuffed to me. I have a bomb strapped to my leg. This crutch is rammed down between the bomb and my ankle. If I exert sideways pressure on the crutch, it’ll be like I’m trying to remove it. The bomb will explode. Your boss, Corcoran, will be killed along with me. So will you two.’ Venn nodded at the two men with the rifles, standing closest to him. ‘Do you understand?’

  Nobody said anything. Nobody even seemed to dare to breathe.

  Venn said: ‘I asked, do you understand?’

  At his side, Corcoran said, ‘Yes.’ His voice sounded hoarse.

  The two nearest gunmen nodded.

  ‘Good,’ said Venn. ‘Then you’ll also understand that if you attempt to incapacitate me - to shoot me, or jump me, or whatever - there’s a high chance that I’ll jerk the crutch sideways, setting the bomb off. I might not. You might get lucky, and drop me before I can lean on the crutch. But you probably won’t.’

  Again, there was silence, apart from the sounds of the city, the laughter, and the sirens, and the car horns. All of which seemed far away.

  Venn had their attention now. He was center stage. The puppetmaster.

  There was no other way he could pull this off.

  ‘All of you,’ he said. ‘Go ba
ck down the stairs and shut the door. Don’t even think about coming back with a surprise attack. Don’t even dream of it. I haven’t got a lot to lose. If I see you, I will detonate this bomb. Believe me. I’m dead serious.’

  One of the men, who seemed to be in charge, said something Venn didn’t catch. Some sort of tactical code phrase.

  Reluctantly, they began to back toward the stairs, their guns still leveled on Venn. He stared them down.

  He and Corcoran watched the last man back through the door to the stairwell and close it. Corcoran turned to him. Close up, the guy’s face had the consistency of wax.

  ‘So,’ said Venn. ‘Now that we appear to be alone, I’ll honor my side of the deal. First, as to where Professor Lomax is... he’s somewhere you’ll never, ever find him now. Second, in regard to why you won’t kill me - the reason is that if I die, you die too. Immediately.’

  ‘What do you want?’ said Corcoran. Remarkably calmly, Venn thought, given the circumstances.

  Venn said, ‘A confession.’

  Chapter 70

  Beth stared up at the sky. From where she was, she couldn’t see anything of the roof of the building. Then again, it was eight floors up.

  Professor Lomax was beside her in the car.

  She’d asked him to stay behind in Maine. He’d ignored her.

  Just as she’d ignored Venn, and his instruction to her and the Prof to lose themselves somewhere far away.

  Distantly, she heard voices talking. One man’s dominated.

  Venn?

  Or were the voices even coming from up on the roof? This was the Village, before midnight. The streets were teeming. She might have been hearing a conversation from somewhere nearby. A bar, or through the open window of an apartment.

  No. It was Venn’s voice. She knew it.

  After Venn had left them, up in Maine, after they’d watched his stolen Mustang speed off into the distance, Beth had turned to the Prof.

  ‘We have to follow him.’

  ‘He’s told us not to.’

  ‘I’m part of this. More than you are. I can’t just let him go off and get killed.’

  ‘What could we possibly do?’ said Professor Lomax. ‘Look at us. He seems to know what he’s doing. We couldn’t make a difference.’

  ‘We’re going Prof,’ she said. ‘Or at least, I’m going. You can do your own thing.’

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ he said sharply. ‘I’m not letting you go back into the lion’s den on your own.’

  They took the BMW, Beth driving. She floored the accelerator whenever she dared, but even so she realized she didn’t have a prayer of keeping up with Venn.

  Nonetheless, she knew where he was going. He’d told them he was going to use the roof of his apartment block for his crazy scheme.

  And he’d also told her his address.

  They’d arrived in the East Village at a quarter of eleven. Beth had immediately spotted the Mustang on the street outside Venn’s apartment. Illegally parked, on a yellow line.

  Beth couldn’t help smiling at that.

  There were no cops around. There was no sign of any activity.

  She’d bought a phone on the way down, and had called Venn while he was driving. He’d noted the number of her new phone.

  Now she was waiting on Venn’s call. That was part of their prearranged plan. The only difference was, Venn was expecting her to be hundreds of miles away when she took his call.

  Not on the street directly below him.

  Beth found a parking space on the street across from Venn’s apartment building, where at least she didn’t run the risk of being towed away. She propped the phone on the dash and sat behind the wheel.

  Neither she nor the Prof spoke for a long time.

  Then Professor Lomax said, ‘It isn’t hopeless, you know.’

  Beth glanced at him. ‘But his odds are pretty long.’

  ‘I didn’t mean that,’ said the Prof. ‘Though I agree with you. I meant... the possibility of your developing cancer.’

  Beth looked out the window again. ‘You said, a ninety per cent association.’

  ‘But we don’t yet know why the other ten per cent didn’t succumb. There might be some common factor that you share with them.’

  Beth gave him a quick smile, to show him she appreciated his attempts to reassure her. Even if he wasn’t succeeding.

  ‘That’s something to worry about later, Prof,’ she said, giving his hand a squeeze. ‘Right now, it’s Venn who’s at the highest risk.’

  They lapsed into silence once again.

  Ten minutes later, the phone rang.

  Chapter 71

  ‘You’re out of your mind,’ said Corcoran.

  ‘Spare me.’ Venn backed toward the wall running round the perimeter of the roof. It was a low wall, maybe four feet high. A foot or so across.

  He dragged Corcoran along with him by their cuffed-together wrists, at the same time keeping the crutch jammed in between his ankle and the bomb strapped round it.

  And he kept his eye on the door to the service stairs, in case the men down there decided to disregard his instructions and mount a sneak attack after all.

  ‘A confession,’ said Corcoran, gasping a little as Venn tugged harder on his wrist. They were at the wall now. Awkwardly, but as rapidly as he could, Venn hoisted his butt up onto the wall, hauled his legs up, and dragged the smaller man after him.

  Venn looked down.

  Eight floors wasn’t much, in a city like New York, with its dizzying skyscrapers. But when you were eight floors up and staring down a sheer drop, it looked plenty high.

  Corcoran looked down too, involuntarily. He sucked in his breath and swayed a fraction.

  Good, thought Venn. He’s scared of heights. That would give him another psychological edge over Corcoran. It was why he’d climbed up onto the wall.

  ‘Yes,’ said Venn. ‘A confession. Full and frank. I know the story already. But I want it to come from you. A complete account of your involvement in the cover-up of the carcinogenic effects of C-77. In the murders of those innocent participants in the drug trial, and the attempted murders of Dr Beth Colby and Professor Leonard Lomax. And everything else you’ve done.’

  Venn let go of the crutch for a moment to take out his phone. He transferred it to his other hand, the one cuffed to Corcoran’s, and held it up, lifting the man’s arm with the action.

  ‘Whenever you’re ready, Corcoran. Remember. A full confession. But don’t be too verbose.’

  in the dim light from the surrounding city, Venn saw Corcoran’s face gleaming with sweat.

  ‘Venn,’ he said, his mouth sounding dry. He swallowed and tried again. ‘Venn, listen to me. You have to get us down from here. Quickly.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because I’m not alone in this. I work with other people. And my... associates will have been told you’ve taken me captive, and will know what you’re up to. They’ll order us both killed immediately. They can’t afford to have me talk.’

  ‘Then you’d better hurry up, Corcoran, hadn’t you?’ For emphasis, Venn jerked his arm back. Corcoran gave a yelp as he was almost toppled off his feet, back over the edge.

  ‘Venn, please! They won’t hesitate. I guarantee it. They’ll shoot us both!’

  Venn hit the speed dial button.

  Beth’s voice came immediately. ‘Yes, Venn.’

  ‘Ready to record?’ he said.

  ‘Yes.’

  To Corcoran he said, his voice low and urgent: ‘Start talking.’

  ‘Venn! You have to understand that we have to get away -’

  Venn wrenched his arm backward again so that for a moment they both teetered crazily on the edge, over the eight-storey drop. Corcoran shrieked.

  ‘I’ll do it! I’ll talk!’

  Venn held the phone to Corcoran’s face once again.

  And Corcoran talked. His voice was remarkably clear and steady.

  He admitted that he was part of a black ops division
within the US Defense Department which had taken it upon itself to sponsor the development of the Zylurin agent, without the approval of Congress and indeed the President.

  He named names within the Department, some of which Venn recognized, some of which he didn’t.

  Corcoran admitted he’d ordered the killings of Aaron Rosenberg, Luisa Perez, Elizabeth Colby, and nine others. He confessed to hiring DeeDee Rosetti, the head of New York City’s biggest organized crime family, to arrange the murders, so as to keep Defense Department personnel out of the loop.

  He admitted he’d framed Venn for the murder of the man in the bar on Bleecker Street in order to blackmail him into finding Professor Leonard Lomax, a key player in the Zylurin trials as well as in the earlier studies involving Compound 77, a component of Zylurin, and one which appeared to be associated with a significantly heightened risk of cancer, specifically leukemias. His intention was to kill Lomax once Venn had located him, by detonating a remote-controlled bomb disguised as an electronic tagging device and strapped round Venn’s ankle.

  The admissions came pouring out of Corcoran like the ventings of a penitent sinner at a Catholic confessional. He spoke slowly at first, then faster and faster until his words were like an unstoppable torrent. Venn said nothing, just let the flow continue. Every now and again he checked the display on the phone to make sure the connection was still there.

  Then the door opened at the top of the service stairs.

  Cutting Corcoran off abruptly, Venn put the phone to his own face and said, ‘Beth. Did you get all that?’

  ‘Loud and clear. Is there-’

  ‘I got to go.’

  He shut off the call.

  Through the door, half a dozen men emerged. Venn recognized them all as members of the team who’d accompanied Corcoran onto the roof in the first place.

  Like before, they carried an assortment of shotguns and rifles.

  They advanced in a line, stopping twenty yards away.

  ‘I told you,’ called Venn. ‘Stay away. Or I’ll trigger this bomb and blow both myself and this murdering son of a bitch to hell.’

  ‘It’s no good,’ whispered Corcoran. His eyes were fixed on the men.

  One of them took a step forward.