by Ian Jones
They looked at the two men then around the small lobby.
‘Where’s Pinsky?’ John asked, to nobody in particular.
‘He’s upstairs. Best be quick,’ Perez replied with a glance up at him.
‘Room 311,’ one of the officers standing watching said. ‘Medics are with him.’
They hurried up the stairs to the third floor.
The door to 311 was standing open, they could see two paramedics working and a couple of police casually leaning on the wall outside. They walked in. Pinsky was on a stretcher, in the same black leather jacket they had seen him wearing earlier walking into the yard. His t-shirt had been cut open and he had a bright red stain around a white dressing in the centre of his stomach. As they moved toward him he looked at both John and Reed then closed his eyes.
‘Can he talk?’ John asked the nearest paramedic, who shook his head.
‘He’s outta it. We gotta get him to the ER. Maybe later, see how it goes ok?’ he replied, and they carried Pinsky from the room.
There was a CSI officer working next to where Pinsky had been lying, carefully placing a pair of Glock and Makarov pistols into separate bags.
Brady joined them and they watched as the paramedics carried Pinsky carefully down the stairs.
‘I don’t know if this makes everything easier or not,’ he asked.
‘I don’t neither,’ Reed replied.
‘Well, I suppose at the least we aren’t looking for anyone now. We saw five men enter the yard this afternoon. The CSI guys can account for them, all the other DNA and forensics are real old. That’s everyone. Two guys dead at the scene, and another close by. That just leaves us with Pinsky and the two downstairs.’
‘I guess so,’ Brady sounded uncertain.
‘Let’s see what they tell us when they are interviewed. I’m not about to start telling you how to do your job but please get your best people on that,’ John advised.
‘Which one shot Pinsky?’ asked Reed.
‘They tell me Rodriguez admitted it, told them he done it as soon as the first responders got on scene. Says he had no choice,’ Brady told them.
They went downstairs, where the huge police presence was dissipating. The two men were still where they had been before but were now handcuffed.
John walked over and studied them.
‘At a guess, I’d say enough was enough, am I about right?’ he asked.
Both men nodded.
‘Why did you shoot him?’
Rodriguez looked upward earnestly.
‘We were just soldiers. That’s what we were told, all the time. Soldiers. Doing a job. But in the end, I don’t got any idea what we were supposed to be.’
He looked at Rico sorrowfully.
‘I didn’t have no choice. I never shot no one before.’
Rico gave him a half smile.
‘You did what you had to brother. You got more guts than me. I never shot nobody neither. But we’re here, and we’re alive.’
He looked at Brady.
‘Ask your questions. I got no problem talking, we know we’re going to jail. All this shit that happened? That weren’t us, but we were there. So I guess we’ll take what we got coming.’
Brady nodded, and then indicated to the surrounding officers to take them away. They were led out, and put in separate vans. The hotel manager, who had been a constant thorn in the police side hurried over and started remonstrating about getting his hotel back, he was losing money, he would sue, etc.
‘Right. Let’s get you guys home, we can all sit down tomorrow,’ Brady said, ignoring the man completely, and they filed out, nothing else to say.
As John was saying goodnight to Reed and being shown a car which would take him back to Santa Monica there was a sudden burst of activity on the other side of the police cordon and a voice calling out ‘John!’ several times. He looked up and smiled.
Sammy was waving frantically at him, also with a big grin on her face.
He turned to his escort who was waiting by the open car door.
‘Actually, I don’t think I’ll need that lift thank you.’
The officer was unsure.
‘Look, I got told …’
John interrupted him.
‘It’s fine, don’t worry. And at least it saves you a job.’
Chapter Forty-Three
Brady worked late to make sure everything was in place and watertight. Perez and Rodriguez were taken to different precincts, and spent the next day being interviewed.
Both men were immediately frank and open, and opted to talk freely without lawyers being present. Full statements were taken, but apart from the timeline and complete details of the assault at the Metro and the murder of Hayter they soon discovered that there wasn’t really a whole lot that they hadn’t already worked out.
Perez explained his recruitment into 1-Too, which even though he was keen to talk was still vague in terms of definite names. He had been living in Seattle, and had split from a girlfriend so ended up sleeping on a friend’s sofa, but had been there too long and knew it.
He had no proper job, no money and no prospects, and had been scraping by working for a local underground bookmaker as a debt collector earning a few bucks here and there. He had been offered cash to drive a stolen van back from Redmond but had been pulled over on the way when a keen-eyed policeman spotted the man who had offered him the money driving the car on the way to collect it. The man had various warrants out, so they were both taken in. There was nothing obvious to charge Perez with but because of his record they kept him in and grilled him anyway.
He was released eventually, and made his way across town back home, rueing his bad luck and the fact that now he was even more skint than normal. Keen to keep out of the way as long as he could he chose to drop by a bar close by and had just sat down with a beer when a cop that he had seen hanging around earlier appeared next to him. He’d been followed, and saying very little of any substance the cop slid over a piece of paper with a cellphone number written on it and advised him to call it if he wanted to earn some cash, then had disappeared.
So Rico rang, and the conversation was short. There was money in LA. So get down there and call another number as soon as he arrives. The job would take a month or so, and he would be working for a crew.
And feeling like he had run out of options in Seattle he had done exactly as he was told.
He never had any names, he had made contact as soon as soon as he got off the train and been told to go to Mount Pleasant, which had been a huge pain in the ass, to use his own words. After a lot of hanging around and sleeping in a park he had been approached by Ji-hoon, who had been watching him. Again, he wasn’t told a whole lot but he was taken to Voorhees, and given a sleeping bag in the shitty apartment. From that point on he was told he was a soldier. 1-Too was never mentioned except when Voorhees was laying the law down about something. Sal had arrived a week or two later. The stated month or so became four, and in that time they didn’t actually do anything until the last week. All they did was occasionally have fun firing assault rifles out in the wilds, or just fetching and carrying around the city. The Metro station had been their first action, and that had gone wrong, but he didn’t know why because he hadn’t been on the platform. The information given had been poor, and he believed Voorhees and given everybody separate instructions, but his understanding has been that Ji-hoon and Sung-min were to get the bag and Pol was to keep everyone on the platform. He and Sal had to stop anyone else going downstairs, but once it was underway they were to get back to van and have it running. There had been no clear picture of Deanna, and no other detail had been given. Ji-hoon had been unhappy.
Rico was asked about all the weapons, he had no idea where they came from. He told them that Pol would take care of teaching everyone how to shoot, he was the only one with any real training. Rico said they used to enjoy going out firing at targets, apparently they got quite good at it in the end.
Weiss had killed the majo
r, which hadn’t exactly been in the script. All they had been told by Voorhees was go get the briefcase.
But what happened seemed to cause panic, and straight after they had moved to the train yard, then Pinsky had shown up with Rolf and Greg and what had already been shit went way worse fast.
Finally, both he and Sal had snapped. Voorhees had been murdered, Rolf was dead and then that motherfucker Pinsky had killed Greg just like it was nothing. Weiss had left behind a Glock which nobody knew about and Sal had shot Pinsky with it in the hotel room. He had been aiming for a leg but had rushed it because he’d been panicking. Perez admitted that at the time they both were, they had been at breaking point for hours.
He was just happy to be alive.
If anything Rodriguez’s story was even more poignant. He was born in San Diego, so was a naturalised Californian. But he hadn’t been there long, his mother had taken him and his three sisters off in an old car in the middle of the night. He had no memory of it, he had been less than a year old at the time. They had pitched up in Miami, which was their home for the next few years until there had been another moonlight flit, this time to Atlanta. He had never known his father, his mother was Mexican. When he was ten she was arrested for her part of a credit card scam, and with a bunch of other charges ended up going to jail. So Rodriguez and his sisters were in the system. They were split up, and Rodriguez was fostered several times until at last he was eighteen. He was living in Birmingham, and involved in all sorts of petty street crimes. He did try and find his mother, but found out she had been released a long time ago but made no effort to contact him.
He too had been approached in a bar and told to ring a number, his story virtually matched that of Perez.
Yes, he had found the Glock in a car they had been forced to dump after that asshole Weiss got himself killed. He had kept it because things were getting ‘as ragged as shit’ and he was glad he had. He had no remorse about shooting Pinsky, it was the end of the line and both he and Perez would have been murdered for sure. He had spoken the truth, he had never shot anyone before, never aimed a gun at anyone. In the end they were stuck in a crappy hotel while Pinsky got angrier and angrier all the time while making impossible demands and he had just pulled the trigger.
At that point Sal Rodriguez laughed.
‘Man, you should have seen the look on that motherfucker’s face.’
Both men’s statements outlined life in the apartment identically. There were rarely any clear instructions, they never had any real idea what they were supposed to be doing. They were bored and spent most of their time either in McDonald’s or hanging around in the kitchen. Voorhees would occasionally issue orders to do something but was always secretive and would lock himself away in his office on the phone. The only money they had earned was the few bucks that Voorhees would hand out every now and then.
Pinsky’s wounding was serious but not fatal. He was stabilised in the emergency room and once the danger had passed was transferred to a private room.
He was not a happy man.
The doctors gave the police permission to question him but he clammed up and demanded a representative from the embassy. Suddenly his previously reasonably fluent English deserted him.
The police sensibly decided to take a step back and deferred to the FBI, who took charge and met with the official when they arrived at the hospital.
There were seven charges; the murders of Yann Voorhees and Greg Tilson, the murders of three LAPD SWAT team officers, accomplice in the murder of CIA agent Kyle Warner and accomplice in the attempted murder of FBI agent Judy Blake.
The official was in with Pinsky a long time, and when he came out the FBI were advised that due to his injuries Leonid Pinsky was unable to speak at this time, and an official statement would be released.
The official statement, when it arrived, came from the White House. It was very simple.
Under advice from Homeland Security Congress has determined that Leonid Pinsky be handed over to Moscow. He has denied all knowledge of the murder of Kyle Warner or the attempt on Judy and there is not sufficient evidence to support such charges. During the events at the train yard he admits to firing a weapon but claims to have aimed well away from the officers and vehicles. He also admitted to carrying the Makarov, stating it was for his own protection and denying murdering Greg Tilson, despite ballistics proving it and his were the only fingerprints on the weapon. He states that he has acted in the best interests of government in his actions against 1-Too agents, who are known to be involved in terrorist action globally and regarded as enemies of the United States of America as well as Russia. He is to be deported back to Russia as soon as is practical in regard to his injuries, and would be dealt with the authorities there. Homeland Security have ascertained that any conflicting statements given by the witnesses currently in police custody could not be regarded seriously as both men have criminal records. This decision is final.
It was countersigned by the office of the president.
The FBI knew when they were handcuffed, and had no choice but to pass it all over to Homeland Security. Pinsky was their problem now, for the very limited time he had left in the USA.
It meant Judy was unhappy and angry but knew there was nothing she could do. While Pinsky was now case closed, the investigation into 1-Too continued. The phone records for Keane, Voorhees and Pinsky had been checked, and any matching numbers scrutinised.
And there was one on all three phones that was interesting straight away.
Charles Edward Morgan. General, US Army, formerly commanding officer at Fort Indigo, now based at the Pentagon.
The next day three Military Policemen wearing full dress uniforms entered the Pentagon. One of them, a captain, was a very big man and towered over General Morgan as he was led away, which caused a brief flurry of interest among the staff until it was forgotten, as was Morgan himself in a very short space of time.
Morgan was taken back directly to Indigo. Once the questioning started the MP’s expected trouble, they ultimately had to work alongside the FBI and the charges were very serious.
But Morgan surprised everyone. His incarceration was a relief, he was a wreck, and admitted everything almost as soon as he sat down.
Chapter Forty-Four
It had all begun four years previously. Following the G8 and G20 summits the much improved communications between previously combative governments it had been decided to have seminars across several key nations for senior military personnel. General Morgan was the one chosen, to represent the US. And he revelled in it. First class flight to Paris, three nights stay in a five-star hotel, and free flowing food and wine.
On the last night after yet another elaborate and extremely expensive dinner, he sat having brandy and cigars in a lounge overlooking the city, along with his Russian and Chinese counterparts, who of course he had never met before. So he was very surprised and interested to learn that they had been having regular conversations. The Russian; a Colonel General Rostov, who had been a keynote speaker at one of the conferences and spoke in fluent English had told him that he had already been in meetings with several of the other officers from various countries before. With a laugh, he said that they had taken part in simple war games, which so far Russia had won. Intrigued, Morgan asked more, and when Grand Marshal Yin, who was one of two Chinese officers present backed it up, Morgan was sold. He could see how much Rostov and Yin were enjoying talking about it. So when Rostov, with a twinkle in his eye, had said that he could never see the USA taking part Morgan had immediately announced that he was in.
So the game was set, between Russia, China and the USA.
Rostov explained the idea. It sounded laughably simple.
The three officers would each come up with some kind of developmental weapon, which could be real, fake or just imagined. There would be plans and technical information.
Each country would attempt to steal these plans from the other two countries. The rules were simple. The name of the we
apon had to be divulged within one month of the game starting, along with some kind of outline. Their own names had to be included as part of any headers or footers attached, and the schematic must always remain at the military offices or base that it originated from.
After that, there were no rules. Each country could use whatever means they had available to discover the information, and they had until the next summit, which was to be in four years’ time.
On arrival back at Indigo Morgan had sat down with the senior armoury officer asking for information about any weapons that were in development, due to be tested soon or for any reason had been abandoned. Understandably confused about the request he had suggested Morgan talked to the teaching staff, as they used such examples for training. So Morgan did, and eventually came away with a twenty page document on a new mobile ground to air missile which had long since been abandoned due to cost and overall feasibility. He added in his name, rank and number then sent a copy of the cover sheet to Rostov and Yin, and the game was underway.
The only other person he discussed it with was his old friend Colonel Carter, who was as usual impressed and keen to help. He offered to assist in hiding any paperwork which Morgan was very glad about as he couldn’t think of anywhere and this appeared to be key in the game unfolding.
Morgan did a presentation to the Senate on the seminar and requested that he should attend the next summit, which was agreed. For the staff involved this was a win–win, it would mean they wouldn’t have to lose anybody actually useful, Morgan could do no harm there and wouldn’t be missed, he would be retiring soon after anyway.
Morgan was delighted, and enjoyed telling everyone about how important the summit was, then he forgot all about it.
Until six months previously, when he had got a call on his personal mobile phone. It was from a man who did not give his name, but advised that his organisation was working for the Russians to find the plans that Morgan was hiding. He was told that they would succeed. A disbelieving Morgan argued, it was impossible. No, the man told him. His organisation could do anything.