by Mike Cooper
“Now what?” said Millz.
“I don’t—”
By coincidence, Kayo happened to be looking down the track, so he saw the locomotive crash. One second it was moving along, slow and steady, the next it was falling to the side. A moment later, the noise rolled over them, a long banging roar. Flatcars splayed left and right behind the engine, vast pieces of iron and steel thrown into the air and collapsing into one another.
“Fu-u-u-ck.” Millz breathed it out, awestruck.
And Kayo’s indecision vanished completely. He knew exactly where they needed to go: as far away as possible. He grabbed Millz’s arm and pulled him aside just as the first police began running past, intent on the protesters.
“We’re done,” he said. “No, don’t fucking run, keep it smooth.”
Sirens everywhere. One of the gray tactical vans rumbled into life and turned toward the road. A plain old fire truck and an ambulance appeared from somewhere, headed for the wreck.
Snow stung his eyes. Shouts and screaming became audible under all the other noise.
“That was fucking cool.”
“This way,” Kayo said.
The school bus was just cranking over when they arrived. Kayo hammered on the door’s window glass, and after a moment, the driver turned the handle to open it.
“Catch a ride?” said Kayo, leaning in.
“Where you going?”
“Anywhere.”
“You didn’t have nothing to do with that shit, did you?”
“Us? Fuck no.” He ascended to the first step.
“I got to give them a few minutes—anyone was on the bus before, they can get back on now.”
“How long you planning to stay?”
They both looked back, over Millz’s head. Whatever order had existed in the parking lot was gone—civilians running around, police no better organized, vehicles tearing this way and that. Kayo saw the first batons in action, three armored cops subduing a kid curled into a ball.
“Maybe not so long,” said the driver.
“Thanks, brother.” Kayo and Millz climbed in and stood in the aisle. “Guess you can turn the heater on now, huh?”
The driver obliged, and a guttering draft of warm air began to flow. They watched the confusion for a minute.
“Didn’t think they had it in them,” the driver said.
“I don’t think it was your group. They were just standing there. Had to be some kind of special-ops ninja squad blew up that shit.”
“Maybe it was an accident,” said Millz.
“Don’t think so, but it don’t hardly matter.”
Something struck the back of the bus with a thump. Rock? A stray bullet? Kayo hunched involuntarily.
“Okay, fuck this shit.” The driver put the bus into gear. “Eleven an hour ain’t exactly hazard pay.”
Kayo dropped into the front seat. “Better than we’re getting,” he said.
David was at an ambulance, helping the medic lift in one of the engineers on a gurney. The other EMT knelt on the ground, working on the other engineer with Sean.
In David’s experience, not too many people kept their heads in a crisis. But those who could pitched in.
His phone rang as the gurney rolled to a stop inside the truck and latched down. He dug it out of his pocket.
“Yeah? What? When?”
Neither medic allowed himself to be distracted, but Sean stared at him. “What?”
“You good?”
The first EMT nodded. “Yeah, no problem. We’ll transport in a few minutes.”
“Thanks.” David looked at Sean. “Fire in the vault.”
“The vault?”
“Maybe the train wreck hit something—it was right out front. But we’ve got a level-three alarm going off. Mandatory evacuation, maximum fire suppression. Let’s go!”
They moved toward the vault, going far around the massive train wreck and the firefighters just starting to lay down foam. Twisted metal and broken debris littered the snow-covered ground. The fence and its razor wire had been smashed flat, leaving a way in.
“Unbelievable,” Sean said. “What’s next? A meteor strike? Angels with flaming swords?”
David slowed, his knee in agony. He pulled out his service radio and turned up the volume. “This is Keegan,” he said, holding down the transmit switch. “Forget the demonstrators We’ve got a ten-eighty at the vault. Respond immediately.”
He released the key, and static returned, followed a moment later by several brief acknowledgments.
Sean stepped over a gash torn in the earth by a skidding iron wheel. “How many?”
“All of them, probably.”
“Not too excited, I hope. We already got enough lunatics waving loaded guns around.”
“Firearms safety,” said David. “Priority number one.”
At the vault’s rampway, a fire had indeed started, though it seemed to be outside, not within. Flames were rising from the fallen locomotives. A thick cloud of oily smoke mixed into the snow, falling lightly again. More riot police had arrived, and they’d begun to push the spectators farther back. The crowd itself had grown—protesters, the news crews, yard employees, and the usual mass of idlers who somehow materialized at any accident scene, no matter how deserted or remote.
They stopped, looking down the ramp.
“Doesn’t seem like anything’s on fire down there,” said Sean, voice raised above the roar of the fire behind them.
“It was the monitoring company pulled the cord. Tried calling them, but their lines are busy.”
“Busy?”
Emergency lights had gone on at the base of the ramp, inadequate to fully illuminate the loading bay. The receiving office window was dark. Falling snow further obscured their view. Acrid smoke drifted from the burning locomotive, and David’s eyes burned.
Three men appeared from the haze. They struggled up the ramp, coughing, half running.
“What’s going on in there?” David didn’t recognize them, but all wore Stormwall uniforms.
One of the security employees was supporting another, limping badly. The third looked at David and said, “Fire alarms. Bad smoke. All the lights went out and we had to evacuate before the halon went.”
“Is anyone still in there?”
“Didn’t see anyone.” The man goggled at the burning train. “What the hell happened out here?”
“Not really sure.” David looked back down at the loading bay. “Are the doors still open?”
“We pulled them shut, but, you know, I didn’t take a lot of time double-checking the locks. We got an injured man here.”
“Okay. There’s an ambulance out there—and more arriving. Get him looked at.”
“Thanks.”
David looked at Sean. “There’s gold bullion in that vault,” he said. “Boggs is going to be pissed if we don’t make sure it’s still locked up nice and tight.”
“The only fire I see is over there,” said Sean. “And it looks contained to me.”
“All right.” David started down the ramp. “Let’s find out what’s going on here.”
CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE
Asher walked briskly away, snow and wind stinging his eyes. The uniform was cheap polyester, completely inadequate to the cold. If he’d had pockets, he’d have shoved his hands into them. Instead, he concentrated on keeping them from curling into fists—warmer, but odd-looking—and his back straight. Forward and confident.
Clean up right and no one looks twice.
Not that anyone was looking at Asher. He’d separated from Finn and Jake as soon as they were past the officers at the top of the ramp, no good-byes, pushing through the crowd. Conveniently, something exploded in the fallen locomotive as he passed, a deep thump, a fireball flaring out. Bystanders oohed, like they were watching fir
eworks. Armored police shifted and shoved back. No one noticed a solitary figure moving away into the snow.
Or so he hoped.
He turned from the avenue, putting the yard to his back, and then it was a quarter mile through deserted, snowy streets. Sirens and crowd noise faded. Asher thought about jogging but decided against it, just kept moving steadily. His ears and fingers slowly went numb.
The Seaport Vegetables box truck was undisturbed, its windows covered in snow. Asher fumbled under the bumper for the magnetic key case, fingers barely able to recognize and pull it out. Inside the cab, he started the engine—the diesel didn’t catch or hesitate, thank fucking God—and put the heater to max.
When feeling returned to his hands, he retrieved the headset from under his jumper, where he’d had to carry it. To keep it from sliding down his leg, he’d shoved the radio unit into his underwear. But it snapped to life as instantly as the truck, and he caught half a transmission as he fitted the earpiece into place.
“—in the block. Clear, far as I can see.” Nicola’s voice, controlled as ever. “Where are you?”
“Corner of Fairwell and Sixth.” Corman, driving the Kei truck full of loot.
“If Asher’s there, you’ll see him in less than a minute. No other traffic?”
“Car going the other way.” A moment’s static. “I might have picked up some attention, though.”
“Where?”
“Dark SUV, driving along the yard fence. It stopped when I passed—couldn’t see exactly in the mirrors, but it might have followed.”
“I’ll check the scope.”
“It looked old-fashioned. Roof rack, tire on the hood.” Corman, paying attention.
“Hang on.”
Asher found the transmit switch and clicked it to active. “I’m in the truck,” he said.
“Asher!” Her calm broke for a moment. “You made it!”
“Yeah, of course.”
“What about Finn?”
Not Jake, Asher noted, but that was for another time. “They’re out. We split up.”
“Corman is almost there.”
“He got it?” Asher felt a grin start. “How about that.”
“Get ready. If there’s someone following him, you have to move fast.”
“Right.” Asher hated to leave the warming cab, but he hopped out and trotted to the rear of the truck.
The door slid up with hardly a rattle, thanks to the vast quantity of grease they’d filled the tracks with. Almost as smoothly, he pulled out the two tire ramps, letting them thump to the ground. And just in time—headlights turned the corner and accelerated toward him.
The Kei truck moved fast, speeding alongside the warehouse. Asher yelped and jumped out of the way. At the last moment, Corman braked, just enough, and hit the risers dead on. The Seaport truck bounced, slammed forward by the impact, and the Kei truck shot up and into the cargo area. A split second later, a great rending crash.
“Holy fuck!” Asher grabbed at the risers, unhooking them from the bed and dropping them to the ground, all the while staring at the Kei truck’s rear. From what he could see, the front was collapsed into the forward wall. Had Corman survived the collision?
Yes. The driver door wrenched open, banging against the compartment’s side wall, and the man himself emerged into the narrow gap.
“Aarghh!” It was a tight squeeze, and something dark obscured Corman’s face—blood, as he came into the light.
“You okay, big man?” Asher reached up a hand, but Corman ignored him and dropped off the bed.
“Close the door.”
Asher was already pulling the chain, the door sliding down and crashing into place.
“Fucker actually fit.”
Nicola’s voice on the radio. “Dark green SUV, tearing up Fairwell,” she said. “Move!”
Asher ran to the cab, glancing once at Corman. “Can you walk?”
“Yeah.” Corman wiped his face with a handful of snow. “Go.”
“All right.” He shoved the shifter into gear and eased the clutch—too fast, the truck almost stalled. He tried again—nope, not panicking!—and the truck started forward.
Corman disappeared into the snow, not looking back.
At the end of the alleyway, Asher turned the corner without stopping. In one last, quick glance at the mirror, he thought he saw a glow of headlights.
“Nicola? We clear?”
“Maybe. I don’t have line of sight anymore.”
“Fuck.”
One more turn and Asher was back on Fairwell—the other end, past the industrial complex where they’d parked. Traffic light, a few cars and trucks. As Asher accelerated down the street, an unmarked with its flashers on came the other way, fast.
His heart thudded. He concentrated on keeping his speed exactly the same.
Two hundred yards behind him, the cruiser turned into the alley he’d just exited.
“Jesus, that was close,” he whispered, more to himself.
“You okay?” Nicola must have heard.
“Yeah, but—”
“Stick to the plan.” Nicola went away for a moment. “Finn says he’ll be there.”
David stood, shocked into immobility. Even Sean fell silent, mouth open.
The interior of the vault was a disaster zone: racks tipped and empty drawers tossed aside, debris and dust, bent metal, a gaping hole torn in the wall. They still had only emergency lights, beaming weakly in the haze.
Sean moved first, over to the gash in the wall. He pulled himself up and peered inside.
“Tunnel,” he said. “Some kind of conveyor belt. You got a flashlight?”
David handed him a Maglite from his utility belt. Sean braced himself on one arm and pointed the light down the opening.
“Looks collapsed about twenty feet in.” He dropped back to the floor, stumbling as he landed on a chunk of concrete. “Shit.”
David coughed in the dust. “I guess we know what derailed the loco.”
“Those three guys …”
“Yeah.” David pulled out his radio but muttered in frustration a moment later. “No signal. We have to call from outside.”
They moved quickly toward the doors and up the ramp, David limping more and more heavily. Sean had his own radio out.
“Might have a lead,” he said.
“What?”
“Radio car saw a funny little truck drive out of one of the warehouses on Caleb Street—right across from the train wreck.”
“A funny truck?”
“Funny looking. They’re following.”
“Could be something. Could be nothing.”
“They’re looking for it now.” A pause while Sean waited for an update on the radio and David wondered what to do next.
Sean said, “You should contact Boggs, shouldn’t you?”
David looked at his phone. “Fuck,” he said.
CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO
“There’s no tail,” said Nicola over the comm. “I don’t think.”
“How do you know?” Asher’s voice, jittery.
“I don’t see the SUV.”
“They were on the other side! Not the SUV, some other police car.”
“Did they backtrack you?”
“They went into the alley.”
That stopped her for a moment. “Okay, then they’ll meet in the middle,” she said finally. “And find nothing.”
“The rails are on the ground.”
“Nothing that will help them for the next ten minutes.” A note of exasperation. “That’s all you need.”
Asher muttered.
“What?”
“I said I fucking hope so.”
Finn listened with one ear. He and Jake were in Finn’s truck, driving as fast as was both safe and reasonably d
iscreet through the dark, snowy industrial zone. Ancient brick buildings and modern, blank metal ones passed on both sides. The wipers kept up with the falling snow, but their headlights were almost useless, reflecting back nothing but glare from the flurries in front of them.
Finn felt good about one thing: Corman was clean.
He could have driven the Kei truck away—tried to escape on his own. He didn’t, so he wasn’t the turncoat.
Now it was Asher’s turn.
The man himself squawked onto the radio. “I’m … four minutes away.”
“We’ll be waiting,” said Finn. “Corman okay?”
“Banged up some, but you know—fucker would hardly notice if you hit him with a cinder block.”
“Not with you?”
“Left, like we planned.”
No one said anything. Corman on foot, two police vehicles converging directly on his vicinity.
Nothing they could do.
They left Finn’s truck two blocks away. Jake could barely put weight on his leg at all now, unable to move at all without his arm across Finn’s shoulder. The distance took longer than it should have.
“You get the engine started,” Finn said, easing Jake to the driver’s door. “Can you operate it with that leg?”
“It’s a lever shift. Shouldn’t be a problem.” He opened the door and pulled himself up with both arms.
“Okay.” Finn jogged the length of the tractor trailer all the way to the rear. Gil’s battered hauler, hitched to the tall, enclosed the trailer they’d fixed up over the last two weeks. He unlatched the door, shoved it up and open, and pulled out the ramp.
The Seaport box truck appeared a minute later, headlights looming out of the snow. Finn looked around. The utility substation had a permanent security light at one corner, glowing dully in the snowfall. No other lights were visible, no noise except Asher’s engine. Though it was hard to tell, the snow muffling everything.
The tractor roared to life, and then he truly couldn’t hear anything else.
Good enough. Finn watched Asher approach, squinting into the glare.
“Cut the lights,” he said into the headset.