Crime Zero (aka the Crime Code) (1999)

by Cordy, Michael

  Associate Director William Jackson.

  Decker gunned the engine into life and slowly pulled away, all the time keeping his eyes on the Chrysler. He felt no fear, only a cold sense of purpose. The car behind him wasn't a threat. It was an opportunity.

  In his mind he recalled the winding lanes that led out of the vast complex of cemeteries and tried to pick the spot where Jackson would make his move. And then select the place he would make his.

  He checked the gun in his jacket and clicked his seat belt into place. Behind him he could see the Chrysler pulling closer, but he made no move to increase his speed, keeping at a sedate twenty miles an hour. The road ahead was deserted, and beyond the gates of the Hills of Eternity the main road leading to the other cemeteries looked equally abandoned. He and the three men behind seemed to be the only living souls in this city of the dead.

  The Chrysler was only a few yards behind. He could see Jackson's face clearly now. He was smiling.

  After pulling out of the gates, Decker turned right down the main tree-lined artery that cut through the patchwork of cemeteries. Still keeping his speed at twenty, Decker waited for the Chrysler to come closer. He could see indecision on the driver's weasely face. Did the man speed up and overtake him, or did he pull up alongside, or wait? Jackson didn't seem to be giving him any guidance.

  So Decker made up his mind for him. He suddenly braked to a standstill, put the Mercedes into reverse, and slammed his foot on the gas.

  The impact was bone-crunching, but Decker was prepared for it. As the Chrysler stalled and Jackson pulled the driver's head off the dashboard, Decker pushed the Mer-cedes's automatic gearshift into drive and again slammed his foot on the gas. He had gone three hundred yards down the deserted straight road before the Chrysler started up again. But instead of trying to make good his getaway, Decker again slammed on the brakes, jumped out of the car, and walked into the middle of the road. He retrieved his gun, held it in both hands, and locked its barrel on the approaching Chrysler. The car accelerated. He wouldn't miss. He had hit far more difficult targets in practice.

  The first bullet took out the front left tire, pulling the car left immediately. He didn't need a second. The Chrysler almost turned on its side as it spun around and hit a large, gnarled oak. Decker ran to the wreckage and barely noticed the unconscious driver or the third man slumped in the rear seat. Jackson was fumbling with the door, trying to get out. He had a large gash on his forehead, and his left arm appeared broken.

  Decker opened the door, pulled him out of the car, and deposited him on the bruised grass verge. He pushed the barrel of the SIG into the back of Jackson's neck and leaned down toward him.

  "Why the hell did you have to break his fucking fingers?"

  "It wasn't my fault," Jackson whimpered, his nasal whine incensing Decker. "Director Naylor made me do it. I had to find you. If he'd told us where you were, he'd have been OK."

  Decker tightened his finger on the trigger. "Well, you've found me now."

  "But I wasn't going to kill you. They wanted me to take you to the airport if I found you and Kathy. They called me to--"

  A question suddenly cut through the heat of Decker's rage. "When did they call you?"

  "I don't know. A few hours ago."

  "And you were supposed to take me to the airport?"

  "Yeah, to meet them."

  Decker suddenly felt calm, numbingly calm. He reached into his left pocket, pulled out his cell phone, and called Bill McCloud's number. Before he could say anything, McCloud told him about Naylor's and Prince's disappearing act.

  "They could be anywhere," said McCloud, his drawl uncharacteristically strained. "According to our IT guys, they could have pulled off their hologram stunt from anywhere with a digital phone socket. The IT guys have taken control of most of TITANIA, but apparently a whole lot of its higher functions require some other kind of clearance. They're working on it, but until then we don't know where the hell they are."

  "I think I do," said Decker abruptly.

  "Yeah?" McCloud sounded stunned.

  "I've got William Jackson here, and he says they're at the airport."

  "Shit. We'll get it closed down immediately and cordoned off. We'll do it from the outside in, so we don't alert anybody inside." Decker heard McCloud turn from the phone and bark an order.

  He came back on the line. "We can have the whole airport sealed within minutes. But we've got to get close to Naylor and Prince before they set anything off--assuming they haven't done so already."

  "I've got an idea," said Decker. "But I'll need some help."

  "Whatever you need. What do you want to do?"

  "The only thing I can: use myself as bait. Prince and Nay-lor have told Jackson to take me to them." Decker pushed his gun into Jackson's neck. "And I'm going to make sure my friend here does exactly what he's told."

  Executive Suite, San Francisco Airport.

  12:11 P.M.

  It took Madeline Naylor completely by surprise. Not one of her contingency plans could have covered it.

  She stood in the private bathroom admiring her short copper-flecked hair and black roots in the mirror above the basin. Her immaculate shoulder-length white hair was gone. Naylor had dyed her hair twice, to look like a natural brunette who had colored her hair. It worked. She was pleased with how different it made her look. Blue contacts helped the transformation, as did the long floral dress. She rarely wore dresses and never floral prints.

  "Your turn, Alice," she said, entering the conference room.

  But Alice hadn't changed. She hadn't even moved.

  "Come on, you've done nothing."

  "I know."

  "Well, hurry up! We need to get going."

  Alice frowned and fiddled with the pendant around her neck. She seemed distracted.

  "Alice..."

  The ring interrupted her. Naylor went over to the green bags and fished out her cell phone.

  "Yes." She exhaled the word into the handset.

  "I've got Decker," said Jackson. The reception was poor. But despite the static, she could still hear his nasal voice.

  "You said you wanted him. I've got him at the airport. The new mall's construction site on the east mezzanine by the Calvin Klein billboard. It's quiet."

  Naylor frowned. She didn't need this now.

  "Who is it?" asked Alice.

  "Jackson, he's got Decker." Naylor spoke back into the phone. "Kill him."

  "Wait!" shouted Alice suddenly, snatching the phone from her. "No, leave him. I want to speak to him. Where is he?"

  Naylor laughed in disbelief. "You can't speak to him. Are you out of your mind? There's no time." She tried to grab the phone back, but Alice wouldn't release it until she'd made her arrangement with Jackson and hung up. Then Alice turned her back on Naylor and rested on the bags.

  Naylor was really angry now. She had never seen Alice so defiant before. "Alice, you aren't seeing Decker. You're getting changed and leaving now!"

  "No, I'm not," said Alice quietly, her hand in one of the bags.

  Naylor moved toward her then, but before she could reach her, Alice turned around, a small pistol in her shaking hands. "Madeline, I don't want to shoot you, but I promise you I will. Just let me go."

  Naylor didn't know what to say; she could only stare at her friend. Alice's round face was red, and her eyes were moist with tears. Naylor had no doubt at all that if she rushed her, her gentle, shy friend would shoot her. "I don't understand. What are you trying to do?"

  "Step back into the bathroom."

  Naylor did as she was told. "We've done everything we planned to do. What the hell's wrong?"

  Alice closed the bathroom door and locked the door from the outside. Naylor could hear her take the key out and put it in her pocket. "I'll come back for you afterward," Naylor heard her say through the door.

  Naylor couldn't believe this was happening. "Just tell me what the hell you're going to do, for chrissakes."

  There was a pause
and the faint echo of a sob. Then slowly in a faltering voice, Alice explained.

  As soon as she did, Madeline Naylor lunged at the bathroom door with all her force, trying to break it down.

  Chapter 38.

  San Francisco Airport.Sunday, November 9, 12:27 P.M.

  Alice Prince could think of no other way but this. Madeline would understand when she calmed down. She had to.

  Walking across the concourse teeming with busy travelers, Alice looked up at the Calvin Klein billboard and the unpainted concrete pillars of the deserted site for the new shopping mall on the east mezzanine level.

  She stepped over a strip of blue tape and a sign saying CONSTRUCTION WORK. PLEASE KEEP OUT, opened a door, and walked up a flight of service stairs, negotiating an obstacle course of paint tins and abandoned ladders left by workers.

  Alice Prince regretted using the gun with Madeline. But she had no choice. Madeline was just too dominant. She'd always had a hold over her, twisting everything around. Ever since they were children. Ever since Madeline had explained why it was right to punish Alice's father. Just remembering the day on the ice made Alice's chest tighten. It also convinced her that she was right to do what she was doing now.

  The frozen lake close to her house in Baddington is beautiful, and Alice loves skating there. Except when her father joins her. Alice doesn't know if she loves her father because when he gets drunk, he hits her mother and her. But she's used to it now, so she's embarrassed that her friend Madeline knows.

  In January a week before her fifteenth birthday Alice goes skating on the lake with Madeline. It's late on a Saturday afternoon, and it's so cold her breath almost freezes solid. The sky is pale blue, and the small lake, lined with neat fir trees, dazzles in the late-afternoon sun. The far end is roped off with a sign saying KEEP OFF: THIN ICE.

  Because of the cold, only a few other skaters are on the ice, so the two girls have most of the lake to themselves.

  Until her father comes out to join them. She can tell at once that he's drunk because he immediately orders her to skate with him. She tries to leave, but Madeline holds her back. Madeline wears a bright red jacket and hood with her white hair sticking out like icicles. Her dark eyes stare at Alice's father, and she confidently skates over to him with Alice in tow. Like two ducklings, they follow him around on the ice.

  Alice's father is a large man with a red nose and face. His rheumy eyes stare out from under a furry Russian hat that makes him look like an angry grizzly. "Follow me," he shouts, "both of you!"

  Then he proceeds to skate joylessly around the ice. Her father is a good skater, and as he goes around, he increases his speed. It's a game Alice knows well. Eventually her father will gain such a lead that he will lap her, and when he passes, he will push her over, laughing as he exhorts her to go faster.

  But today it's different because Madeline is with her. Unlike Alice, Madeline is an athlete. She skates like the wind, and as she glides on the ice, she tucks Alice in behind her slipstream and carries her along with her.

  The faster her father skates, the faster Madeline goes. And Alice is sure that Madeline isn't even trying. She just matches his pace, no quicker, no slower. They keep their distance on the ice. But her father is stubborn. He skates without respite for an hour, trying to close the gap.

  As it gets late, the lake is deserted by the few remaining skaters. But behind Madeline, Alice feels exhilarated and safe. It is as if she had wings on her feet that could take her away from harm.

  It takes another ten minutes before he tires of the game, realizing he can't win. The last stragglers have gone, and he suddenly stops and points to the unsafe end of the lake.

  "Skate by the rope," he orders. His eyes have that cruel, bullying look she hates. "Or are you too scared?"

  But she's not frightened with Madeline by her side. Then Madeline pushes the game further. "I'll skate to the other side of the rope if you follow me," she says to Alice's father. "Or are you too scared?"

  His expression changes then, and he frowns. He approaches them, and Alice is scared. Then Madeline turns and, taking her hand, leads her away toward the rope.

  "Come back here," he shouts.

  But Madeline just pulls her forward, their skates hissing on the ice. For the first time in her life Alice feels a surge of power. It doesn't matter what he does to her after she gets home; at this moment the fire of defiance runs through her veins.

  "No," Alice yells back. "Come and get me."

  Then, ignoring the sign, Madeline crouches and skates under the waist-high rope, pulling Alice along behind. Cutting her skates into the ice, she stops and turns back to her father.

  He glowers at her from the other side of the rope. "Alice, come back here. Do what I say. Now!"

  "Don't move," whispers Madeline beside her. "You're safe here." Madeline's eyes are bright, and she has a thin, excited smile on her frozen face. Alice looks down, and the ice is so thin here she can see the dark water beneath her skates.

  Madeline suddenly shouts at Alice's father, "If you want to hit Alice, you'll have to come here to do it."

  His face reddens with rage.

  "Be careful, Madeline," Alice says. She knows how vicious her father can be. "He might hurt you too."

  Madeline shakes her head. "He won't hurt me. Watch."

  Alice admires her courage but doesn't like the look on her face.

  "We're waiting," Madeline taunts. "Or are you too scared?"

  He waits for a moment, not believing they can be so defiant. Then he snarls like an animal and steps over the rope. Carefully he rests his first skate on the thin ice, and then his second. When he realizes the ice is taking his weight, he gives them a horrible smile. "Who's scared now?" he says, lunging for Alice.

  For a second she is frightened, but then she hears a crack, and Madeline pulls her farther along the rope, and they step over to the safe side.

  It happens in seconds.

  One moment he is standing there scowling at her, and then he's falling through the ice, clawing on to the side of the hole, trying to pull himself back onto the slippery surface of the lake. She waits for his splashing to stop before skating closer to the breach.

  "Pass me the rope," he orders her. His face is furious, but for the first time ever she can also see fear in his eyes.

  She stands and looks down on him, but before she can move to him, Madeline holds her back. "Just watch!" she whispers.

  "Hurry," her father cries. "I can't hold on much longer." His voice becomes more pleading as he realizes that she isn't rushing to his assistance. He looks up at her, his hands trying to keep their hold on the treacherous ice. His eyes now show naked terror. "Please, Alice, help your papa," he pleads. "Help me. Throw me the rope."

  But she can't move. Madeline isn't exactly holding her back, but she legitimizes Alice's inaction. Because looking down on her father, seeing him beg makes Alice feel good. She can't remember how many times he has towered over her, ignoring her pleas.

  Still, as she watches his fingers slip on the ice and sees him slide deeper and deeper into the freezing water, she wants to go to him, to help him.

  But Madeline is saying in her ear, "Let him go. Let him slide out of your life. You don't need him. You don't love him. He only brings you pain." As he sinks, he starts to cry, but she can't move. Madeline isn't even touching her, but

  Alice feels as if she's pulling her back.

  "Help me," he screams in his panic.

  Alice is too paralyzed to help.

  He struggles and tries to scream one more time, but he slips farther, and the water drowns his cries. Alice stands on the ice, watching as her father's flailing body floats under the ice beneath her feet. As she stares in horror, Madeline takes her hand and leads her from the lake. "You don't need a father," Madeline reassures her. "I haven't got a father. We just need each other. Your secret's safe. You've done nothing wrong."

  But that wasn't true. Deep down Alice had always known that she'd done something wr
ong. Something so evil that ten years ago her daughter had been taken from her as punishment. All her life she had been in Madeline's thrall, bound to her by guilt. She had always believed that Madeline must be right about everything; to believe otherwise was to face the truth that allowing her father's death was wrong. But now she accepted it was wrong--like so much else.

  When she reached the service door on the mezzanine level, Alice paused beside the paint tins and boxes in the stairwell. Jackson had said he would leave Decker by the Calvin Klein poster. After slowly opening the door, she stepped out, ignoring a large sign, PLEASE KEEP OUT. WORK IN PROGRESS.

  Turning to her left, Alice looked through a break in the advertising boards, over the balcony to the teeming concourse below. At that moment a group of businessmen in dark suits entered through the main doors. They were obviously from some kind of convention and were late for their flights because they stormed impatiently through the crowd, cutting a dark swath through women and children, almost knocking over a baby in a carriage.

  As her eyes blurred, the milling throng no longer resembled humans at all, but cells in a petri dish. Some of those cells were good and healthy, but others were malignant-- male. She imagined the dark, invasive male cells being eradicated and the remaining cells having more space to move. Then she imagined them all moving at a kinder, more peaceful pace, working together rather than struggling against one another. The vision briefly pleased and reassured Alice, but then she looked again, and the reassuring warmth left her.