Authors: Jason Dean
There were also two doors. The one on the right would lead directly into the reception area, smack dab in the heart of the enemy. Too soon for that. The door straight ahead was the one he wanted.
Bishop raised the covering on the nearest vehicle and glanced at the interior. ‘I don’t see any keys,’ he said.
‘Hallaran keeps them all locked in his desk in his office.’
‘Not too big on trust, huh?’ Bishop lowered the canvas and said, ‘So this Ryan, the computer specialist. He doesn’t go out and meet the customers with Hallaran?’
Neeson shook his head. ‘There’s no need. He mostly stays in his room, either working or sleeping.’
‘Good. Take me there.’
‘Take . . .? But I already gave you his location on that map.’
Bishop pointed his gun. ‘So is that a no?’
Neeson’s eyes grew wide. ‘
No, don’t
. I’ll take you.’
But as soon as he turned in the direction of the door, Bishop raised the Sig and brought it straight down, the grip striking Neeson just behind his right ear. The older man collapsed silently to the floor, his head coming to a rest against Bishop’s feet.
‘On second thoughts,’ Bishop said, pulling a roll of duct tape from a pocket, ‘I’ll find him myself.’
Bishop worked fast. Using his Maglite for illumination, he turned off the sidelights and secured the bound Neeson in the BMW’s rear cargo area. Two cars down, he found a similar-sized vehicle and removed the protective canvas tarpaulin, which he used to cover the BMW. With any luck, nobody would notice there was an extra SUV in here until it was too late.
Gripping the Sig, Bishop jogged over to the door straight ahead and opened it a crack. He saw a well-lit, narrow corridor receding into the distance with doors on either side. The nearest one on the right was open. He spotted the main corridor intersection about four hundred feet ahead. Nobody was in sight. He pulled the door open and stepped through.
Now he heard the faint sounds of human voices from the open doorway ahead. To his left he saw, affixed to the wall, a red fire-pull station under a clear tamper cover. He went over and tapped a knuckle lightly against the wall. White plywood. Probably wood panelling underneath. Sounded like it was at least a couple of inches thick. Looking up, he studied the ceiling fifteen feet above, and saw sprinklers placed at hundred foot intervals.
Bishop frowned at that. Sprinklers were all well and good, but Hallaran would know better than most how quickly fires could get out of hand. What if the sprinklers malfunctioned? Where were the back-up extinguishers? There should have been some around here. A meticulous type like Hallaran would insist on it. That was definitely something worth thinking about. But it was already 00.44. Twelve minutes before the guard called in. Maybe less. He needed to move. Four rooms between him and the intersection ahead. Two on either side. According to the plan, the medical room and Hallaran’s office were on the left, communal kitchen and communications room on the right. The voices were coming from the kitchen.
Bishop crept along the right wall until he was able to peer in. He saw a large, cavernous dining area with the usual furnishings and plenty of tables and chairs. Further in, he could just make out the back of one guy as he sipped from a cup of something. He was standing up, and wore a light blue shirt, jeans and a shoulder holster. Bishop couldn’t see the other guy. Then the man who was drinking laughed at something and Bishop darted past the opening. The impulsive part of his brain was urging him to bring down the odds now, while he had the chance. But he wouldn’t be able to do it quietly, and anything less would raise the alarm too soon.
Just stick to the plan, Bishop. Change it only when there’s no other choice
.
He kept moving. Up ahead, he noticed a small window next to the comms room door. That was a detail Neeson had neglected to mention. Bishop edged along the wall until he reached the window. Crouching down underneath, he raised part of his head for a look inside. He saw maps pasted on the walls, with communications equipment and monitors on a long table against the far wall. A man in a baseball cap sat at the table with his head down, his attention on the newspaper before him.
That’s it, brother. You just keep on reading.
Still crouching, Bishop moved past the door and along the wall to the junction. The north–south corridor was much wider than the one he was in. He looked to the left and saw one more intersection down there. He turned the other way and saw another three corridors on the left and one near the end on the right. But just past the comms room was a large open space, which had to be the reception area. He heard more voices and various sounds coming from that direction.
Bishop suddenly saw part of a foot materialize from the last corridor and quickly pulled his head back. He stood up with his back against the wall and looked left. He was acutely aware that the two in the kitchen could discover him at any moment. But he couldn’t move now. He focused on the footsteps coming down the corridor towards him. Just one man, it sounded like. Then they stopped.
Bishop waited. And listened. He couldn’t hear anything except muffled conversation.
He was about to poke part of his head round when the footsteps started up again. Two sets this time. And they were moving away from him. Bishop chanced a look and saw an overweight man in deep conversation with the man beside him as they walked back down the hallway. This one was wearing a dark shirt and pants and looked in much better shape. He wasn’t wearing a sidearm, either. Bishop thought this could well be Hallaran. He had an air of authority about him that was hard to fake.
Bishop watched for a couple more seconds, absently fingering the trigger of the Sig as he weighed the pros and cons of direct action. But he quickly discounted it and ran across the passageway and entered the opposite corridor. There were six doors along here. Three on each side, and no windows. Another fire pull station at the end. One for every corridor, he guessed. But still no extinguishers in sight.
The first door on the left had the number 9 stamped on it and two heavy duty, steel fence latches at the top and bottom. No locks. So everybody had easy access to the victims whenever they felt like it. With beautiful women behind every door, that kind of arrangement was open to abuse. And from what the sentry had said, some of the men in here were happy to make the most of the situation. Maybe all of them. Bishop stored that thought away.
The door opposite was Abraham’s old room. It had no markings and a deadbolt lock in addition to the steel latches. These were probably added once Patricia Tatem took residency. She and Vallejo were possibly in there right now. Maybe just a few feet away from him. He fought the urge to unlock the door and kept walking down the passageway. He passed rooms 8 and 7 and two unmarked doors. At the end, he saw what looked like another corridor running along the hangar’s east wall. Neeson hadn’t mentioned that, either. He peered round the corner and saw it travelled the entire length of the building. So all the rooms on this side of the building could be accessed from this corridor. That was useful to know.
Bishop walked back to the last unmarked door and took a look at the lock. Another deadbolt. Well, there were ways around that.
From one of the pockets of his combats, he pulled out the manual lock pick gun and double-ended tension wrench he’d also picked up in Phoenix. The gun worked on the same principle as the bump keys, but could access a much wider variety of locks. Like deadbolts. With one eye on the kitchen doorway at the other end of the passage, Bishop carefully inserted the tension wrench into the keyhole. Then he inserted the needle of the gun just above and kept pressing the trigger, applying rotating pressure to the tension wrench with his thumb. On the fourth attempt, he felt the pins jump into the hole casing.
Pocketing his tools, Bishop carefully turned the handle and opened the door.
Inside, the lights were on. Sweeping the room with his gun, Bishop quietly shut and locked the door behind him. He was in a large living area with some futuristic-looking leather furniture in the centre, a home theatre system at one end and a pool table in the corner. It was a mess. The whole place stank of stale food. Books, magazines and dirty clothes everywhere. But no Ryan. And no sounds other than his own breathing.
There was an entranceway to his immediate left. Bishop stepped through into another similar sized area. And just as messy. There were unwashed clothes on the king-sized bed and more all over the floor. Against the wall was another widescreen TV and there was an en-suite bathroom to the right. But straight ahead was a set of heavily tinted glass sliding doors running from one side of the room to the other. Behind these was another large room, the centrepiece of which was a large conference table filled with hardware of some kind. Bishop could see somebody sitting at the table with his back to him, working on a computer. That had to be Ryan.
Keeping his gun aimed at the man’s back, Bishop edged over to the bathroom and glanced inside. It was empty. Then he crossed the bedroom, grasped the handle of the central glass door and slowly slid it to the left. He heard the air conditioner blasting away inside first, followed by the sound of fingers tapping rapidly on a keyboard. Ryan, a long-haired, skinny guy in T-shirt and shorts, sounded as though he was going for a speed record. Computers of all sizes, monitors, scanners, hard drives, cables, and various other accessories covered every inch of the table, with even more stuff stacked underneath. There were box shelves against one wall, containing a mass of manuals and yet more paraphernalia.
Bishop stepped inside and walked towards the programmer, not caring if he was heard or not.
When he came abreast of Ryan, the younger man looked up from his screen and shrieked. He jumped off the seat and hit the floor just as the seat toppled over and landed next to him. Staring at the gun aimed at his head he raised a hand and shouted, ‘
Don’t shoot
. Please. Who
are
you? What do you want?’
‘My name doesn’t matter,’ Bishop said. ‘And what I want is for you call up the files of every woman you people have snatched since you started. I want current locations, names of family members you had killed, everything. And if I hear the words “I don’t know what you’re talking about”, I’ll shoot you right now.’
Ryan blinked at him. His mouth moved but no words came out. Finally, he said, ‘Look, whoever you are, I don’t know what you been told, but we don’t hold on to that kind of information. It’s too risky. Each time we finish a deal I wipe everything. That’s the truth.’
Bishop smiled for the first time. It wasn’t a friendly smile. ‘A smart guy. I knew it as soon as I saw you. I really like smart guys. Their instinct for self-preservation is second to none. And I figure a smart guy would keep a copy of everything tucked away on one of these hard drives, or email it to himself, just in case he ever felt vulnerable. Am I right?’
‘You got it all wrong, man. Hallaran watches over my shoulder when I delete the stuff and always makes sure there’s no trace left on my server. I’m not lying to you.’
Bishop nodded and set the chair back on its wheels. ‘Okay, sit down with your back perfectly straight, facing the computer.’
‘Huh?’
Bishop pulled back the hammer and said, ‘Want me to repeat myself?’
Ryan swallowed and stood up. He sat on the chair and straightened his back until it was at a ninety degree angle to the floor. Bishop then gripped the man’s right shoulder tightly with one hand, keeping him in place. With the other, he pressed the barrel of the gun against the top of Ryan’s spine, between the first and second cervical vertebrae. Pointing straight down.
‘What are you doing?’ Ryan asked. He was shivering now, and Bishop didn’t think it was because of the air conditioning.
‘Making sure I’ve got the angle right. I’ve done this before, and if you twitch at the wrong moment it could pierce your heart. I only want to sever your spinal column so I need you to take a deep breath and keep your body completely still. Ready?’
Ryan swivelled his head round and stared wildly up at Bishop. ‘
Jesus, no
. I’ve got it all hidden away, like you said. I sent them to different accounts in pieces. I’ll show you. Just take the gun away. Please. I’ll do it now.’
Bishop narrowed his eyes and looked at his watch. 00.49. Then he reached into a pocket, brought out two flash drives and dropped them on the desk. ‘Okay, copy the information onto both of these. You got three minutes.’
Ryan nodded eagerly and rolled the chair over to the largest monitor and switched it on. Then he unrolled a silicone rubber keyboard and got to work. Once Bishop saw the home page for an email service, he turned away and studied the other items on the desk. Most of it was beyond him, of course. But then, he’d never exactly been computer literate. Sometimes he thought he’d been born in the wrong century. Most of the time, in fact.
He looked up. Sprinklers in here, too. And the bedroom. Everywhere, it seemed. Hallaran really was the obsessive type.
But there was something else bugging him. Anomalies always did that. ‘Hallaran has an office a few doors down, right?’ he said. ‘Next to the medical room?’
‘That’s right.’ Ryan was scrolling through a list of emails.
‘Why? He could convert a room in his living quarters like you. And it’s three times the size of this place.’
Ryan shook his head. ‘How should I know? Maybe that’s what he did. I know he doesn’t use that office much these days.’
‘He doesn’t, huh?’ That was interesting. Bishop rubbed a palm over his head as he considered Hallaran’s working methods. So far, he’d proved he was all about preparation. So why would a person like that build an office he knew he’d rarely use? There had to be a good reason. After Bishop was done here, it might be worth checking that room out. He had a hunch it might hold some answers.
When he checked his watch again, it was 00.51. ‘Time’s almost up.’
‘I’m nearly done. Just this last folder to detach and then I’ll drag them onto the flash drives.’