by G. K. Parks
“Sure, no problem.” The van rolled forward, and Flynn glanced at Julian. They watched the men in suits and earpieces sweep the undercarriage of the vehicle in front of them with long-handled mirrors. “Should they try to search inside, we’ll kill them.”
Now that Mercer knew the plan, he only needed to make sure the terrorist remained breathing long enough to respond to the check-in with his faction members. If Flynn didn’t respond to the call, Flynn’s followers would remotely trigger the VX and the other bombs.
“It’ll attract too much attention. It’s best we do this cleanly,” Mercer said.
The guards checked the outside of the vehicle and barely glanced in the back of the van. They did a sweep, and since the device wasn’t a typical explosive and currently hermetically sealed, it didn’t trigger any alarms.
“Good thing I kept you around,” Flynn mused, pulling up to the rear door. “Let’s get this set up. We don’t have time to waste.”
“When’s the check-in?” Mercer placed the box with the nerve agent on the platform of a rolling cart.
Flynn concealed it beneath a dozen costumes and wheeled it inside. “Five minutes out. It’ll give us just enough time to place it and get clear. We’ll watch what happens from a safe distance.”
Mercer checked the time again. They had eight minutes to go. His team knew about the second round of targets and the third. They had plenty of time to stop those explosions, but this one was up to Julian. Experts were on the way, but having less than five minutes to disarm the device was cutting it close, especially when the theater couldn’t be evacuated.
“You keep doing that.” Flynn jerked his chin at Mercer’s wrist. “Do you have somewhere else to be? Or are you just anticipating the fireworks?”
“Both.”
It was clear from the way Flynn maneuvered through the backstage area that he’d been inside this theater plenty of times. He must have been casing the place for months. According to Bastian, this particular show sold out the day after tickets went on sale. Flynn had fail-safes for every contingency.
The lighting experts and set designers bustled about as Flynn pushed the rack of costumes behind the thick velvet curtain. He placed it beside another two parked racks. He jerked his chin toward the side. “Keep watch.”
“Aye.” Mercer crossed his arms over his chest and watched the stagehands hurry to make last minute changes. The main actors remained off to the side, running through vocal warm-ups. The nervous energy made the air crackle. Mercer felt it. The hairs on his arms prickled. These people had no idea what Flynn planned. They had no idea these next few minutes might be their last. “Is it set?” Mercer asked.
“All done.” Flynn took a step back to admire his handiwork. The costume cart did an excellent job concealing the device. The case was open, and Mercer could see the digital timer counting down. 6:12. “Let’s get out of here.”
As soon as they were outside, Flynn reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out his vibrating cell phone. Mercer held his breath, fearful Flynn might decide to detonate the device early.
“Aaron, it’s done. Make sure everyone else is in position. The second wave will go off at the perimeter thirty minutes from now. The third wave will target the hospitals, police headquarters, and Palace Barracks. There will be so much commotion. They won’t know which way is up. We want them panicked.” Flynn paused. “Right. We’ll celebrate our victory tonight.”
Flynn tucked the phone back into his pocket.
“We’re ready to move out,” Mercer said, more for his teammates listening on the other end of his radio than for Flynn.
“Aye.” Flynn unlocked the van doors.
“Wait,” Mercer said, “did you hear that?”
“Hear what?”
“In the back.”
“We don’t have time for this.” Flynn went around the back and opened the rear door. “There’s nothing here.”
Mercer slipped his arm around Flynn’s neck and squeezed, but the terrorist wouldn’t go down without a fight. Flynn reached behind him, poking and gouging at Mercer’s eyes. Colin heaved himself forward into the back of the van.
Pressure against the carotid artery should put a man down in ten seconds, but Flynn wouldn’t succumb. Mercer squeezed harder as Flynn rolled on top of Julian, forcing Mercer onto his back. Flynn elbowed Mercer hard, over and over, ripping the stitches and staples.
Julian hissed, doing his best to ignore the sudden searing pain as he held tight. Flynn broke free and straddled Mercer. He wrapped his hands around Julian’s throat and squeezed.
Mercer pulled the Sig from his hip, pressed the muzzle beneath Flynn’s ribs and pulled the trigger.
Flynn’s eyes went wide, and he looked down, watching the deep red, nearly black, blood soak the front of his shirt. He stuttered, and blood poured from his mouth. Flynn fumbled for his phone, and Mercer grabbed his wrist and snapped it backward. Yanking the phone out of Flynn’s pocket, Mercer tossed Flynn to the side and climbed out of the van. At least the dying terrorist couldn’t remotely trigger the bomb, but it would still go off if Mercer didn’t get it out of the theater in time.
Mercer tapped the radio as he raced back inside. “Flynn’s down. Where’s bomb disposal?”
“The mobile unit is on the way,” Donovan said. “They should be there any minute.”
“We don’t have time for this.” Mercer pushed his way backstage, ignoring the confused looks he received as he loaded the device back onto the costume rack and pushed it toward the exit. “The weapon is live. It’s going to activate in three minutes and twenty-two seconds.”
“Jesus, Jules.”
“I’m going to secure it inside the van. Tell them to hurry.” Mercer darted past security, hoping to avoid questions about his bloody appearance. Flynn had men nearby. An evacuation might tip them off, and until the rest of the devices were secure, they had to do this the hard way.
Mercer lifted the case into the back of the van. He climbed in after it and closed the doors. Flynn stared at him, a gurgling wheeze passing through his opened mouth.
“How do I disarm it?” Mercer barked.
Flynn smirked. His eyes dulled, and the life left his body.
Mercer let out an exhale, forcing his shaking hands to still. The deep breath caused him to cough and wheeze. Great, just what he needed. “Donovan, where are our guys?”
“They should be right on top of you. Non-descript vehicle, like you requested.”
Mercer glanced out the door. “They’re here. How’s our progress?”
“MI5 and police headquarters have been swept. Two devices disarmed. Four men in custody. I don’t know about the hospital yet. Bastian and Partridge are coordinating the raids to disarm the other eight devices.”
“Let me know as soon as it’s done.”
Mercer moved out of the way as the bomb expert dressed in hazmat gear slid into the rear of the van. He placed his equipment and tools beside him and handed Julian a roll of plastic sheeting and duct tape.
“We normally have the robot perform the disarming, but we don’t have the time. And we’re already spread thin.” The tech didn’t even look in Mercer’s direction as he opened the faceplate surrounding the canister and carefully lifted it up to examine the wires and disbursal system. “In case this goes wrong, I need you to seal us in.”
Mercer unrolled the plastic and taped it to the side, making sure it was solid around the doors and windows. The canister let out a hiss, and Mercer turned. “What the hell was that?”
“It’s compressing. We have less than a minute.”
The tech continued to work, and Julian found himself staring at Flynn’s body. Even though the bastard was dead, Mercer wanted to beat him to a pulp. The device let out another hiss. Julian’s eyes darted to the tech, who had finished detaching the VX just as the disbursal system activated.
The tech placed the chemical weapon into an airtight container and sealed it inside. “I don’t know if I made it in time.”
“What do you mean?”
“It compressed. When it released, it might have vaporized a small amount.” The tech stared at Julian. “How do you feel?”
“Fine.”
“Still, we’ll have to wait for containment to arrive.” The tech reached for his radio and sent the message. Normally, bomb disposal used radio frequency jammers to prevent remote and accidental detonations, but they couldn’t utilize those in this instance with so many other devices across the city in play. A loss of cell or radio signal would have tipped Flynn’s faction.
Mercer rubbed his hands down his face and sunk to his knees. “The chemical weapon has been contained.”
Donovan let out a sigh of relief. “Thank god.”
“Afraid I wouldn’t make it?” Mercer laughed, which turned into a cough. He held his side and covered his mouth. When he removed his hand, there were specks of blood.
“Shit,” the bomb expert cursed. He immediately radioed for decontamination and quarantine. “Try to relax. We’ll get through this.”
“Jules, what’s going on?” Donovan asked in his ear.
“I’m fine. It’s nothing.”
“It’s not nothing,” the bomb expert insisted, and Mercer glared at him.
“I’m not talking to you.”
That made the bomb expert even more concerned. “Take it easy, mate. We’ll get you sorted.”
Mercer wiped his hand on his trousers and plucked the radio from his ear. “I’m not daft or dying. I’m talking to my team. I’ve been coughing up blood for a while now. It’s courtesy of this wanker.” He gestured to Flynn’s body.
Despite his protests, containment was set up around the van. Men in full hazmat opened the doors, hauled Mercer out of the van and into one of the showers. They stripped him of his clothing and belongings, and after full decontamination, they handed him white scrubs to wear, loaded him into the back of a special emergency vehicle, and brought him to the hospital.
Thirty-four
“At least this place didn’t blow up,” Mercer said.
Bastian chuckled. “That would have been just your luck. It’s a good thing I’ve got your back.”
Mercer watched through the window as the nurses and doctors treated Owen Shepherd. The man had been at death’s door. Lara remained at his side. She wouldn’t lose him again.
“Well, the rest of the faction members have been apprehended,” Hans said, joining them. “Donovan just handed over Killian. I told him we’d meet back at bravo site and help with the cleanup.”
Mercer nodded. “In a minute.” He waited a moment to catch Lara’s eye and gestured for her to join them. “How is he?”
“Alive, thanks to you. He has a long road ahead, but he’ll be okay.” She held out her hand for Mercer to shake. “I pulled some strings and voiced a protest. Apparently, someone else had already beaten me to it. Every agent at Palace Barracks will be reassigned and investigated. According to Owen, a janitor was on Flynn’s payroll. He stole classified documents that were meant to be destroyed, and that’s how Flynn learned of Owen’s identity.”
“At least we found our leak,” Bastian said. “Jules was afraid it was Partridge.”
“I had the same thought,” Lara said.
“Regardless, it’s probably best if Owen disappears for a while. Flynn might still have allies operating in the area. And you know how much the Irish like to hold grudges,” Mercer warned.
“Owen and his family will be relocated. My contacts at the SIS will make sure of it,” Lara said. “It’d probably be best if you take your own advice and get out of Ireland while you can.”
“We’re planning on it,” Mercer said.
Bastian smiled. “Take care, love.”
She nodded and went back into Owen’s room.
“Partridge wanted us for a debrief,” Bastian said as they made their way out of the hospital. “But since you had your hands full, I took one for the team.”
“What did you learn?” Hans asked.
“The gold stationery is what the janitor used to pass notes to Flynn. Apparently, a terrible secretary bought it, but no one liked it. So there was plenty around for the janitor to use to scribble notes, passwords, intel, whatever he happened to overhear or find in the wastebaskets. That’s how Flynn knew as much as he did. According to Partridge, no actual agent or supervisor was compromised. It was the civilian workforce, and they’ll take steps to ensure that doesn’t happen again in the future.”
“What became of the janitor?” Mercer asked.
“Dead. His body washed up on shore a few days ago. The police thought it was the result of a boating accident. The man had been on holiday, so it made sense.”
“Flynn killed him,” Mercer said matter-of-factly.
“That would be my guess,” Bastian said. “Our mates in intelligence have urged us to stay away from Ireland and the rest of the UK for a while, at least until things calm down. We did bomb Mathias Murphy’s pub and incite a war between the two most powerful factions. Some affected parties might still have it out for us, Jules.”
Mercer thought about it. After everything that just happened, he had no love for Ireland. But he would miss home. “We head back to London tonight. As soon as we get our next call, we’ll resume our normal K&R duties. Hans has proved he’s more than capable in the field. It’s time we get back to business as usual.”
Julian Mercer will be back in 2020, but until then, don’t miss G.K. Parks’ newest series. Check out Dangerous Stakes (A Liv DeMarco thriller).
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ABOUT THE AUTHOR
G.K. Parks is the author of the Alexis Parker series. The first novel, Likely Suspects, tells the story of Alexis’ first foray into the private sector.
G.K. Parks received a Bachelor of Arts in Political Science and History. After spending some time in law school, G.K. changed paths and earned a Master of Arts in Criminology/Criminal Justice. Now all that education is being put to use creating a fictional world based upon years of study and research.
You can find additional information on G.K. Parks and the Alexis Parker series by visiting our website at
www.alexisparkerseries.com
Sign up for the e-mail newsletter for the latest information on upcoming releases, sales, free promotions, and more.
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Full-length Novels in the Alexis Parker Series:
Likely Suspects
The Warhol Incident
Mimicry of Banshees
Suspicion of Murder
Racing Through Darkness
Camels and Corpses
Lack of Jurisdiction
Dying for a Fix
Intended Target
Muffled Echoes
Crisis of Conscience
Misplaced Trust
Whitewashed Lies
On Tilt
Purview of Flashbulbs
The Long Game
Prequel Alexis Parker Novellas:
Outcomes and Perspective: The Complete Prequel Series
Assignment Zero (Prequel series, #1)
Agent Prerogative (Prequel series, #2)
The Final Chapter (Prequel series, #3)
Julian Mercer Novels
Condemned
Betrayal
Subversion
Reparation
Retaliation
Liv DeMarco Novels
Dangerous Stakes
Operation Stakeout
Unforeseen Danger
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