Now what? Does he wait for Judd to return? He said he was only going to take thirty seconds. Does this mean they’re now separated?
He smells something unpleasant. What is that? Sharply toxic and instantly headache-inducing.
Corey turns.
Ponytail towers above him. The odour is his cheap and nasty cologne. It’s the first time the Australian’s seen the guy up close. Damn, he’s positively ancient.
Ponytail points his pistol at Corey’s face. ‘Give me the counteragent.’ His accent is thick Louisiana.
‘Counteragent? What’s a counteragent?’ Playing dumb is not Corey’s strong suit.
Ponytail steps forward, the pistol’s muzzle an inch from the Australian’s forehead. ‘Where is it?’
‘I only have one thing to say.’
‘And what’s that?’
‘Tomato!’
‘What the hell are you -?’
‘To-ma-to!’
Wiif-Clunk! Ponytail’s head jerks sharply to the left as something clips him across the back of his skull. He sways unsteadily for a moment, then keels over and slumps to the cement like a large sack of extremely old potatoes. He’s out cold.
‘The locker only had one thing in it.’ Judd steps forward and holds up a floor mop with a heavy wooden handle. ‘You okay?’
‘Took your sweet time coming back. Where were you?’
‘I thought we were meeting at the bikes.’
Corey’s confused, then sees Judd’s grin and realises he’s taking the piss. ‘Thanks, mate.’
‘Anytime.’
*
Judd and Corey study the crumpled, unconscious ponytailed man on the floor of the garage. Judd picks up his pistol and checks the magazine. There are four bullets inside.
Corey watches the astronaut closely. ‘We’re not going to … kill him, are we?’
Judd shakes his head and pushes the weapon into his belt at the back of his pants. ‘Just because he’s a dickhead doesn’t mean we have to be.’
Corey nods in agreement. ‘And he’s so old he could die of natural causes really soon anyway, so what’s the point?’ A moment passes, then he looks at Judd. ‘What are we going to do with him?’
*
Judd and Corey drag Ponytail to the dark corner of the parking garage behind the old Mustang. They prop him up so he sits against the wall then search him. Judd finds nothing, but Corey discovers a small walkie-talkie in his jacket. He checks to see if it’s functional. It is so he pockets it.
Judd looks at the old fella. ‘We need to tie him up.’
Corey thinks about it for a moment. ‘I got an idea.’
The Australian rolls over the bald tyre he saw earlier, picks it up and drops it over Ponytail’s head. Judd steps up and they both push it over his shoulders, then jam it down his torso until his arms are trapped tight.
Corey takes in their handy work. ‘Beautiful.’
Judd turns to him. ‘Let’s deliver those canisters.’
They move fast.
Spike pants at the entrance of the parking garage as Judd and Corey exit. He barks.
‘Sorry, mate, no lemon sorbet.’ Corey pats him on the head as he turns to Judd. ‘So, where are we going?’
The astronaut works his iPhone and reads the screen. ‘We head for the Federal Building. It’s on Wilshire. That’s where the FBI office is. Shouldn’t take too long on the bikes.’
They move past the wrecked cars. The Buick burns loudly, almost completely gutted. The Prius is only half alight.
‘Hold on a sec.’ Judd shields himself from the heat as he approaches the vehicle and looks inside. He uses his sleeve to pull on the doorhandle, which is hot to the touch, then reaches in to the passenger seat and flips something onto the street. It’s on fire so he lightly tamps out the flames with his shoe.
Spike sniffs it and barks.
Corey studies it. ‘Don’t know what it is, mate.’
‘I do.’ Judd crouches beside the smoking item for a moment, then flips it over. ‘It’s Ponytail’s iPhone.’
*
Kilroy comes to with a start.
He looks around the empty parking garage and realises his predicament. He’s trapped in an old tyre, he can’t see his pistol anywhere and the back of his head throbs worse than his burned shoulder. Overall his day has not gone to plan. The only upside is the fact those two guys didn’t kill him. It’s a pleasant, if not particularly shocking, surprise. They’re not the kind of guys who kill people, especially when they’re unconscious, though they will regret not killing Kilroy.
Kilroy knows he must get moving. Unfortunately he no longer has a car so Bunsen will need to pick him up. The boy won’t be happy about that, and will be even less impressed when Kilroy explains how he ended up in this situation. But before any of that can happen he needs to get out of this damn tyre.
He tries to wriggle out of it. No joy. They really jammed it on tight. He tries to stand, to walk out of here, maybe find a stranger to help pull the thing off, but without the use of his arms he can’t even get up. So he grits his teeth, pushes himself onto his side and rolls across the floor towards the old Mustang.
He’s sure it’s a 1967, though it could be a ‘68. It doesn’t actually matter because what’s important is that it has the chrome front bumper which wraps around the side of the car and ends in a point. Facing the ceiling, he works himself close to the vehicle and rams the sidewall of the tyre against the pointed end of the bumper. He then pushes his right leg under the car, braces it against the exhaust system and pushes hard. The bumper presses into the tyre’s sidewall and slowly edges it down his body. After what feels like a minute but is probably only twenty seconds, he stops, exhausted and sweating like a pig, and checks his progress. The tyre has moved about an inch and a half down his body.
An inch and a half! This is going to take an age. No use whining about it. He braces himself and pushes again.
*
Judd and Corey briskly circumnavigate the apartment building and arrive at the spot where they hid the bikes behind the large-leaf plants.
Judd studies the burned phone then presses its home button. The screen blinks to life but it’s melted and cracked and only about twenty per cent of it is readable. He swipes a finger across the blackened glass and the phone unlocks. ‘It works.’ He’s happy.
Corey turns to him. ‘What are you looking for?’
Judd stares at the screen. ‘A clue to who this bastard is and what he’s up to.’
*
27
Judd and Corey ride along Wilshire Boulevard. Fast. Spike lopes along just behind.
To the Australian there seem to be fewer people on this road than Santa Monica Boulevard, and fewer burning and abandoned vehicles too. Even so, he stays focused, keeps his hands firmly on the handlebars and his eyes locked on the road. In spite of everything that’s happened today, he’s happy to have picked up the riding thing so quickly.
He glances over at Judd and realises he shouldn’t get too cocky. Judd’s hands aren’t on the handlebars and his eyes aren’t on the road. Instead, he swipes his way through Ponytail’s iPhone, occasionally glancing up to check if anything is ahead. When he does need to alter direction he casually leans to one side or the other.
‘Can you read this?’ Judd lifts his head from the screen, veers across the bitumen towards Corey and holds out the phone.
The Australian takes it. He makes sure the road ahead is clear, then studies the small portion of the screen in the lower right-hand corner that isn’t burned. ‘Phase - Phase Three? What’s Phase Three?’
Spike barks.
‘Yes, I realise it comes after “phase two”, but what is it?’
Judd shakes his head. ‘No idea. Look at the next bit.’
‘Five p.m. MHS.’
‘Are you sure it says MHS?’
‘MHS. Yep. What’s MHS?’
‘Don’t know, but it’s familiar. They must have something planned there.’ He glances at his Plo
prof. ‘In just over an hour.’
‘Is there some way you can send this document to your own phone? So you can see it more clearly?’
‘No, it’s in the calendar section. There doesn’t seem to be anything else on there that’s of much use.’
Corey passes the phone back. ‘Show it to the feds when we meet ‘em.’
‘Yep.’ Judd turns and points. ‘And that’s where we’re going.’ Behind a line of skyscrapers they catch a glimpse of the tall, boxy Federal Building, which could only have been designed and built in the 1960s. It houses everything from the Passport Office to the Office of the FBI. For anything related to the United States Federal Government, it’s a one-stop shop in LA.
Corey turns to Judd. ‘So what are we going to say to them? The Feds.’
‘The truth. We have two canisters of a counteragent to the virus that’s causing the explosions.’
‘Will they believe us?’
‘We’re half the Atlantis 4. They’ll believe us.’
‘Mate, we don’t even know if the stuff works —’
They pass another skyscraper and see the Federal Building fully for the first time.
The left side of the building is alight, the flaming chassis of an exploded bus on the road in front of it the ignition point of the blaze. A small group of people mill about outside and watch the flames. There are, of course, no fire trucks in attendance.
The left side of the building collapses and slides onto the road below, scattering the group of people. There’s a pause - then a series of five explosions rock the structure. Windows blow out and the centre of the building collapses in on itself like a failed soufflé. There’s another pause - then a giant flame shoots out from the roof. It lights up the sky with a fireball that burns a vivid blue.
Corey and Judd recoil as the heatwave rolls over them. Even from a hundred and fifty metres away it’s like putting your head inside a pizza oven. They freewheel along Wilshire and watch the destruction unfold for a moment, then Judd turns to Corey. ‘So that didn’t turn out the way I hoped.’
‘Where to now?’
‘Good question.’ Judd consults his iPhone, works the screen for a couple of seconds, points down a side street. ‘This way.’
They make a hard right turn and ride fast.
*
‘There.’
‘Is this where they shot Beverly Hills Cop?’
‘Yep.’ Judd and Corey cycle towards the Beverly Hills Police Station. Yes, the same one used in the Eddie Murphy movies, and countless TV shows. It’s surely the best-looking police station on the planet, with its handsome tower, Art Deco details and spotless appearance. It looks like it was built to be a palace, not a cop shop.
Judd takes it in. ‘And you know what I like most about this place? It’s not on fire.’
Corey grins. ‘How’d you know to come here?’
‘When I was a kid it had just opened when my mum - someone stole the tape deck, yes, tape deck, out of her car. We had to come to this station to file a report. Spent a couple of hours here. A cop showed me around. It was very cool.’
They cycle closer. There aren’t many people around. Judd was expecting the place to be packed with citizens in need of assistance but no, it’s all but empty. Odd. ‘Where is everyone?’
‘Must be inside.’
They cut through the car park where half the police cruisers, almost ten by Judd’s count, are burned out, then ride up to the main entrance, dismount and push the bikes through the sliding doors, which open into a giant foyer.
Inside it is both gloomy and empty. There are no lights on and nobody around. They glance at each other.
Corey looks around. ‘Is it closed? Do police stations close in America? Is that wise with all the guns?’
They park their bikes by the door and Corey turns to Spike, forks his middle and index finger into a V, points them at his eyes, then the dog’s eyes, then the bikes. ‘Stay here. Anybody tries to take them, you know what to do.’
The dog barks.
‘No, I don’t think the police will need to take your statement.’
Corey and Judd turn and walk across to the reception desk.
There’s nobody sitting behind it.
Judd looks around. ‘What the hell is going on here?’
There’s a faint noise from the other side of the desk. They peer over. A young, dark-haired woman is huddled beneath it.
Judd’s instantly concerned. ‘You okay?’
She looks up at him and shakes her head, petrified.
‘What are you doing down there? Where is everyone?’
‘Are they still here?’ Her voice trembles.
Corey leans forward. ‘Is who still where?’
‘The men, with the machines. Are they still there?’
Judd looks around, even checks right behind him. ‘Men? I can’t see any men. Or machines.’
Corey pipes up. ‘There’s us. We’re men, but we don’t have any machines - unless you count our bikes, which aren’t really “machines”. Well, I guess you could make an argument that they are machines but - anyway. Sorry. So, what kind of machines are you talking about?’
The young woman rolls out from under the desk, finds her feet, sprints across the foyer and out the main doors. They watch her go.
Corey is confused. ‘Is she coming back?’
Judd shakes his head. ‘I don’t think so.’
They scan the list of offices on a large plaque bolted to the wall beside the reception desk. Judd points at the word Detectives. ‘Third floor.’
‘Seems like a good place to start.’
They turn towards the bank of elevators and see no one is manning the security screening gate that visitors pass through before they can enter the elevators on the other side. They glance at each other and it hits home how peculiar this situation actually is.
Corey looks around. ‘Really, what’s going on here?’
Judd shakes his head. ‘Don’t know, don’t care. We just need to find a cop, pass on the counteragent and tell them about the MHS thing.’ He glances at his watch. ‘Whatever’s happening there is happening in fifty minutes.’
They reach the bank of elevators and Corey presses the up arrow.
‘MHS.’ Judd mumbles it to himself. He knows those initials. What do they mean?
Corey turns his head. ‘Hear that?’
‘What?’ Judd listens, then notices a very distant buzzing sound.
Ding.
The doors to the elevator in front of them slide open and they step inside. The large elevator is wood panelled, has a mirror on each wall and a button panel on both sides of the doors. A jaunty muzak version of ‘The Girl from Ipanema’ plays from a speaker above. The boys don’t really notice any of those details, though. What strikes them is the pungent smell. Corey knows what it is straight away. ‘Gasoline.’
Judd looks down. There’s a small pool of liquid on the dark marble floor. He crouches, touches it, smells it. ‘Yep. Why would that be here?’
Corey shrugs. ‘Jeez Louise, it’s strong. Want to take the next one?’
‘Nah. It’s only three floors.’
Corey nods and hits the button for the third floor. The doors slide together and the elevator rises. As it does the buzzing sound recedes into the distance.
Ding.
The doors slide open.
The third floor is empty.
They step out, look around. There’s no one there. Judd’s baffled. ‘That’s just - strange, don’t you think?’
Corey nods. ‘It’s actually weird, mate. I reckon we should head down to the lockup.’
‘The what?’
‘You know, where they put the crims when they’re brought in. That plaque thingy downstairs said it was on the lower ground floor. There’s got to be someone down there who can tell us what’s going on.’
‘Let’s do it.’
They step back inside the elevator and Judd presses the LG button. The doors slide shut and the elevator d
escends. ‘The Girl from Ipanema’ continues to play.
The buzzing sound returns, and becomes louder. Judd can hear it clearly now. ‘What is that?’
‘Sounds like a leaf blower or something.’ Corey glances at the liquid on the ground. ‘Why would there be gasoline in the elevator?’
Judd thinks about it. ‘What did that woman say? About the men?’
‘That they had machines.’ Corey stares straight ahead, lost in thought. ‘And machines run on gasoline.’
‘And what’s been happening to machines that run on gasoline today?’
They look at each other.
Ding.
The doors slide open.
*
The throbbing buzz-scream of a chainsaw echoes across the large room.
Fifteen metres away a man dressed in black and wearing a white hockey mask rises from behind a booking counter, swings his arm high and hurls a chainsaw across the room.
Engine screeching, it spirals through the air, then drops like a brick, slams into the ground, bounce-rolls across the cement floor and slams into a barricade of three office desks, behind which three uniformed cops take cover.
Judd’s eyes flick to the chainsaw’s exhaust. It’s dark purple, then turns black, its engine note rough, like rocks in a blender. ‘Take cover!’ Judd and Corey roll behind the elevator’s button panels -
Ka-boom! The chainsaw detonates like a Claymore landmine -but worse. It sends a blast of white-hot shrapnel in every direction, the soundwave deafening.
Smash, thud, crash. The shrapnel slams into the elevator, shatters the mirror on the rear wall. The office desk barricade is obliterated, the police officers behind it slump to the blackened floor.
Corey glances at Judd. ‘Guess we know what the buzzing sound is now.’
Judd scans the lockup, stunned. It’s strewn with bodies - every one a police officer. At least twelve that he can count. They’ve stumbled into the middle of a siege. He jams his thumb onto the door-close button. Nothing happens. ‘Won’t shut.’
Corey tries the button on his side. ‘Not happening! The explosion stuffed it.’
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