The Operative

by Falconer, Duncan

  The next phase of Stratton’s plan required him to get outside but all indications were that the building appeared to be closing down. He quickly scanned around for anything that might provide a clue to getting out and his gaze landed not on the perfect solution but probably the only one. A fire alarm was fixed to the wall beside the fire exit and Stratton whacked it with his elbow, breaking the glass. The building immediately erupted in a cacophony of bells and sirens and he walked into the crowded lobby as event staff emerged from the banqueting hall, wondering what the alarm was about.

  ‘Fire!’ Stratton called out. ‘Fire! Get out of the building! There’s a fire!’

  It had the immediate desired effect with a general shift of people towards the main doors. The security guards tried to hold them back. Skender’s thugs were overly physical in their own efforts, which only served to increase tension, ignite tempers and fuel the urgency to escape.

  Stratton joined the pack, shouting scary warnings above the din of the alarm bells. The mass of people quickly began to reverse the efforts of the guards and Skender’s goons to close the doors as Cano stepped from an elevator.

  Cano quickly made his way to the side of the crowd, shouting at his men to hold the doors as he pushed his way towards them. As he forced his way to within a few feet of the entrance he noticed someone staring at him from the other side of the mass and suddenly realised it was Stratton.

  Cano increased his efforts to push forward, never taking his stare off Stratton while his hand slipped inside his jacket and grabbed his pistol. He ripped it from its holster and struggled to raise it above the heads of those in front of him. As he got it roughly aimed, Stratton ducked out of sight.

  Cano pushed even more violently, trampling a woman who had lost her footing in front of him. He ignored her screams as he stood on her in an effort to gain some height so that he could find Stratton.

  The mass of bodies squeezed through the main doors as the guards finally gave in to the greater force. Cano surged out with them and onto the concourse where people were flooding away from the building in every direction. Most stopped at what they considered a safe distance to look back and see what the alarm was all about. Cano moved further out, scanning beyond and behind, his gun in his hand, ready to shoot should he catch sight of the person he hated most on this planet. As he came to a stop and turned a full circle, looking far and near, he caught sight of a figure in a waiter’s uniform running from the square and down a side street. Although he could not see the man’s features clearly enough he knew that it was Stratton. His empty eye socket began to throb.

  As Cano continued to look in that direction he was filled with an intense curiosity to know what the man had been doing in the building and why he’d left.

  ‘Top-floor security, this is Vleshek,’ he shouted into his radio. ‘Top-floor security!’

  A moment later there was a reply.

  ‘Is everything okay?’ Cano asked.

  ‘Everything is fine here.’

  ‘Check with all the other guards on that floor. I want to know if there has been anything suspicious in the last hour. Anything.’

  ‘Give me a minute. I will check,’ the voice said.

  It had been about an hour since Tony had been tossed into the dumpster. Stratton had been in the building somewhere, doing something that had taken that amount of time to complete. Perhaps he had been looking for the boy, but that would have been a stupid risk unless he had good reason to suspect that the kid was there. And to search a building that big by himself would have been pointless anyway. Cano could not but respect Stratton’s explosives skills and audacity but what the Englishman could possibly have been doing in the building he could not imagine.

  ‘Vleshek?’ a voice barked over the radio.

  ‘Yes,’ Cano said.

  ‘I’ve spoken to all the guys and no one’s seen or heard nothin’ suspicious.’

  Cano lowered the radio, his mind churning through possible reasons Stratton could have been there.

  ‘Vleshek?’

  ‘I heard you,’ Cano snapped. He made his way back to the main entrance. Anger once again dominated Cano’s emotions as the feeling grew inside him that he did not have the initiative in this fight. He of all people knew the advantages of the small against the mighty. The only thing he had in his favour was time – or, more precisely, knowing that Stratton had little of it.

  As Cano entered the lobby, the alarms bells still ringing, he raised his radio to his mouth. ‘This is Vleshek. Everyone listen. I want anyone who is not covering an exit to meet me on the second floor, and I mean everyone. And turn those goddamned alarm bells off !’

  33

  A sedan pulled into a side street across from Skender’s building and came to a stop alongside the kerb. Inside it Hobart, Seaton, Hendrickson and the driver all sat in silence, looking dishevelled and somewhat fatigued after a night without sleep. They’d spent hours at a medical facility, undergoing checks. Then they’d examined the mine at dawn for any clues or evidence. Having found nothing of value, they’d then learned of the pick-up that had been stolen outside the bar in Twin Oaks and discovered that Stratton’s vehicle had been left in its place. They’d decided to head for Los Angeles and Skender’s business centre since that was the next logical focus point of the manhunt.

  Hobart finally broke the silence with a heavy sigh. ‘I’m gonna tell Skender to cancel his opening ceremony,’ he said as if he had just made the monumental decision.

  Hendrickson, still wearing his singed coat, turned around in the front passenger seat to look at him. ‘He’s not going to like that, sir.’

  ‘I don’t give a damn what he likes,’ Hobart said. Then, after considering the comment, he acknow ledged the implications of such a decision. ‘Call the mayor’s office. I think the governor’s coming too. Let ’em know we’re closing down the building and not to come.’

  ‘Should I say why?’ Hendrickson asked.

  ‘Go ahead and tell ’em it’s a bomb scare but make sure they understand this is not al-Qaeda or anything like that. Just say we’ve got a crazy out there with an explosive device.’

  ‘The press’ll be here five minutes after I make the call,’ Hendrickson said.

  ‘They’re gonna know as soon as you call the police chief, the fire department and emergency services. We’re gonna need a cordon at least three blocks deep – plus EOD and ECM.’

  ‘We’ll have to evacuate every building within the cordon,’ Hendrickson said.

  ‘A goddamned nightmare,’ Hobart sighed. ‘Got anything to add?’ he asked Seaton.

  Seaton was ignoring him and staring directly ahead.

  Hobart looked at him. ‘Seaton?’

  ‘There he is,’ Seaton said.

  Hobart didn’t quite understand who Seaton meant – his mind was on so many characters at that second. ‘Who?’ he asked, looking ahead in the direction where Seaton was staring.

  ‘Stratton.’

  Hobart focused through the windscreen on a man in a waiter’s outfit walking across their front as Hendrickson spun round in his seat to look.

  ‘That’s him?’ Hobart asked, unable to see a clear resemblance to the picture from the angle he was at.

  Hendrickson looked at Hobart, waiting for him to make the next move. Hobart quickly opened his door and the driver and Hendrickson followed, pulling their guns from their hip holsters.

  Hobart put out a hand to keep them behind him. ‘No shooting unless I tell you to – is that understood?’

  Hobart took the lead and hurried down the centre of the road, a warning tapping anxiously at his brain that this was too easy and something was about to blow up. As he turned the corner Stratton came into full view, walking along, hands empty and swinging by his side, as unthreatening as anyone else in the street.

  ‘Hold it!’ Hobart shouted, closing the gap, his gun gripped in both hands, held out in front of him and ready to come up on aim. Hendrickson and the driver adopted similar stances behind an
d to either side of him.

  Stratton heard the voice call out and instantly believed the worst. But he kept walking.

  ‘John Stratton!’ Hobart shouted, walking briskly behind him. ‘This is the FBI. Stand still or so help me I will shoot you!’

  Pedestrians close enough to hear halted as they looked at the three men in the street who were carrying weapons.

  Stratton slowed.

  ‘John Stratton, this is your last warning,’ Hobart shouted as his pistol came up on aim.

  Stratton came to a stop although he did not turn to look. He knew that it had all come to a grinding halt for him and even though he instinctively searched for a clue to a way out there was nothing. He was in the street, cars and people either side and nowhere to run. Suddenly he could see Josh in a dirty corner somewhere, hands tied, desperate and hungry. Stratton was almost filled with the urge to make a run for it, even though he knew that he would never survive. But in many ways it would have been an act of cowardice, taking the easy way out of his guilt for failing Josh. Stratton had never felt such anguish and loss before that moment: it was as if a strange sense of invulnerability that he’d had all his life had suddenly disappeared.

  At that moment Grant appeared, walking down the sidewalk and clapping eyes on the very man he had hoped to. ‘Hey! You! Motherfucker!’ he shouted at Stratton, completely unaware of the guns drawn in the street. ‘We need to talk. Yeah, you!’

  Grant walked out into the road to confront Stratton. ‘Where’s my motherfucken’ five hunnerd dollars? You lied to me, you motherfucker. I’m talkin’ to you, ma—’ Grant stopped in mid-sentence as he saw the men behind Stratton with guns aimed at them both. His mouth remained agape as his hands went into the air. ‘Holy shit.’

  ‘Keep perfectly still,’ Hobart said to Stratton as he came to a stop yards from his back. ‘Let’s not do anything stupid here. Put your hands up.’

  Stratton slowly complied.

  ‘I ain’t done nothin’ man,’ Grant said, quivering. ‘I ain’t no paparazzi.’

  ‘Move to one side, please, sir,’ Hobart said to Grant. ‘You stay perfectly still, John.’

  Grant stepped to the side, keeping his hands high as Hobart’s driver moved to where he could cover him.

  ‘Now I want you to turn slowly and face me,’ Hobart said. ‘Nice and easy.’

  Stratton did as he was ordered and looked into Hobart’s eyes, recognising the man he had seen only once before.

  Hobart also recognised Stratton from somewhere and took his time trying to remember. ‘Santa Monica courts,’ he finally said, mainly to himself, looking forward to interrogating Stratton and filling in the many holes in this case. ‘Before I search you, you got anything? Guns? Explosives?’

  Stratton shook his head.

  ‘Hendrickson. Give me your gun, then search him.’

  Hendrickson handed his gun to Hobart and moved in behind Stratton, a hint of nervousness showing through.

  Stratton looked several yards beyond Hobart to see Seaton staring at him. They locked eyes as Hendrickson ran his hands thoroughly over Stratton’s body.

  ‘He’s clean,’ Hendrickson said.

  A police car arrived and came to a halt further up the street. Two officers climbed out, guns drawn, and crouched behind their car doors.

  ‘FBI,’ Hendrickson called out as he held his badge up for the cops to see.

  ‘Cuff him,’ Hobart told Hendrickson who produced a pair of handcuffs.

  ‘Hands behind your back,’ Hendrickson said to Stratton.

  Stratton obeyed and Hendrickson fitted the cuffs around his wrists and tightened them.

  Hobart lowered his gun and closed on Stratton, taking a good look at the man who, up until seconds ago, had been the most dangerous in the state.

  ‘Sir,’ Hobart’s driver called out.

  ‘What?’

  ‘That’s the stolen pick-up.’

  Hobart glanced over at it. ‘Anything in there we should be worried about?’ he asked Stratton.

  Stratton shook his head.

  ‘Take a look,’ Hobart said to the driver. ‘And be careful.’

  The agent looked in through the pick-up’s windows before he opened the door slowly and peered inside, his confidence growing at seeing nothing that he con sidered dangerous. He searched under the seats and in the glove compartments. ‘Just a bunch of blueprints, sir. No weapons or explosives.’

  Hobart eyed Stratton. ‘So where is it? I know you have around ninety pounds of pure RDX. Why don’t you just make it easier for everyone and tell me where it is?’

  Stratton held his gaze.

  ‘Don’t tell me it all went up in the mine because I won’t believe you,’ Hobart said. ‘Yeah, I understand you’re the strong silent type. Well, that’s okay with me. I can play that game too. Officer!’ Hobart called out and the two cops came forward. ‘I want a lock-up truck here as soon as you can. This guy’s going downtown to the Federal jail, a top-security cell, the toughest in the state. We gotta keep him nice and safe while we find his toys. Hendrickson

  – you go with him, and I don’t want him speaking to anyone,

  you understand. No one. You stay outside his cell until I get there.’ ‘Yes, sir,’ Hendrickson said. Hobart put his gun back in its holster, feeling a little better about the situation although there were a lot of loose ends to tie up, most of all finding the explosives. But it looked as if the case was at last coming under control.

  Stratton had no emotions about Hobart. The man was just doing his job. Stratton was too consumed by his own failure to think about anything else. He’d made a terrible mistake in failing to take account of all the factors lined up against him. He’d developed tunnel vision. He’d seen only Skender and his people.

  ‘You have any idea where little Josh is?’ Hobart asked.

  Stratton looked into his eyes. ‘Only that Skender or Cano has him.’

  ‘Cano?’ Hobart said, quizzically. ‘Cano’s dead. You should know – you killed him.’

  ‘His brother. You know him as Ivor Vleshek.’

  A clang reverberated in Hobart’s head as another piece of the puzzle dropped into place. Hobart glanced over his shoulder at Seaton and wondered what else the Agency knew that he didn’t. When Hobart had arrived in LA and been handed the Skender case file one of the first requests he made was to the CIA for any information they had on the Albanian, knowing that terrorists were using Skender’s international smuggling conduits and that the CIA had their own file on him. They’d given him nothing more than he’d already had with an assurance that he would be updated. Lying sons of bitches.

  ‘How do you know the Albanians have the kid?’ Hobart asked Stratton, not doubting him but thinking that some proof would be nice.

  ‘Cano wants to trade me for Josh. Listen to me. You lock me up, they’ll kill Josh.’

  ‘And your conscience will be clear because that makes it my fault, right?’ Hobart suggested.

  Anger flashed through Stratton and he leaned towards Hobart, his stare on fire. For a second Hobart was reminded why this man in front of him was con sidered so dangerous. Hendrickson grabbed Stratton’s arms, helped by the two cops, but Stratton had no intention of striking Hobart.

  ‘I take full responsibility for Josh’s situation,’ Stratton said. ‘But right now his life is in your hands. You can play this by the book or you can do something about it.’

  ‘What do you expect me to do? Let you go? Or maybe I can call up Skender and ask him if we can exchange you for the boy?’

  ‘Let me go and I swear I’ll come back to you when this is over,’ Stratton pleaded.

  ‘Please. I don’t have the right to make those kinds of decisions and if I did I’d have to say no. You’d die and God only knows how many others you’d take with you. Put him in the squad car until the van arrives,’ Hobart said to Hendrickson. ‘And don’t leave his side for a second, you understand me?’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ Hendrickson said as he pulled Stratton away.


  Seaton watched as Stratton was placed in the back of the squad car, reflecting on how it had all turned into such a damned mess and was as much his fault as Stratton’s. He had felt a pang of guilt when Stratton had looked at him but that slowly disappeared as he watched the Englishman being marched away in handcuffs to a certain future behind bars. The change of feeling had something to do with a loss of respect and Stratton not being as invincible as Seaton had always thought of him: the great John Stratton a failure, handcuffed, captured by an FBI agent, Skender the overall winner and Josh probably never to be seen or heard of again.

  Seaton did not feel comfortable about the fact that his own inferiority complex had been soothed somewhat. It was all a mess and he wished that he had been on the other side of the world that day when Stratton had called him at his home.

  Hobart looked around at Seaton, wondering what the man was thinking. It was evident from his expression that he had demons of his own to deal with. Seaton had turned in his friend and could not be feeling great about it, especially since, short of a miracle, it pretty much hammered the last nail into the kid’s coffin. That was the one thing they were all certain about, that Stratton had been the boy’s only hope. Hobart wasn’t feeling very good about himself either at that moment. Stratton had been wrong in every conceivable way but so was the way it had ended. Skender and his people were scum, evil bastards who should be paying for their crimes not just against the laws of America but against the whole of humanity. Stratton had only been partially right when he’d said that the rest of this was in Hobart’s hands. An innocent young boy was out there somewhere and although Hobart rather than Stratton was now his only chance there was much more than his life at stake.

  Hobart reminded himself who he was, what he stood for, and that now was perhaps the time to be counted for the core of those beliefs. He did not outwardly show it but deep inside he was angrier than he had ever been in his life. It was partly because he had never felt such a pawn as he had since he’d been given the Skender case, a tool to be used by those above him. That was not what he had joined up for. He had once believed there was only one way to do anything and that was the right way. He had grown complacent over the years, hoping that one day it would all be put right but by someone else. He’d lived in denial about everything that was wrong with the administration and its selfish motives. But things didn’t get put right by doing nothing and waiting for someone else to do them. It took people to make a stand, people like Stratton, and if you were going to close down men like him, well it had better be because you could do the job better.