The Newsmaker (Volume One Book 1)

by Tom Field

He felt his phone vibrate in his pocket but he ignored it. He let the vibration stop before he spoke again,

  “You need to tell me now where the bomb is going to go off?” he eventually asked.

  Ashurst-Stevens sat still, tight-lipped. There was no declaration of innocence, or arrogant statements this time, just a determined silence.

  The silence was broken by the sound of a loud vibration coming from Lawson’s pocket. He pulled out his cell phone and hit the ignore button before turning the phone off. Ward glared at him and he shrugged back.

  “It’s really simple,” he said, “I want to know where the bomb is meant to go off at 10:00am tomorrow morning.”

  Ashurst-Stevens did not respond, so he raised his left elbow and rammed it down onto the top of Ashurst-Stevens right knee.

  The same impact, the same movement in his kneecap, and the same scream echoed around the room.

  Ward held the miniature vice level with Ashurst-Stevens’ eyes, and made a big gesture of studying it. He started to unscrew it and as he did, he lowered it so that his own eyes were looking straight into Ashurst-Stevens.

  “There is no way that you will last ten minutes with the pain that I am going to inflict upon you,” he said, “Let alone last through until 10:00am tomorrow morning.”

  Ashurst-Stevens was only about fifteen minutes from breaking, Ward calculated, and that would still leave plenty of time, so he wasn’t going to rush this and look too desperate. That would give Ashurst-Stevens a position of strength, and it was crucial that right now, he fully understood the gravity of the situation, and that he had no choice but to tell Ward everything he wanted to know.

  “The higher powers you spoke about. Where are they now?” he asked.

  Ashurst-Stevens said nothing; he just bit his lip to indicate he wasn’t ready to talk.

  “That’s the thing when you dip your toes into the world that we live in,” he continued, “Lies and promises all the time and the only person that you can really trust is yourself.”

  Ashurst-Stevens finally spoke,

  “If I knew where the bomb was going to go off, I would tell you but I told you before, I don’t know anything,” he said.

  “You only made one mistake.” Ward said.

  Ashurst-Stevens had a look in his eyes of curiosity so Ward just continued staring into his eyes. After thirty seconds, Ashurst-Stevens said,

  “What was the mistake?”

  “You killed my friend,” Ward replied, and unleashed a lightning fast jab onto the bridge of Ashurst-Stevens nose. The crack of the bone breaking echoed around the room and Ashurst-Stevens squealed again, and his head shot back, a movement that sent shockwaves through his neck and down his spine.

  “That was a soft one. I want you conscious to feel the pain I have in store for you,” Ward said.

  He felt his phone vibrate in his pocket again. The Old Man would be furious, he thought to himself, but he would deal with that later. Stopping Fulken and the bomb took priority over everything.

  “Who is the target and where is the bomb going to go off?”

  Ashurst-Stevens looked down at the floor and still said nothing. He was fully aware that the moment he told Ward where and who, that he would be dead. It would be a declaration of guilt and with the guilt would come a confession that he had sent Ward and his friend to their deaths. In his mind he was cursing Lucas for not killing them both. He also cursed the people who had fed him lies and guarantees that he would remain untouchable, because right now, every touch that was being laid on him was excruciating.

  “Fancy another coffee?” McDermott said to Ward.

  Ward nodded, stood up and walked out of the warehouse into the reception area with Lawson following.

  “What’s wrong?” Ward asked McDermott.

  “He seems tough for an old man,” McDermott said, “So maybe you want me to have a go as time is moving on?”

  Ward felt his phone vibrate in his pocket. He ignored it.

  Yet again.

  “Good idea but let’s give him five minutes first to think about what he is going to say,” Ward said. “He’s fully aware that the moment he tells us where the bomb is and who the target is, that I am going to kill him because of Gilligan, so let’s see if he can think of something else that he can give us to save his sorry ass.”

  FORTY TWO

  Wired and Danny Wallace were the two man team who had to assume the Chrysler Building was the target. They had started from East 43rd Street, and driven around each block for potential places to hide a UPS van. They had followed three dead ends before they had moved onto Lexington Avenue. They found two underground multi-parking bays and neither of them had drawn any luck. They continued along Lexington and found a row of shops that had an old, gravelled alleyway next to the end of the building.

  “We may as well check this place out, so let’s park thirty yards up there and walk back,” Wired said, pointing to the end of the road.

  They got out of the car and walked back, with Wired on the alleyway side, and Wallace on the other side of the road. As they casually walked, they discreetly looked up towards the apartments above the shops, to check for lighting, movement or any spotters. As they reached the alleyway, Wallace crossed over to Wired and when they were twenty feet down the alleyway, they both pulled out their silenced handguns.

  “OK, stay in the shadows,” Wallace said, “You take the left hand side of the alley and I will take the right.”

  Wired nodded and they both backed up hard against the buildings that towered over either side of the alley, and slowly started moving forward.

  They stayed in the shadows and even the people who walked past the end of the alley would not have noticed them even if they had looked. Their ability to become invisible was outstanding.

  They continued forward and reached the end of the alley. There was a large open area that had loading bays backing into loading ports on the right hand side and goods bays where the endless restaurants on Lexington unloaded their daily deliveries. To the left, there were a row of old wooden garages that served as secure, or rather not very secure, parking spaces for the residents above the shops.

  The garages were set back from the open area and they were all clearly visible from the windows in the apartments. Between each garage was an alleyway which led to doors into the apartment building. Wallace crossed over to Wired,

  “Got to be worth a look in those,” he said, and Wired nodded. They stayed in the dark and slowly moved towards the garages.

  They approached the first one and there was no padlock on it, just a sliding latch. Wired nodded at Wallace, and turned to cover the rear, as Wallace carefully pulled the latch back without making a sound. He then gently pulled on the latch to open the door and it started to creak instantly, indicating that it rarely got used. He stopped as soon as the first creaking sound echoed out, the noise compounded by the general silence of the night.

  They both scanned the area, Wallace looking at the building, while Wired looked for any movement in the open area. There was no movement anywhere, No lights coming on, no curtains moving and no one looking out from the back of the restaurants to their right.

  Wired nodded at Wallace to continue.

  A creaking door tends to creak louder the slower it is opened, so Wallace gave it a short pull. A pull that opened the garage doors eighteen inches but also alerted someone in the apartments behind the garages and a curtain moved.

  They stepped into the shadows again and saw a young woman looking out into the dark. She looked left, then right before cupping her hands against the window and pushing her forehead against the glass, shielding the light from inside her apartment so that she could see outside. After thirty seconds, she looked left and right again and then her curtains fell back into place.

  They waited for a whole minute, not moving, pressed back into the dark and then Wired nodded at Wallace.

  Wallace peered into the garage and saw that it was empty.

  “Nothing at all, it mu
st have belonged to one of the empty shops,” he whispered.

  One garage had taken them six minutes, they would need to move quicker Wallace thought.

  They moved across the pathway to the second garage, maintaining the same positions, Wired watching the rear, Wallace the buildings and they melted into the shadows once more.

  The second garage had a lock on it, it was a newish lock, already stained with rust due to exposure to the elements, and Wallace’s first instinct was to ignore this as it looked like it had been there a long time, but had been used regularly. However, McDermott had always emphasised how important it was to be thorough, and so Wallace pulled out his knife and pulled away at the hasp. It gave way pretty easily as the garage doors were full of rot and the hasp swung around effortlessly. Wallace pulled on the hasp to open the door and it swung back without any noise at all. He looked inside.

  He saw a large vehicle.

  He turned around and looked at Wired and nodded his head four times. Wired walked backwards to the garage, still covering the rear,

  “Use your flashlight to identify what vehicle it is,” Wired whispered.

  Wallace pulled out his small LED light, stepped into the garage and pulled the door shut. When he was inside, in absolute darkness, he turned on the flashlight. The vehicle was a black Volkswagen van, with roller shutter doors on the back. He shone the light on the side and a sign read,

  ‘Howards Laundry Services.’ He walked to the back and shone the flashlight on the roller shutter doors. They were about eighteen inches open and so he shone the flashlight in the back and saw it was completely empty. He slowly pushed the doors up and climbed inside. He checked the walls of the van, and then the floor to ensure that there was nothing concealed, and after three minutes of very thorough checks, he knew that this was not the van. He climbed out and stepped back out of the garage.

  “This is going to take forever,” Wired said.

  “I know. Suggestions?” Wallace asked.

  “Apart from shooting all the locks off, and waking up the whole neighbourhood, nothing, you?” Wired asked.

  Wallace shook his head,

  “Then let’s continue,” he said.

  They crossed the next pathway to the third garage; holding the same positions. When Wallace reached the garage door he stopped, looked down and then whispered to Wired,

  “What do you make of this?”

  Wired looked down at the door. There was a brand new four-number combination lock, which ran through a brand new hasp, fitted to a brand new stainless steel strip of metal that ran all the way across each door and joined in the middle.

  “It looks like either someone has been robbed lately and the insurance company are insisting that this is done to keep the premiums down, or someone wants to keep something locked up securely,” Wired replied.

  “I hate combination locks,” Wallace said, “It could be any number.”

  “Then just rip it off like the other one,” Wired said.

  “This will make way too much noise if I do that.”

  “Try a few numbers then.”

  Wallace tried the obvious one first. Zero, nine, one, one. It didn’t work. He looked at Wired.

  “Any ideas?” he asked.

  “Try one, four, one, and two.”

  Wallace tried it but it didn’t work either.

  “Why that number?”

  “It’s my birthday,” Wired replied with a smile.

  “We will be here all night at this rate,” Wallace said.

  Wired stepped forward and without warning, raised his gun and shot the combination lock. The loop shattered and it dropped to the floor. The sound of metal striking metal echoed around the open area. They moved back into the shadows,

  “That was smart,” Wallace whispered.

  Wired just shrugged.

  The young woman looked out of her window again. She was focussing on the far left side of where they were standing, clearly only worried about her own garage. She looked out for only ten seconds this time and then the curtains fell back into place once more.

  “That was stupid,” Wallace said.

  Wired shrugged again.

  Wallace moved forward and lifted the hasp of the two adjoining stainless steel strips of metal. He pulled the left hand door ajar and looked inside.

  He saw a large vehicle.

  “I’ll check this out,” he whispered and stepped inside.

  He walked in, closed the door and turned on the flashlight.

  And instantly saw a large van, in Pullman Brown with a giant UPS sign on the side.

  He moved around the back and saw there were two doors at the rear of the vehicle with a silver handle in the middle. He tried the handle. It was unlocked. He opened the door as quietly as he could and shone the flashlight inside.

  And immediately saw three hundred pounds of explosives linked to a complex array of wires, surrounded by open tubs of four inch nails, bolts and two inch tubes of solid metal. He stepped out of the garage and closed the door.

  “We had better call the boss,” he said to Wired, “We’ve found it.”

  Ward’s phone vibrated in his pocket yet again. He ignored it.

  “He will be going nuts,” Lawson said with a smile.

  McDermott’s phone vibrated and he put it to his ear. With Ward and Lawson both studying him, he replied,

  “When? Where? Get Walsh there immediately. Get the whole team to within one hundred yards and now!” he said urgently.

  He looked at Ward,

  “Herrera at the Chrysler was the target. We have just found the van on Lexington Avenue.”

  “Fulken?” Ward asked.

  “They have literally just found it; the team are on their way. Walsh will make it safe,” he replied.

  “Fulken will still be close,” Ward said, “Let’s go,” and they walked straight out of the building into the night air and towards the Mercedes, without a thought for Ashurst-Stevens, who was alone and tied to a chair in a dirty warehouse. The Lord of the realm started to sob.

  Asif Fulken heard a faint noise which sounded like someone striking a barrier with a metal baseball bat, from the back of the apartment, and crouched down and looked through the hole that he had torn in the curtains, out onto the open area beyond the garages. Probably just one of the restaurants emptying the food waste into their dumpsters and slamming the lid down he thought, but it was always best to be alert.

  If he hadn’t been so distracted thinking about the man on the phone, then he would have been focussed and looking out of the window, and not having to guess what the noise he had heard was, he would have known.

  He would give the man on the phone no more thought whatsoever. He would never find him; he could change his plans when this was all over. He knelt down and adjusted his position, so that he was comfortable. Then, to his horror, he saw a flicker of light break out from the back wall of the garage.

  He stared down at the wall and then he saw it again.

  And five seconds later, again.

  He stood up in panic and moved closer to the window. He had the lights off and this enabled his eyes to adjust immediately. He froze. “This cannot be!” he said out loud to himself. Not now he thought, not after all he had done, and not with the wealth he now had at his disposal, and not for the safety of his family.

  He strained his eyes and he saw a figure move to the edge of the shadows. He saw the light from the screen of a cell phone illuminate the darkness, and he caught the glimpse of a man as he lifted the cell phone to his ear. He then caught a quick glimpse of another man on the edge of the shadows, and at the same time, a glistening of light on a handgun.

  It was over.

  All he could do now was save himself; get as far away from this country as possible and make do with the money that he already had. He stepped back from the window and picked up his rucksack. He had weapons, a passport, money and fake credit cards, all packed and ready to go in the eventuality of something like this happening. Distraught
as he felt right now, he would remain focussed on his escape. He put on his jacket and walked out of the apartment, closing the door without looking back.

  Lawson drove like a mad man and they were on Lexington Avenue in just under twenty minutes. They drove along the Avenue until McDermott leant over Ward’s shoulder from the rear seat and saw one of his Range Rovers, then said to Lawson,

  “Pull in there, behind the Range Rover.”

  They screeched to a stop and jumped out of the car.

  Another Range Rover came rolling down the Avenue and stopped behind the Mercedes. Walsh jumped out of the Range Rover and Paul followed him.

  Fuller and Fringe arrived thirty seconds later in the last Range Rover.

  “It’s around the back,” Walsh said and jogged off in the direction of the alleyway.

  The rest of them ran after Walsh.

  As they turned the corner they saw Wired and Wallace standing outside the garage.

  Ward approached them,

  “Brilliant job guys,” he said to them as he walked quickly past them and into the garage which now had its doors fully open. They both nodded.

  Fuller and Fringe took up the position of watching over the open area, both holding assault rifles and crouching down on one knee, Wallace and Wired stood with weapons drawn either side of the garage doors, and within five seconds the area was as secure as Fort Knox.

  Walsh was already in the back of the van when Ward walked in. McDermott and Paul came in immediately behind him.

  “Is it armed?” Ward asked.

  “Yes,” Walsh replied as he contorted his body into different angles to work out the complexities of the bomb.

  “You can disarm it?”

  “Yep. No problem,” Walsh replied.

  Ward knew instantly that Walsh wasn’t trying to display calm or an arrogance to reassure anyone, least of all himself, he knew that Lloyd Walsh was the best explosives expert he had ever known and that if he said it would be no problem to disarm, then it really would be no problem to disarm.

  He walked out of the garage and Lawson and the two McDermott’s followed.

  Above the garage there was a gold plate with the number eighteen etched into it in black italic engraving. Lawson noticed it at the same time as Ward.