Out of Promises

by Simon Leigh

  Pale, weak, and shivering, she screamed, ‘No,’ and pushed him away.

  ‘Valerie, it’s me. Bill.’

  She spat at him. ‘Get away from me.’

  Cyrus pulled him back. ‘Valerie, I’m sorry.’

  Preston clapped his hands. ‘How touching.’

  She looked around. Lucy was holding Chloe at the table, Bill was held by Cyrus and Matherson lay dead in the corner. She recognized Lenka straight away. She hadn’t changed much over the years. But Cyrus was the one who stood out. He terrified her, gazing down at her from behind Bill with the same demonic, perverted look that she saw in the church.

  ‘You should have died in that explosion,’ said Preston.

  ‘You arranged that?’ she asked.

  ‘Who else could pull of something like that? Rodriguez has been a thorn in my side for a long time. He should have died at Northbrook with all those bastard kids.’ He looked at his watch. ‘Time to go. Lenka, you’re with me. Cyrus, you stay here and keep an eye on our guests. Have some fun with Valerie if you like.’

  ‘My pleasure.’

  ‘We need him with us,’ Lenka protested.

  ‘We can manage on our own. Even animals need time to play once in a while.’

  Lenka rolled Preston to the door and helped him onto the stair lift. She carried his wheelchair up the stairs and came back down to help with Valerie. Cyrus released Bill, collected his weapon from the table and grabbed one of Valeria’s hands.

  She kicked and screamed to break free. ‘No, please don’t do this. Help me!’ Lenka took the other hand and they dragged her to the door.

  Bill ran over. ‘Cyrus, don’t.’

  Lenka pulled a gun on him. A Beretta M9, her preferred choice of hand gun. He stopped.

  Preston laughed from the top of the stairs.

  When Valerie was out of sight, the door was closed and they were left in silence.

  CHAPTER SIXTY NINE

  McGowan approached the warehouse, met by police, fire trucks, paramedics, and the FBI. It seemed the whole of the Southbrook P.D. was out in force tonight. The fire trucks were being closed up and the smouldering embers of the warehouse lay as no more than a pile of wasted ash. As with the house, people were being interviewed and pictures were being taken while the media tried to get the next day’s headlines.

  He walked up to a paramedic and asked, ‘Any survivors?’

  ‘Just one.’ He pointed towards a stretcher being lifted into an ambulance.

  ‘What’s his name?’

  ‘Sounded like he said Cook, but couldn’t understand from the noise of the fire. Plus he can barely talk.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  He walked over and held up his badge. ‘I need to question him.’

  ‘Not a chance,’ said the paramedic. ‘He needs treatment and the FBI said nobody is to talk to him.’

  ‘I’m questioning him.’

  ‘He needs treatment.’

  McGowan pushed the paramedic inside the ambulance and followed him in. ‘I’ll do it on route,’ he said, closing the doors.

  The paramedic stood in front of him, blocking access to Cook. ‘You can’t question him. He’ll die.’

  ‘I’ll have you arrested for obstruction of justice if you don’t piss off. This is important.’ He banged on the side of the ambulance and it started up with its sirens screaming out.

  He looked down at Cook’s wounded face. The oxygen mask was dotted with blood and he was a mess, flicking his eyes open and closed, trying desperately to fight it.

  ‘Can you remove the mask?’

  ‘He needs it.’

  ‘Yes, I know,’ he said. ‘But I need information from him.’

  ‘Can I see your badge again?’

  Having taken just about all he could of this guy, McGowan grabbed him by his collar and said: ‘I need to talk to him, now. He’s got information and you’re pissing me off.’

  ‘All right, but if he dies, it’s on you.’

  ‘So be it.’

  He bent down and gently lifted the mask.

  ‘Cook.’

  He coughed up blood through laboured breathing.

  ‘Cook, Baker told me who you are. Can you tell me what happened?’

  He coughed again and said, ‘The warehouse. It exploded. Valerie...’

  ‘Did Valerie do this?’

  Coughing some more, he finally said, ‘No. She, she was taken.’

  ‘By who?’

  ‘Preston. The guy doing the deal.’

  ‘Not Matherson?’

  ‘No. I already told Baker Matherson is missing.’

  ‘Do you know where they went?’

  Cook’s eyes closed as he fazed in and out of consciousness.

  McGowan shook him. ‘Stay with me.’

  ‘Hey!’ warned the paramedic.

  ‘Was it worth it?’

  ‘Was what worth it?’

  ‘All these years undercover.’

  ‘After tonight, you’ll be a hero.’

  Cook smiled. Then clutched his chest as a sharp pain pierced through him like he was being butchered from the inside out, followed by another coughing fit.

  ‘Do something,’ McGowan said.

  The paramedic jumped up, grabbed the defibrillator paddles and attached the pads to Cook’s torso. He charged the machine. ‘Clear.’

  He pushed them into him and he bounced, though the machine still sounded a steady monotonous tone.

  ‘Come on,’ said McGowan.

  He tried it again and the same thing happened. After one more try, the paramedic gave in.

  ‘God fucking dammit!’ yelled McGowan.

  CHAPTER SEVENTY

  Lucy cradled Chloe against the wall, gently nursing her to sleep while Bill tried the door with no success, pulling and pushing, kicking, even hurling himself against it.

  ‘Bill,’ Lucy said. ‘Give it up. We’re stuck down here.’

  He slammed his body against it again. ‘We need to get Valerie.’

  ‘He’ll hear us if you keep doing that.’

  ‘This room is soundproofed, he won’t hear a thing.’

  ‘Barely.’

  He ignored her and kept on trying, desperate to save Valerie from Cyrus’s clutch. He thumbed the keyhole, finding it blocked with the only way of unlocking it on the other side.

  ‘You know what,’ she said. ‘Let him catch you.’

  ‘If he does, I’ll be ready.’

  ‘You’ve been a great help so far.’

  ‘What?’ he said, marching over to her. ‘You want to find Michael? Come and help me.’

  ‘Don’t you dare say his name after what you did.’

  ‘Hey, I did what I did because I was following orders. He has my sister under surveillance. I didn’t want to do it, I had no choice.’

  She left it and nurtured Chloe on her lap.

  Bill looked around for some tools, anything he could use to pry the hinges from the door. The toys wouldn’t help and dismantling the bed would take time and he figured it wouldn’t give anything worth using anyway.

  So he tried the door again. ‘I think it’s starting to give.’

  ‘Who was the baby?’ she asked.

  ‘What?’

  ‘The baby you swapped for my son. Who was he?’

  ‘We picked him up near the hospital. He was already dead when we got him. Don’t know where he came from and I don’t care.’

  ‘How could anyone do that? You people are monsters.’

  ‘Do you think I wanted to go into your house and ruin your life? I told you, he has my sister’s life in his hands. I’m sorry for what I did. Just let me help Valerie. She’s here because of me.’

  Lucy looked at Matherson’s rotting corpse. ‘I don’t want to end up like him.’

  ‘Get your head out of the clouds. We’re all going to die down here if we don’t get out. Are you going to help me or not?’

  She stood up and said to Chloe, ‘I’m just going to help that man, OK?’

 
Together they made progress with each hit giving a splintered groan.

  A minute later their bodies ached, but Bill’s need to find Valerie was worth any amount of pain.

  He said, ‘After three we both run at it, all right?’

  She nodded.

  Standing five feet back, he counted to three and they lunged at it, slamming into the wood. The results were as expected – the door held. Lucy held her arm and sat back down with Chloe who had now started crying. ‘It’s no use, Bill.’

  Determined, he tried it again, alone and this time. Whatever progress the two of them had made with the door was enough as, without warning, the door snapped from its hinges and he fell through.

  ‘You wait down here,’ he said. ‘I’ll find Valerie.’

  ‘You want us to wait here?’

  ‘Wait here, run, whatever. I’m going up.’

  Moving through the city at 22:30, Lenka was driving the limousine with Preston in the back drinking champagne and feeling content with what he’d achieved. Following them was another car with five armed men and behind that, a van with twelve more. He wanted to look intimidating and needed them to reinforce his fearless image.

  The Truman Building stood ahead.

  ‘Call Cyrus,’ he ordered. ‘I’ve changed my mind. I want him to kill them all and meet us at the deal.’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ she said and called him using the car’s hands free phone.

  Thirty seconds went by with no answer.

  Preston smiled. ‘He must be enjoying himself. Never mind, call him later.’

  CHAPTER SEVENTY ONE

  The Truman Building and surrounding area was pretty quiet. Along The Strip, the magnificent neon glow pierced the snow, gracefully turning it into a quiet wonderland of colour that no doubt played a large part in the quietness of the evening. Few die-hard clubbers who had braved the chill were tucked safely in their clubs and Baker was thankful for that.

  From a block away, he stood instructing the relevant teams on what to do – one team at the front and another at the back. A third team was posted on the roof of an adjacent building and Baker would lead another to the conference room.

  ‘Let’s go,’ he ordered, and off they went to the biggest bust he’d ever been involved in. All those years undercover in Bridgewater had led him to this moment and it felt great to be finally getting the answers he needed.

  He waited at the entrance with his Glock ready in hand and his tactical team armed with MP5s and flash bangs.

  He took out his radio. ‘See anything from the roof?’

  ‘Clear.’

  ‘From the rear?’

  ‘Clear here, sir.’

  ‘Let’s get to it,’ he said.

  Drenched with a kind of nervous atmosphere you’d get before going on stage, he and his team moved into a lobby to meet a lone person sitting at the reception desk – a cop in plain clothes, put there to avoid raising suspicion, to give the impression of a building without fault.

  In the centre of the lobby were some glass elevators and beyond them, some large double doors which fed down a corridor to the private conference room.

  They lined up in formation and Baker gave a nod for his men to open them.

  Well-lit and buffed to a perfect shine, Baker found it very strange there were no sentries; nobody pretending to do anything or be anybody else, but his intel from Cook was never wrong. Though he couldn’t help thinking that almost every other raid he’d been involved in had some sort of alert system.

  ‘Come on,’ he ordered and moved along the corridor to the conference room with his weapon raised and his team treading gently behind.

  At the conference room door, they lined up.

  Baker said, ‘You two, kick that door down.’

  They did as ordered and within five seconds the whole team burst in.

  With his weapon raised, he followed them closely, aiming at something he didn’t expect at all.

  CHAPTER SEVENTY TWO

  Bill found a knife in the kitchen and ran up the stairs taking two at a time. He was nervous and blamed himself for everything. Saving her was the only way he could find absolution for what he’d done, or so he thought. But deep down he knew that nothing he could do would ever fully make up for what he’d already done, sister or no sister.

  Screams came from the master bedroom, loud and full of dread and tears. He couldn’t bear it, each noise burning into him, scarring his mind as a reminder he’d never forget.

  He dreaded to think what that psycho was doing to her. Though that didn’t stop things going through his mind anyway: rape, beatings, torture. He’d known Cyrus a long time and he wasn’t above anything, always getting what he wanted one way or another.

  At the door, the screams stopped and died down to a meagre cry. He heard Cyrus say only two words: ‘Thank you’.

  Bill had heard enough. He kicked the door open, knife in hand and launched for a surprised Cyrus, stabbing him in the chest.

  ‘You piece of shit!’ he yelled.

  He saw Valerie, curled up on the bed almost naked with torn clothes, tearfully shaking. He could see she was in great pain, her face cut and bruises forming all over her. She’d put up a strong fight, but he was just too much.

  Bill picked him up and slammed his head hard against the desk. ‘What the fuck did you do?’

  Cyrus held his chest and face and said breathlessly, ‘How did you escape?’

  ‘Answer me!’

  He didn’t answer, Valerie did. She rolled over, turning away from them and pulling a cover over her. She cried, ‘He raped me, Bill. He fucking raped me.’ Her eyes closed and she was out, swallowed up by the shame and agony or her ordeal.

  Bill’s guilt overwhelmed him and he wept for her. He loved her and it tore him apart. She’d been raped and it was entirely his fault. Although he did it for his sister, it didn’t change the fact he played the pawn in a vile little game that cost him any future he had with Valerie. He felt sick, and looking down at Cyrus’s rough face sent his heart on overdrive.

  He glanced at her, alone and beaten. She was frail and defeated and he couldn’t let that go unpunished.

  Raising the knife to Cyrus’s throat, he said calmly, ‘This is for Valerie.’

  With one hand covering his mouth, the other ploughed the knife in deep, slitting his throat from ear to ear.

  CHAPTER SEVENTY THREE

  Inside the conference room, Baker expected to find armed men guarding two parties talking over a transfer of money and goods. Matherson’s best had been promised and he was excited to bring the end of it all. But what he found were cleaners and a DJ packing his kit away after what looked like an office party. They stopped and looked at Baker and his team, frozen on the spot. Baker stood looking at remaining cake and empty beer cups.

  Fuck.

  He grabbed his radio. ‘All check in, now!’

  All teams answered, ‘Clear.’

  ‘Question them,’ he ordered and slammed his fist on the table. Another waste of time and money, he knew the captain would come down hard on him for this.

  He called McGowan. ‘Did you find Cook?’

  ‘The blast messed him up and he didn’t make it, I’m sorry.’

  ‘Did he say anything?’

  ‘He said Valerie was taken by the guy doing the deal. He didn’t say where. He also said Matherson isn’t doing the deal and you knew he’d been taken. Some guy called Preston is accepting the shipment.’

  Baker closed the phone and smashed it on the floor. He felt lost. His only man on the inside was gone and he had nothing else to go on. ‘Fuck!’ he shouted and stormed out. ‘Search every room in this fucking building.’

  The Southbrook docks and shipyard was one of the first places built in the city. Formerly the city’s icon until The Truman Building was erected. It was basically where Southbrook started its life. Beginning as a smuggler’s paradise, it became a prime location away from the growing cities of America and for many years held that very title as a smuggle
r’s paradise until things progressed and settlers found the land fertile, building farms and homes. You could say the old ways of life never left and continued on through the ages until the complete overhaul during the sixties and seventies.

  Lenka drove the limo through some large iron gates leading onto the docks and moved through a metal canyon of containers, turning right at an empty dock bay bordered by giant cranes hovering above. She continued onward through the deserted yard towards the west side meeting with the steady cold sea to her left.

  ‘Try Cyrus again,’ said Preston.

  There was still no answer.

  ‘We should have brought him. I need him here.’ He picked up the in car phone and made a call, giving an order for someone to go and check out the house.

  After a two minute drive on what was essentially ice, they arrived.

  What greeted them was a spectacular sight with a yacht resting at the water’s edge guarded by heavily armed men and at least ten more in a line behind someone else at a table with a laptop ready for the money transfer. Another man stood waiting to greet them. He looked oriental, Chinese perhaps. Preston didn’t care where he came from as long as he brought what Matherson had ordered: drugs and weapons.

  Lenka stopped the limousine and the car and van pulled up behind them in a line.

  She got out and walked around to Preston’s side. The men emptied their vehicles, all heavily armed, lining up in a row to mirror the others.

  Preston rolled his chair to a stop with Lenka beside him.

  ‘You are not Matherson,’ said the man.

  ‘He’s been relieved of his command. I’m here to accept the shipment on his behalf.’

  ‘You’re a cop.’

  ‘I’m no cop I assure you. Look around, you really think we look like this?’

  ‘This deal is over,’ he said, turning to leave.

  Preston held his hand out and Lenka gave him a weapon. Turning the chair, he shot one of his own men.

  The Asian stopped in his tracks.

  ‘Would a cop do that?’