Stepping forward into the middle of the hall, he bounced on the balls of his feet, ready to hurtle himself forward.
“It’s open. Come on in.”
The voice reverberated through the hallway, sounding mechanized and automated through the intercom system. Dropping flat onto his feet, Thorn cast his gaze up towards the ceiling. In the crown molding along the hallway, barely perceptible, were a series of tiny black circles.
“Fiber-optic cameras,” Thorn said. “He’s been watching us the whole time.”
Behind him he could hear Nio muttering as Thorn stepped forward and opened the door, the Glock extended in front of him. One inch at a time he moved in, clearing the space behind the door and making sure he wasn’t stepping into a trap before proceeding.
The room was dominated by a large wooden table, electronics of all assortments arranged atop it. On the far two walls were banks of monitors, one covered with news casts, the other featuring camera feeds encompassing the grounds, all muted into silence.
In the center of the space sat a single man in a wheelchair bearing a strong resemblance to Yuri Chekov. Thick white hair covered his head and he was dressed in a blue suit with a gray and blue tie, a matching blanket covering the lower half of his body.
“So you’re the young man that’s been giving me fits?”
Thorn glanced around room, the old man very much alone and unarmed. He lowered the Glock and said, “And you must be Gold.”
Surprise flickered behind Gold’s eyes, an indiscernible look crossing his face. “You have no idea what you’ve stumbled onto here.”
Nio entered the room and took up a post just inside the door, though Gold didn’t bother to acknowledge his presence.
Thorn moved to his left and glanced out the window before returning his gaze to Gold. “Kind of light on security tonight, aren’t you?”
“I had Ling,” Gold said matter-of-factly. “I never thought I’d need any more protection than that. Turns out I was wrong.”
”Have a good view?” Nio asked
Gold nodded, his attention still on Thorn. “I saw what happened. Have to admit, I didn’t think you had it in you.”
“Only for those of you that deserve to die,” Thorn said, putting his back to the wall and staring at Gold.
“I deserve to die?” Gold asked. “That’s mighty strong. You don’t even know me.”
Drawing in a deep breath through his nose, Thorn recalled everything he’d learned in the preceding days. “Bern Gold. Reclusive billionaire with property holdings in Boston, Cape Cod and who knows how many other places around the world. Savvy, ruthless business man with a bottom line that would make most small countries salivate.”
“Very impressive,” Gold conceded. “Though, in fact, you know nothing at all.”
“Bern Gold,” Thorn repeated. “AKA Anton Chekov, son of Russian diplomat Dmitri Chekov, disappeared in Germany in 1942. Presumed dead by all, you were captured by the German SS and stashed away in Kaiserwald, ugly step-sister to the real concentration camps of the war.”
Any hint of mirth fled from Gold’s face as he threw back the blanket covering his lowering half. Beneath it he had not bothered with the slacks to match his suit, a pair of gnarled and shriveled legs covered only by gym shorts visible. “Does this look like the work of an ugly step-sister?”
Thorn shook his head. “Looks like the kind of thing that would turn a man angry and bitter.”
Gold swallowed hard and raised his hand to his mouth. He removed a porcelain crown, leaving a broken and stained front tooth behind, a gap between it and its neighbor visible. “Every single day I look at this tooth and it reminds me of the moment my life changed forever. It reminds me of the death of the only girl I would ever love and of the monstrosities that were done to me.”
“The only monstrosity I see here is your plan to murder millions of innocent people because you’re still carrying a grudge.”
Anger twisted Gold’s face for a full moment before slowly fading away, a small smile replacing it. He reached onto the table behind him and grabbed a small silver box, placing it atop his lap. “Do you know what this is?”
“One of your homemade Vaporizers.”
The old man nodded. “And do you know what is behind me?”
“Should I?”
“You should. In less than a minute I am going to press a button that will ignite thousands of these all over the world.”
“And you think we’re just going to stand here and let that happen?” Thorn asked.
“Frankly, there’s not a damn thing you can do to stop it.”
Thorn opened his mouth to respond, but before any words escaped a tall man in a Hawaiian shirt stepped from behind the bank of monitors with a shotgun at his hip. Without pause, he raised it to his shoulder and fired.
The sound of the shot was deafening in the tiny room as the blast caught Nio square in the chest, launching him into Thorn. The force knocked Thorn to his stomach, sending the Glock clattering across the floor.
“Nio!” Thorn yelled, his ears ringing as he scrambled towards the Glock lying just feet away from him.
“I told you you couldn’t stop me,” Gold taunted, his wheelchair creaking as he turned to face forward, beginning to peck away at his controls.
The man in the floral shirt racked the gun and circled around the enormous table, raising it back to his shoulder. He first leveled it on Nio, who lay motionless on the floor with a pool of blood expanding around him. Thinking better of it, he turned his attention to Thorn.
A second blast tore through the room, chewing up a swath of floor less than two feet from Thorn as he grabbed up the Glock and rolled to the other side of the table. He could feel the heat rising from the blast, particles of wood slapping against his legs.
The man walked around the opposite side of the table, again working the heavy slide of the shotgun. Lying flat on his side, Thorn peered beneath the table, making out the undercarriage of Gold’s wheelchair. Holding the gun two inches above the floor he counted off seconds in his head, waiting for the light between the two wheels to disappear.
The moment it blinked out Thorn squeezed the trigger, the bullet ripping into the man’s ankle, a cry of pain sounding out. A moment later his heavy frame crashed to the floor, Thorn putting three more rounds into the man, each one slamming into center mass.
Scrambling to all fours he crawled around the side of the table and came up on a knee, holding the Glock out in front of him. He peered around the corner and saw the man lying on the floor, rings of blood staining his Hawaiian shirt. The shotgun lay beside him as he stared with open eyes at the ceiling.
Keeping the gun poised in front of him, Thorn rose and stared at Gold. “Turn the transmitter off.”
Gold stared back at him. “So you killed my old friend Jasper. Do you really think that’s enough to make me have a sudden change of heart?”
Thorn drew the hammer back on the gun. “Turn it off now.”
“Kill me,” Gold said. “This project is far more important than I alone could ever be.”
Shifting at the waist, Thorn rotated towards the control panel and fired the remainder of his clip. Sparks flew and chunks of metal controls spewed backwards.
To his surprise, the system kept running. Only the clicking sound of a firing pin striking air greeted his ears.
Gold broke into a throaty laugh, throwing his head back in bitter amusement. “See, boy, this is destiny. It is going to happen whether you want it to or not.”
Thorn stared from the gun to Gold. “Those things can’t detonate without the transmitter telling them to.”
“Right you are,” Gold said, humor still edging his voice.
Pushing off his back foot, Thorn rushed forward and grabbed the side of Gold’s wheelchair, dumping him to the ground. He lifted the chair high above his head, slamming it down onto the control panel one time after another.
All amusement fled from Gold as he watched in horror. As it registered with
him what was occurring he began to scream for Thorn to stop.
Paying him no mind Thorn pounded away, going until both the electronics and the wheelchair were nothing but twisted heaps of metal. By the time he was done he could barely breath, panting as he turned to face Gold.
Lying on the floor he had propped himself up on one hand, the other outstretched as anguish filled his face. “Why? Why when I was so close?”
Thorn didn’t bother to respond. He left the pathetic old man in a crumpled ball on the floor and shifted his attention to Nio, pulling his phone from his pocket as he dropped to a knee.
Already Nio’s eyes were shut, blood seeping from the gaping wound in his chest. A circle the size of a basketball had already ballooned on the floor behind him, barely a hint of a pulse present.
“Backup is six minutes out and closing,” Ingram said, snapping the line up on the first ring.
“We’ve got a civilian down,” Thorn said. “Send a life flight. Now.”
Thorn ended the call without waiting for a response. Again he took stock of Nio before him, guilt and rage both building within. It would still be several minutes at best before help arrived, minutes that his friend didn’t have.
Malevolence on his face, Thorn turned to look at Gold, the old man still fighting to drag himself across the floor. He watched the feeble effort for several long moments, feeling the wrath grow inside him, before pushing himself to his feet and walking across to the rubble of the control panel.
“What?” Gold asked from the floor. “What else can you possibly destroy now?”
Shoving aside the twisted remains of the wheelchair and the broken circuitry of the unit, Thorn found what he was looking for. At the bottom of the mess, dented but not destroyed, was the Vaporizer.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing with that?” Gold asked. “You just destroyed my detonator, you idiot!”
Thorn ignored him, sliding the knife from his back pocket and using it to wrench the top of the box free. Removing the panel behind the transmitter, he sliced through the plastic casing of the two input wires and twisted them around one another.
The red light shifted to green atop the Vaporizer as a low humming filled the room. A soft rumbling could be heard in the base of the box as Thorn set it in the middle of the table, far from the outstretched reach of Gold.
“You can’t do this!” Gold yelled. “You can’t do this to me!”
Dropping to a knee, Thorn placed a hand behind Nio’s neck and knees and lifted him from the floor. A small wheeze slid from Nio as Thorn hefted him up, already heading for the door.
Behind him on the floor he left Gold, secure in the knowledge that Liberation Day was successful in taking at least one victim.
Chapter Sixty-Five
“Mr. Hardy, so very good to see you again,” Eric Olson said as Paul Hardy strode into the office. As he did so he leaned forward at the waist in a half bow, his tie hanging down. “Governor Milton has been expecting you.”
“That mean I can go on in?” Hardy asked, not bothering to even look over at the young man beside him.
”Come on in, Paul,” Milton called from the office, leaving Olson standing with his mouth open.
Without breaking stride Hardy walked straight into the Governor’s office, Olson scurrying in behind him. “Can I get you gentlemen anything? Coffee, water, soda?”
Hardy cast a sideways glare at Olson, dismissing him with a wave of his hand and turning his attention to Milton.
“No, I think we’re good,” Milton said. “Close the door behind you.”
Olson’s cheeks reddened as he bowed again and retreated from the room. Both men waited for the door to click closed behind him before grins creased their faces.
“Never gets old, does it?” Milton asked.
“After what he pulled last time? I’d say he got off easy, wouldn’t you?”
Milton chuckled and said, “Kid’s been walking on eggshells ever since it happened. You can tell it was the first time in his privileged life anybody ever so much as said a cross word to him. Kind of amusing to watch.”
Hardy returned the chuckle. “Like a baby colt learning to walk I’m sure.”
Unable to hold it back, Milton let out a loud guffaw at the symbolism. “Something like that.”
The two sat silent for a moment, letting the laughter float from the air.
“So, to what do I owe the pleasure of an invitation today?” Hardy asked.
“Ah, yes,” Milton said as he leaned back in his chair and laced his fingers across his stomach. He measured Hardy for a moment, trying to determine the proper words to use. “I’m curious as to how things are going with regards to the conversation we had last time you were here.”
The question brought a bit of surprise to Hardy’s features as he crossed his legs and adjusted his tie before him. “Governor, sir. You know I consider myself a friend to this office, but you also know how I am about my business practices, friends or not.”
“Oh, I know, I know,” Milton said, leaning forward and having a hand in front of him. “I don’t mean to pry into a single detail of what happened. I just meant to seek your opinion about the services I recommended.”
“Ah,” Hardy said, his face relaxing a bit.
“Are you finding them adequate for what was needed?” Milton asked, placing the words out there so as to not offend.
“I think what you meant to ask is, did I find them adequate for what I needed?”
Milton’s face sagged a bit. “Oh, so it’s over already? It didn’t go well?”
“Quite the opposite,” Hardy replied.
“They’re done?” Milton asked. “Has it even been a week?”
“They were quite efficient,” Hardy said, nodding. “Of that, there is no denying.”
“Wow,” Milton said, his eyes drifting to the far wall across from him. “And just like that, it’s over?”
“Not entirely,” Hardy said. “There is still a loose end or two to tie up, but the heavy lifting is certainly behind us.”
Milton let out a low shrill whistle and settled back into his chair. “So the project you had? It must not have been that large I take it?”
Hardy switched the crossing of his legs. “With all due respect, I would not have called you if it weren’t a dire situation.”
“So it was big?” Milton pressed.
“Pray you never know just how big,” Hardy responded.
Milton’s eyes narrowed a bit at the comment and more questions jumped to mind, but he let them slide. “So it was big, and they handled it with ease...”
“I’m sorry if I seem crass, but might I inquire as to why you ask?” Hardy said.
Letting the lingering questions fade from his mind, Milton pulled his full attention back to Hardy before him. He spread his hands a few inches to either side and said, “Respecting that I too must exercise some level of diplomacy in what I divulge, a situation has presented itself.”
A look of realization crept across Hardy’s face. “You need to know if these guys are the real deal?”
Milton mulled the question for a moment. “In as many words? Yes.”
Hardy smirked and reached into the inner pocket of his suit coat. He removed a long, thin wallet from it and pulled out the same business card Milton had given him several days before. “The truth is I still don’t know a whole lot about them. What I do know is they have a guy working for them named Thorn Byrd.
“Ask for him by name. My associates and I all endorse him to the fullest.”
Chapter Sixty-Six
For the first time in the ongoing history of their partnership, Luis Cardoza was the first to arrive. He pulled up to the mansion ten minutes before seven, directing the driver to idle past the front door and park off to the side. There he remained seated in the car, a small box of Cuban cigars in his lap.
Three hours earlier, Cardoza had been out on his boat with his wife and children. He and his son were fishing while his wife and daughter sunbat
hed on the deck. The call came in from Hardy himself, immediately cutting the day short and sending them headed for shore.
Hardy was very cryptic in his message, stating just that something had come up and it was urgent that they convene. Cardoza knew him to be a prudent man that never used hyperbole and if he said the meeting was a necessity, it was a necessity.
Five minutes later Billy Turner pulled into the driveway and came to a stop a few feet behind Cardoza. The late afternoon sun was just beginning to slide down in the western sky, throwing a harsh glare as the two men emerged from their respective vehicles at the same time.
Cradling the cigars in his left hand, Cardoza extended his right to Turner. “Good to see you, my friend.”
“Good to see you as well,” Turner said, shifting a small cask of whiskey into his left hand and returning the handshake. “Any idea what this is about?”
The two men walked to the front door and passed through as it swung open without a sound.
“I can speculate, but nothing concrete,” Cardoza said. ”You?”
Turner shook his head. “Same here. I tried to press him on the phone, but he wouldn’t say a word.”
Together the pair walked through the main foyer of the house and into the dining room. To their surprise there was no food or drink waiting for them, instead just Paul Hardy seated at the head of the table. At the sight of them he rose and said, “Luis, Billy, thank you for coming.”
“You said it was important,” Turner replied.
Hardy picked up a letter from the table in front of him and held it up. “Oh, believe me, it is. Please, come with me.”
Cardoza and Turner cast each other a quick glance and placed the items they were holding on the table before following Hardy through the house and out into a large garage. A row of metal doors fitted for automobile use lined one side of it and a large roll-top door over fifteen feet across and twenty feet high outfitted the other.
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