Pendulum

by Adam Hamdy

  The road ended in a small turning circle half a mile further on. A narrow driveway snaked into the trees and the SFPD officer who stood guard signalled Hector’s driver to continue on. A couple of hundred yards later, the driveway widened before terminating in an expansive gravelled parking area that lay in front of a large white concrete house. Hector immediately noticed that heavy steel shutters covered every door and window. The driveway was crowded with a fleet of vehicles which had spilled into the surrounding garden: unmarked sedans and SUVs, San Francisco and Palo Alto black and whites, an ambulance, a fire department truck, an SFPD SWAT truck, and two gleaming white Santa Clara County Sheriff’s cars.

  Hector jumped out of the Expedition as it pulled to a halt, and Hale and Nelson joined him as he followed Sommers across the driveway and down a small path running between the house and the abundant garden that encircled it. The shutters along this side of the house were all down, and, as they rounded the corner, Hector saw that the rear windows and doors were similarly sealed. Sommers led them across a patio to a large section of lawn that was home to the mobile command unit, a battleship-grey ten-wheel truck which had been driven up a fire access road that lay to the rear of the property. Groups of law enforcement officers stood outside the large vehicle, some sheltering in the alcove created by the truck’s expanded fore and aft compartments.

  Sommers ushered Hector towards a group of men and women clustered around a Magliner. Hector recognised Alvarez.

  ‘Art,’ he called out.

  ‘Sir,’ Alvarez acknowledged, returning the greeting. He turned to the men and women standing with him. ‘Assistant SAIC Hector Solomon, this is Assistant SAIC Dillon, San Francisco Field Office; Captain Reeves, SWAT commander; Undersheriff Michelle Hawkins, with Santa Clara County; Lieutenant Lianna Coleman, Palo Alto PD; Commander Dalton Freeman, San Francisco PD; and Assistant Deputy Chief Russell Mosley, San Francisco Fire Department. Lead negotiator is Special Agent Jeb Franks. He’s in the command unit.’

  Hector turned his attention to a large field monitor on the Magliner, which displayed an infra-red image of the interior of the house and showed two warm bodies somewhere near the heart of the building. The two men were seated on chairs in a small room that was packed with supplies. ‘What have we got here?’ he asked.

  ‘Deputy Chief Mosley provided a thermal imaging rescue camera to give us eyes inside,’ Agent Dillon replied. He was a tall, clean-cut man with dark hair and the intensely frank demeanour of a surgeon. ‘The place is more of a fortress than a home. Shutters are hardened steel; bullet- and blast-proof.’

  ‘We can get through them,’ Reeves, the grizzled SWAT commander, assured the group.

  ‘But it’ll make a lot of noise and give Byrne plenty of time to kill his hostage,’ Dillon added.

  ‘Where are they?’ Hector pointed at the screen.

  ‘Panic room,’ Alvarez replied. ‘We pulled the architect’s plans. It’s a completely self-contained unit with its own air filtration system, three-feet reinforced concrete walls, and a Burton Defense armoured door.’

  ‘Shit,’ Hector sighed. ‘Let’s find out what he wants.’

  Dillon nodded and led Hector into the mobile command unit. Alvarez followed, while Hale and Nelson waited by the Magliner with the rest of the command team.

  ‘This is Special Agent Franks,’ Dillon said, introducing Hector to one of the field agents who sat in front of the banks of communications and surveillance equipment that lined either side of the cabin. ‘Assistant Special Agent in Charge, Hector Solomon.’

  ‘Good to meet you, sir,’ Franks said.

  ‘Likewise,’ Hector replied. ‘You want to give him a call?’

  Franks nodded and lifted the receiver of his field phone, which was pre-programmed to dial one number. There was a short delay while the line connected, and then Hector heard the ringing tone on the command unit speaker system.

  ‘Yes?’ came a man’s voice.

  ‘Agent Solomon is here,’ Franks said. ‘I need proof of life before I put him on.’

  There was a pause before they heard a nervous, hesitant voice. ‘This is Dan Alosi. I’m still alive.’

  Franks looked at one of his colleagues further along the command unit and received a thumbs up confirming the hostage’s identity.

  ‘OK,’ Franks said into the field phone. ‘The next voice you hear will be Agent Solomon’s.’

  Hector took the phone. ‘This is Agent Solomon. Who am I speaking to?’

  ‘They call me Pendulum, Agent Solomon. I’m the one you want.’

  ‘And what do you want?’ Hector asked.

  ‘A simpler life. I’m willing to trade Dan Alosi for my freedom. I want a fully fuelled Dreamliner ready to fly from San Francisco International.’

  ‘I’ll need to take this up the chain of command,’ Hector explained.

  ‘Take your time, Agent Solomon,’ Pendulum advised calmly. ‘Mr Alosi and I are very comfortable. We have three weeks’ supply of food and water, so we’re not in any hurry.’

  The line clicked dead, and Hector rubbed his temples.

  ‘This guy’s good,’ Dillon observed.

  ‘Byrne’s ex-Special Forces,’ Alvarez noted. ‘We can’t use a food delivery to cover an assault.’

  ‘And we can’t blast our way in without giving him time to kill the hostage,’ Dillon added. ‘Gas won’t work because the panic room has its own air system. We could wait it out, tell him we got the jet, and try and take him in transit?’

  Hector shook his head. ‘I don’t think so. It would be a death sentence for Mr Alosi. Listen, the Attorney General won’t take the deal, but we’ve got to run it up the chain anyway. See what the AG says,’ he instructed Alvarez, before turning to Dillon. ‘In the meantime, we need to sit down with SWAT and figure out our minimal loss scenario.’

  Hector stepped out of the command unit and returned to the Magliner. He looked at the fuzzy infra-red image on the monitor and couldn’t shake the feeling that Max Byrne was staring directly at him.

  55

  Wallace gazed out of the window as the Citation made its approach towards Kenosha Airport. He and Ash had spent the flight studying the Pendulum files and Wallace now had a growing feeling of unease. Bonnie Mann had triggered his discomfort. Before her gambling habit took over her life, she’d been a manager at YouTube. Lost in the grip of her addiction, Mann had finally been fired when her boss discovered that she’d concealed her failure to respond to more than three thousand user complaints. The Bureau had concentrated on Bonnie’s gambling, exploring links to organised crime, but it was her job that nagged at Wallace. An ugly idea began to form in his mind, and Wallace looked to discredit it with information from Ken Pallo’s file, but he was only halfway through his search when the pilot announced they were beginning their approach.

  The jet descended rapidly through the cornflower-blue sky, sweeping low over the icy waters of Lake Michigan. Wisconsin had been hit particularly hard by the snowstorm. Huge plates of ice shifted around the south-western edge of the vast lake, and, as they flew over the shoreline, Wallace saw drifts which had been swept as high as the cars abandoned along a deluged highway. The road ran parallel to a narrow beach and a couple of snowploughs were navigating around the haphazardly parked cars, trying to clear a path. Neatly planned pockets of suburban housing gave way to white fields, and the jet flew over a clear road, low enough for Wallace to see the faces of drivers as they looked up. About a mile to his left, a collection of cars clustered beneath the ubiquitous golden arches, and the sight of a McDonald’s made his stomach rumble; it had been over twelve hours since the curled sandwich he’d wolfed down at Police Plaza.

  The Citation’s wheels kissed the runway and smoothly slowed to taxi speed. The pilot brought the aircraft to a halt at a stand opposite Kenosha’s tiny terminal, a single-storey red-brick building with slatted windows. The pilot emerged from the cockpit and opened the hatch, sending freezing air into the cabin. Wallace and Ash pulled their coats ti
ght.

  ‘Kenosha,’ the pilot announced.

  ‘Thanks,’ Ash replied, descending the short run of steps.

  Wallace nodded his thanks at the pilot and followed her out. A man in a heavy blue parka waved at them from outside the terminal and hurried over, and, as he neared, Wallace saw the letters ‘FBI’ embroidered on his coat.

  ‘Special Agent Ash?’ the man asked, and when Ash nodded confirmation, he introduced himself. ‘Special Agent Lloyd Dorsey. Agent Parker gave Milwaukee a heads-up. I’m here to offer our support.’

  ‘And make sure we don’t screw up on your patch?’ Ash smiled as she shook Dorsey’s gloved hand. ‘This is John Wallace; he’s a witness under Federal protection.’

  Wallace took Dorsey’s hand. A thick crop of blond hair poked out from under the parka’s hood. Dorsey had the easy good looks and beaming smile of a college quarterback at the top of his game.

  ‘Nice to meet you,’ Wallace said.

  ‘English,’ Dorsey observed. ‘I love the accent.’ Full of patronising bonhomie and easy charm, Dorsey gave Wallace a hearty pat on the shoulder.

  Wallace liked him instantly.

  ‘My car’s out front,’ Dorsey advised, turning for the terminal.

  The clock inside the quiet building said 11:03, and, as they walked through, Wallace saw Ash reset her watch.

  ‘Central Time,’ she informed him. ‘These guys are a little behind us,’ she added with a wry smile.

  ‘Gives us a chance to learn from your mistakes,’ Dorsey countered.

  Dorsey’s white GMC Terrain was parked next to a high drift of snow outside the building. Wallace and Ash followed him through a narrow gulley which had been cut through the drift and clambered into the car.

  ‘If you guys are hungry, there’s some food in back,’ Dorsey said.

  Wallace found a large brown paper bag in the footwell, and opened it to discover a bounty of sandwiches, snacks and drinks.

  ‘I checked with Kenosha PD,’ Dorsey said as he pulled away from the terminal. ‘They got your request through Agent Parker, but they can’t afford the manpower on a speculative investigation. All their people are working a missing person case. A local sheriff vanished this morning, so they’ve given us one officer. He’s setting up at the Twin Lakes facility.’

  ‘OK,’ Ash nodded. ‘We need to keep this low-key anyhow.’

  ‘You really think this Pendulum guy is doing something out here?’ Dorsey asked sceptically as he scanned the snowbound rural landscape.

  ‘I’d bet my life on it,’ Ash replied.

  ‘OK, I think we’ve got a viable way in,’ Reeves said, laying a large building plan on the Magliner. ‘Alosi’s architect put us in touch with Decker Systems, who installed the house security and panic room. The whole place is networked and they’ve given us access to the operating system. We run an override code and everything opens up. Two teams, one through the front and the other through the garden door here,’ Reeves signalled an entrance on the plan.

  As the rest of the group continued to listen to Reeves’ plan, Hector looked round to see Alvarez signalling him from the command unit. Hector withdrew from Reeves’ briefing and joined Alvarez in a quiet section of the garden a few yards away.

  ‘AG won’t go for the deal,’ Alvarez informed Hector.

  Hector nodded. ‘Makes sense. It wasn’t much of an offer.’

  ‘I got a call from Parker,’ Alvarez added. ‘Chris is at Kenosha, on her way to check out the Twin Lakes facility.’

  ‘Keep me posted,’ Hector replied.

  Alvarez nodded and headed back to the command unit, while Hector returned to the group beside the Magliner. Reeves and Dillon looked at him expectantly.

  ‘Attorney General refused the deal,’ Hector revealed. ‘We go in and get him,’ he said firmly, looking at the infra-red image of Max Byrne on the monitor.

  The journey to Twin Lakes took three-quarters of an hour, most of which Wallace spent gratefully tucking in to Dorsey’s supplies. The Nightfile report and the media coverage of the Pendulum killings had given Ash a certain notoriety, so Dorsey was keen to talk to her about the case and Wallace’s role in bringing everything to light. He was impressed by Wallace’s resourcefulness and endurance, but the memories troubled Wallace because they always led back to one place: the office on Victoria Street where Connie had died in his arms. The ugly idea which had been born on the flight from New York was growing into a horrific abscess that festered inside him. Wallace looked at Ash and Dorsey and wondered how he could possibly air his dark imaginings. You’re being paranoid, he told himself.

  He tried to suppress his thoughts and focus on his surroundings. Twin Lakes wasn’t far from Kenosha, but the snow slowed everything down. Sixtieth Street was limited to one lane in places and Dorsey had to give way to oncoming vehicles. As they made slow progress west, Wallace was struck by how flat the terrain was. When the treeline thinned, the distant horizon wasn’t broken by anything taller than a house or aerial mast. They climbed a couple of gentle hills as they neared Twin Lakes, but these only seemed like half-hearted attempts to break the languid Wisconsin landscape. Dorsey skirted the edge of town and drove south past a couple of farmhouses and something called the La Salette Shrine, a collection of low buildings obscured by tall evergreens.

  A white ‘F’ on a blue background was all that announced the Facebook facility. The single letter was embossed on the side of a gatehouse a hundred feet west of Wilmot Avenue. A high wall enclosed the property and stretched into the distance in both directions. Dorsey turned off the road on to a clear, impeccably laid drive which was smoother than anything the county could offer. He rolled down his window and produced his identification as a uniformed security guard stepped out to greet them.

  ‘Special Agent Dorsey, FBI,’ Dorsey said. ‘I understand you have an Officer Finley on site.’

  ‘Follow the road round. There’s a fire access slip that branches off to the right. He’s about a quarter of a mile down,’ the guard informed Dorsey.

  ‘Thanks,’ he replied as the guard raised the gate, and the GMC rolled forward.

  The two-lane road wound between copses of snow-laden evergreen trees. Dorsey stopped when they came to a fork. Directly ahead, no more than a mile away, they saw the sprawling Facebook data facility, a vast, low concrete building a quarter of a mile long and almost as wide. In front of the building was a parking lot for about a hundred cars, most of which was under snow. There were twenty or so vehicles parked in a small clear section directly opposite the main entrance, which was located in the northern third of the building. Tinted windows stretched north from the entrance to the upper end of the building. The larger southern section was entirely windowless.

  Dorsey turned right and followed the narrow fire road which ran behind a line of trees. About a quarter of a mile up, Wallace saw a black and white cruiser parked in a lay-by. Dorsey pulled in behind it, and a huge uniformed officer unfolded himself from the police car and sauntered over. Dorsey and Ash exited the GMC, and Wallace followed them out.

  ‘Officer Finley?’ Dorsey asked. ‘I’m Special Agent Dorsey. This is Special Agent Ash, and John Wallace. Special Agent Ash is calling the shots.’

  ‘Todd Finley,’ the bearlike officer introduced himself as they shook hands. ‘I checked in with Wayne Roach, who runs site security. He offered to set us up inside the building, but your colleague was very specific.’

  ‘We don’t want to risk alerting anyone to our presence,’ Ash explained.

  ‘OK,’ Finley shrugged. ‘We’ve got a pretty clear line on the parking lot and entrance from here,’ he added, indicating a narrow gap in the treeline. ‘Site is running a skeleton staff because of the weather, but apart from Roach and the gate guard, nobody else knows we’re here.’

  ‘That’s good work, Officer Finley,’ Ash observed.

  ‘What do we do now?’ Dorsey asked.

  ‘You and I are going to take a look inside,’ Ash replied, starting for Dorsey�
�s SUV.

  Wallace moved to follow, but Ash shook her head.

  ‘You gotta stay here, John. I’m not putting you in harm’s way. Officer Finley, you make sure you keep this man safe.’

  Finley nodded and drew alongside Wallace. After everything they’d been through together, Ash could tell that the Englishman was hurt by his exclusion. She might be reckless and hard-headed, but even she knew there was nothing to be gained by dragging Wallace into a potentially dangerous situation. She climbed into the SUV as Dorsey started the engine. He executed a sharp U-turn and moments later they were rolling along the access road towards the huge facility.

  56

  Ash had kept him alive and now she was gone. Wallace could not help but feel vulnerable as he watched the SUV disappear through the trees.

  ‘All units, all units,’ a dispatcher said urgently, her voice crackling from Finley’s radio. ‘Be on the lookout for a blue Chevrolet Express van, Illinois licence number “H” hotel, two, three, fiver, fiver, niner, two. The driver of the vehicle is wanted in connection with the abduction of Sheriff Douglas Simms.’

  Wallace looked down at the parking lot and noticed a blue van near the building. He squinted to read the licence plate, as Finley, who had also noticed the vehicle, leaned through the window of his black and white and grabbed his radio.

  ‘Dispatch, this is Finley,’ the uniformed officer said into his radio.

  ‘Copy that, Todd, you still up at Twin Lakes?’ the dispatcher replied.