Run and Hide

by Alan McDermott

  He opened a compartment at the side of his seat and took out a silver pistol with a diamond-studded grip. It had been a gift from a foreign prime minister or president, Langton couldn’t remember which—one of thousands of little trinkets he’d been given over the years. But this one he’d actually found a use for.

  “Stay in the car!” Edward told his father as Henry put his hand on the door release.

  “You stay if you like. I want to see the look on her face when they slap the cuffs on her.”

  He got out of the car and checked the progress of the cops. They were closing fast, but he still had time to say goodbye to Driscoll before they arrived.

  The pistol was for his protection only. As he’d told Driscoll in the basement earlier, a bullet was too good for her. He’d already come up with an exotic way for her to go. Although he wouldn’t be there to see it in person, he would make sure they filmed her death so that he could enjoy it in private later.

  Langton strode over to Driscoll and could feel the hatred radiating from her. He made sure to keep the pistol in clear view so she knew not to make any foolish moves, and he came to a stop a few yards in front of her.

  “Hear that noise?” He tilted his head at the approaching cavalry. “That’s death coming.”

  Driscoll didn’t answer.

  “You think your little stunt back there was clever, don’t you? Well, it was a waste of time. I’ve already made calls and Facebook’s now offline. It’ll be blamed on a malicious hack designed to discredit one of the most generous philanthropists the world has ever known. The news channels will wait a couple of hours, then quote senior intelligence sources who will conclude that the video was a staged performance by an anarchist group using lookalikes. Apparently, they wanted to make the nation think the entire government was corrupt in the hope of toppling it. A few known activists will be arrested, evidence planted as needed, and they’ll spend the rest of their lives behind bars.”

  Driscoll looked away, her eyes coming to rest on the gun she’d dropped.

  “I wouldn’t if I were you,” Langton warned her. “I may be an old man but I know how to use one of these.”

  “I’ll take a quick death. And if it steals a little of your pleasure, it’ll be worth it.”

  “Oh, I won’t shoot to kill. In fact, I’ll let the doctors patch you up before we really go to work on you.”

  Tires squealed as the first of the police cars reached the scene, and two officers got out with their handguns pointing at Langton.

  “Drop it!”

  Langton ignored the order and flicked the gun in Driscoll’s direction. “Take her away.”

  “I said drop the gun, NOW!”

  Langton now realized that both cops were focusing on him and ignoring Driscoll. His phone call requesting immediate help had obviously been answered, but the objective clearly hadn’t filtered down to the front line.

  The cops looked wired, caught in a situation that could quickly escalate. He decided to do as they ordered, knowing he could crush them at a later date.

  He held out his arms and let the half-million-dollar weapon drop to the grass.

  “Take three steps toward me and lie face down with your arms spread wide!”

  Langton sighed and shook his head. He moved toward the cop and then got down on his knees. “This is a ten-thousand-dollar suit, you know.” He lowered himself onto his stomach and put his arms out to both sides.

  Six more police cruisers pulled up, with the occupants covering Driscoll and her four friends while the choppers hovered nearby. The two cops dealing with Langton cuffed him and patted him down, then pulled him roughly to his feet.

  “I know you’re just doing your job but I’m going to ruin you for this.”

  The first officer took out a Miranda card. “Henry Langton, I’m arresting you on suspicion of murder. You have the right to remain silent and refuse to answer questions. Anything you say may be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to—”

  “You’re arresting me? Are you fucking kidding?”

  The cop ignored the outburst. “You have the right to consult an attorney before speaking to the police and to have an attorney present during questioning now or in the future. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be appointed for you before any questioning if you wish. If you decide to answer questions now without an attorney present, you will still have the right to stop answering at any time until you talk to an attorney.”

  The two cops took an arm each and began to walk the protesting Langton back to their squad car.

  What the hell are they doing?

  Edward Langton watched his father lie face down on the grass as the two officers approached. One cuffed and searched him while the other covered his partner with his pistol.

  He rolled the window down when he saw them tug his father to his feet and one of them started reading from a card. Moments later, he heard his father shouting at the top of his voice: “You’re arresting me? Are you fucking kidding?”

  This wasn’t in the script.

  Edward hit the button to close the window. “Lock the doors,” he told the driver. When he heard the solid clunk, he sat back, knowing he had time to think. No one was getting in unless he let them.

  Huff’s video had clearly done more damage than he’d imagined. Someone had thought it prudent to act on it. A career-ending move.

  This needed to be squared away as soon as possible. His father was being marched to a police cruiser, and the only way to get him out would be to speak to the right people. To do that, he would need to retain his own freedom.

  A cop knocked on his window with his free hand, the other holding a pistol.

  “Step out of the car.”

  Edward Langton knew that a few rounds from a police-issue pistol weren’t going to be a concern, but the conversations he needed to have couldn’t happen on an unsecure cell phone. If someone had the audacity to have his father taken into custody, they might even be foolish enough to follow up with phone surveillance. His number wasn’t in any database but it wouldn’t take long to add it.

  “Give me your phone and take me to Winchester Airport,” he told the driver.

  No one would be listening in on a chauffeur’s number, and for now he only needed to call the helicopter pilot to be ready to take off the moment he got there.

  He looked up the number on his own phone, then dialed the pilot on the driver’s cell and told him to power up the chopper. He also gave instructions to ready the Airbus A340-500 at his father’s estate for a flight to Dubai.

  Edward tossed the phone back into the front seat. “Why aren’t we moving?”

  “Sir . . . the road’s blocked.”

  “Then unblock it!”

  The driver started the engine, which drew gunfire from the police who had gathered around it. Edward heard rounds strike the doors and windows but they all bounced harmlessly away.

  He managed a grin as he waved at the figures jumping out of the way, even though he knew they couldn’t see him through the tinted glass.

  Seconds later, the car juddered ever so slightly as it shunted two police cruisers aside like cardboard cutouts.

  The local airport was just a few miles away. If the gods were kind, they should be able to get there before the police managed to get a decent roadblock in place. From there it was just a short hop to the jet, and he would use the secure onboard communications to get things in motion.

  After making a mental list of people to contact to ensure his father’s freedom, Edward Langton’s thoughts turned to those who’d crossed him, and what he’d do to them.

  It was the last thought he had.

  An AGM-114 Hellfire missile flew from one of the Cobra helicopters, and the HEAT—high-explosive anti-tank—warhead punched effortlessly through the roof of the limousine. Edward Langton and his driver were instantly incinerated, leaving insufficient DNA material behind for the subsequent investigation to identify either of them.

  CHAPTE
R 47

  President Leo Russell looked out of the bulletproof window and over the plush green lawn below. From his office on the second floor of the White House, he could see the Washington Monument standing proudly in the morning sunshine, and he wondered if the nation’s first president—or indeed, any of his predecessors—had been tasked with cleaning up such a godawful mess.

  It was a question of where to begin.

  When his son had shown him the tail end of the live Facebook feed, then pointed him to the full YouTube version, Russell had acted instinctively. He’d ordered an aide to send whatever resources were in the area to investigate, which turned out to be half a dozen police cars and a couple of Cobra attack helicopters on a live-fire training exercise out of New River, North Carolina.

  If only he’d known the shitstorm he was about to unleash.

  He’d been told about the ESO when he’d assumed office in January the previous year. Having been around politics all his life, the name had been whispered in hushed conversations a couple of times, but it wasn’t until he’d achieved the highest office that the details began to emerge. Within days of taking up the position, he’d suggested investigating them but had been warned that anyone willing to take on the role of prosecutor would likely be in the ESO’s pocket. Not only that: finding anyone willing to turn over evidence or testify would be a task in itself.

  His first and only meeting with Henry Langton had been in the Oval Office. The staff photographer had taken a few snaps for posterity, then the room had been cleared and Russell had discovered just who the mysterious man really was. At first, all was cordial, but the real Langton soon came to the fore. He’d spoken to Russell in the same way that a grade school teacher addresses an unruly student, demanding a number of laws be left in place despite the president’s campaign promises.

  It hadn’t ended well.

  Russell had told Langton he would be sticking to his ‘For the 100 percent’ motto, and that any changes he made would be for the many, not the privileged few. Langton had stood and left without another word, and Russell had thought him a nuisance and nothing more.

  It turned out he’d greatly underestimated the man.

  If the revelations in the video seen by hundreds of millions were true, then the place to start was with the police and security services. He would have to remove the top few layers of management and hope the cancer hadn’t spread beyond that. That done, he’d have to find untainted professionals qualified to replace them. In addition, he’d need a modern-day Eliot Ness to head things up and ensure that all authorities remained untouchable. But where would he possibly find a person like that in a town riddled with corruption?

  Even if he managed that monumental task, he’d still have to find enough impartial judges to try any cases involving the ESO. They wouldn’t all be in the ESO’s pocket, but those in the Supreme Court would have to be retired and replaced with younger blood, people the ESO wouldn’t have bothered recruiting because they were so far off influential positions.

  After that, his focus would turn to Congress. What to do about the hundred members of the Senate and the 435 in the House of Representatives? He couldn’t simply dismiss them all, as that would be a violation of Article One of the Constitution. He would have to get the lawyers to look into implementing term limits for all members, or perhaps calling a snap election, with no current serving members eligible.

  That was sure to go down well. But then, extraordinary times called for extraordinary measures.

  The more he considered the scale of the problem, the greater and more complicated it became. Military chiefs, heads of industry, the financial sector . . . they’d all have to be investigated.

  Since becoming president, Russell had brought in a few of his own people. Secretary of State Dan Latimer was his own choice, but he’d taken advice on most of the senior appointments. Were they all secretly working for the ESO?

  Russell sighed as he turned away from the window and took a seat at his desk. He couldn’t even trust Latimer. Not after their last conversation. Russell had told his friend that he had to act on the information in the video, but the secretary of state’s response had come across as a thinly veiled threat.

  “In 2008, when the banks were on their knees, we had to bail them out. They were too big to fail. Now imagine that on an exponentially larger scale. You start tinkering with the status quo and you could cause the meltdown of the USA, maybe even the world. If they do control the banks, who’s to say they won’t suddenly call in all debts? Millions of Americans will be faced with the choice of paying off their mortgages within thirty days or losing their homes. And what about small business loans? If they all had their debts called in, the closures and job losses would be astronomical. And where would the blame lie? With the president.”

  Latimer hadn’t stopped there. From military coups to the worst dystopian nightmare, every scenario had been laid bare in the one-hour meeting.

  By the end, Russell had felt physically sick.

  Yet here he was, contemplating the changes that would have to be made in order to rid the world of the ESO.

  He rested his elbows on the desk and placed his head in his hands. He felt a migraine coming on.

  The phone in his pocket rang, and he saw it was Latimer.

  “Yes, Dan.”

  “Henry Langton’s dead.” No preamble, just straight to the point.

  “How?”

  “Heart attack. He was rushed to the hospital but pronounced DOA.”

  “Okay. Thanks for letting me know.”

  A nightmare scenario had just gotten a whole lot worse. The lead suspect in his world-changing investigation was dead. His son was already presumed dead in the helicopter attack on the limo, which meant they only had one name to work with, thanks to Eva Driscoll: Joel Harmer.

  Eva Driscoll.

  Yet another decision that had to be made.

  She’d killed people and would have to face the consequences. He’d demanded transcripts of all police interviews with her. They made for interesting reading.

  She claimed that if she’d gone to the police with her suspicions about her brother’s suicide, she would have been blocked at every turn by the ESO. As it was, she admitted to killing several men, but claimed it was the only way to get to the people who’d ordered Jeff Driscoll’s murder.

  Russell believed her. Video evidence had already emerged showing that Driscoll couldn’t have been involved in the school bombing. Instead, she’d been targeting those she believed to be heading up the ESO, along with the men who’d already been tasked with killing her. She’d had a strong case for self-defense . . . right up until the moment she castrated Alexander Mumford. You don’t feed someone their own genitalia to stave off an attack.

  Her case would also hinge on being able to prove that the ESO existed in the first place. The video was one thing, but a competent lawyer would be able to discredit it as a forgery. That left her word against that of Joel Harmer, who, even while incarcerated, probably still held sway with the judiciary.

  The outlook was bleak.

  For everyone.

  CHAPTER 48

  Day seven in the Bedford Hills Correctional Facility began the same as the previous six.

  Eva Driscoll had done two hundred sit-ups and two hundred push-ups by the time the bell rang for breakfast. She stood by the door, waiting for the guard to open it from the safety of his reinforced glass booth. The bars eventually slid back, and Eva and her cellmate Dimalia joined the procession heading for the mess hall.

  Dimalia was a young gang member from East New York. At only nineteen years old, she was one year into a ninety-nine-year stretch for a double homicide. Compared to Eva’s sentence, it was a slap on the wrist.

  As they ambled to the mess hall, Eva’s eyes were everywhere.

  On the second day, she’d been given an initiation. In the shower, one of the prison’s lesser lights had been given the job of welcoming her to the facility. It was standard practice to show ne
wcomers who really ran the place, but the message was lost on Eva. She broke the woman’s nose with one blow and snapped her wrist before asking who had sent her. Armed with a name, Eva had sought out the woman the inmates referred to as Big Annie.

  The meeting consisted of a brief discussion and extreme violence.

  From that moment on, everyone knew what Eva was capable of and the sensible ones got out of her way. That left the dumb ones still to contend with. Those who wished to earn a name for themselves. Only one other person had tested her in that first week, and the doctors believed the poor sap might walk again someday.

  It wasn’t that Eva was out to terrorize people. She was by no means a bully; she simply wanted her time in Bedford Hills to pass peacefully. It was to be her home for the rest of her life, and she didn’t want to spend the next sixty years looking over her shoulder. Of course, there’d be others who’d try for her crown. Big Annie still ran the prison but everyone knew Eva was the ultimate challenge. With each new intake, there’d be someone looking to build a reputation, but Eva hoped that, over time, they’d learn to leave her be.

  Eva lined up and got her breakfast. Others with her reputation would have jumped to the front of the line, but she wanted to show that she was tough but fair. She wasn’t intent on starting confrontations, only ending them swiftly.

  She sat at a table with her back to the wall. Her only companion was Dimalia, who knew not to make small talk while Eva was eating.

  Eva thought about Carl Huff as she chewed on a piece of bread. It had been ninety-three days since they’d surrendered, and although she’d seen him at the trial, she hadn’t had much opportunity to speak to him. In fact, she hadn’t really spoken to any of her team since the day Henry Langton had been arrested and Edward Langton vaporized.

  They certainly wouldn’t be visiting any time soon. Colback had received thirty years for his part in the assault on Mumford’s home, as had Sonny Baines and Len Smart. Huff had been given twenty-five years for his role in the firefight at Gray Rock, even though the prosecution could provide no evidence to suggest the weapon he’d used had killed anyone. The prosecution had managed to convince the jury of his intent, and that had been enough to secure a conviction.