Pestilence (Jack Randall #2) (42 page)

Another five rows without encountering anyone was making him wonder why. Were they just going to surround the area and then come after him? He had heard some noise behind him and just assumed they were coming his way. Maybe they were hoping to flush him out? If so, what should he do? Only a fool knowingly entered an ambush. Just how many were behind him?

He decided to find out.

•      •      •

Walter saw more movement, but it wasn’t what he expected. He keyed the mic again.

“Hey guys, I saw some more movement. How many guys you got down there in the stacks?”

“Just two, Walter, the man and the woman you saw earlier. Why?” Greg answered.

“Because I just saw some movement heading toward them. I think it’s the guy we’re chasing. I mean, if you say you have nobody else in there?”

“Hold on, Walter, I gotta tell Jack!” Greg switched mics.

“Jack!”

Jack quickly waved Sydney to a halt and stuck a finger in his ear. “Not so loud, Greg. What is it?”

“Sorry. Walter says the guy’s moving toward you.”

“What?”

“The guy’s coming back at you. Just hold your ground and he’s gonna try to get us a location.”

“Okay.”

Sydney had moved to Jack’s position while he was talking. He turned to give her the information.

“He may be coming back our way. Let’s spread out but stay in sight. Find a corner in the shadow behind something solid if you can. Look behind you.”

She nodded and moved to comply.

“Hey, Jack? It’s Walter.” Greg was keying both mics again.

“I’m here, Walter.”

“I was thinking. Just what does this guy have gun-wise?”

“We assume a handgun of some type, why?”

“No rifle or anything?”

“No.”

“So his chances of hitting me up in this cage are slim-to-none?”

“What are thinking, Walt?” Greg cut in.

“Well, how about I put the hopper right over him? That way everyone will know right where he’s at.”

“He’ll shoot at you for sure, Walter, I can’t ask you to do that,” Jack answered.

“I know. That’s why I’m offering.”

“It’s not your fight, Walter.”

“The hell it’s not! This is
my
city he’s fucking with! You telling me it wouldn’t help you if I did it?”

Jack didn’t know what to say. His silence was all Walter needed.

“It’s not like you can climb up here and stop me. Just tell ’em I did it on my own. Stand by. I’ll show you what I can do with this thing.”

The planet’s future: Climate change
‘will cause civilization to collapse.’
July 12, 2009—The Independent

—THIRTY-NINE—

T
he loud squeal of moving metal drew his eyes skyward and he looked up to see the crane rotating, the large hopper of cement was once again swinging through the air. So there was an operator still up there. He would definitely have to keep himself hidden from his view now. He watched the hopper swing in his direction and then lower until it hung over the stack he had run behind in the last row. He realized with horror that the crane operator was giving away his position. He moved to the other side of the stack and looked back in the direction he had first come.

•      •      •

Jack hadn’t realized how fast the crane was. He had moved to Sydney’s position to inform her of the situation when the hopper swung down and hovered not two rows away from where they were.

“Stay here. I’m going to circle around,” he whispered.

Jack ducked low and sprinted across a gap. If the man was that close he would try to get around him and maybe he and Sydney could get him stuck between the two of them. After another scan around a corner of stacked rebar he sprinted across another gap.

•      •      •

The Deliveryman saw the movement, but had no time to react. He moved deeper into the shadow of the stack he was up against and looked toward the next gap. The angle only gave him a two-foot window to see through so he leveled the pistol and waited. If more than one person was after him, as he suspected, he couldn’t afford to be surrounded. If he could wound one he would take them both out of the action as the remaining one would take care of his wounded partner. He could eliminate two pursuers with one shot. He adopted a shooting position while still in a crouch and waited. If the first shot hit, he had plans for a second.

•      •      •

Jack scanned again without seeing anything and once again looked at the hopper hovering in the air. Should he move over a row? No, he would cut the corner west and get behind him. If Sydney stayed in place, he would be the hammer to her anvil. He adjusted the derringer that was still holstered in his crotch to a more comfortable position before taking one more deep breath.

He once again sprinted to the next stack. He was almost there when the sledgehammer hit his chest and spun him to the ground.

•      •      •

Sydney bit her lip to keep from screaming Jack’s name. She didn’t know if it was Jack who had shot or the man they were chasing. Another shot quickly followed. She forced herself to control her breathing and moved slowly around the stack in the direction of the shot. She had moved two rows when she saw the prone body of Jack lying in the shadow of some plastic wrapped boxes. She heard running footsteps moving away to the west so she sprinted to his side.

She found him lying in the dirt gasping for breath and tugging at the collar of his vest. She quickly ran her hands down the front and felt the deformity on the right side. She peeled the Velcro straps off and pulled the vest and shirt away from the skin.

A bruise. Just a large ugly bruise. No blood. No holes. Jack would be fine. He was already getting his breathing back.

“Damn you!” she cursed him before sitting him up and hugging him.

“Okay, okay,” he gasped out. “I’m all right. Help me up.”

She pulled him to his feet. Jack took several shallow breaths but held his own when she let go. He reattached the Velcro straps and nodded to Sydney’s questioning look. He was fine.

He pointed with her HK at the hopper in the sky. It was slowly moving west.

“Let’s go.” He took off running after it. Sydney stood open-mouthed, watching him, before shaking it off and sprinting after him.

•      •      •

The Deliveryman was running flat out. He had shot one man and then sent a round at the crane operator. He had hoped to deter the man from using the hopper any further but obviously it hadn’t worked as it was following him now like an alien spacecraft. He weaved around the stacks but the hopper stayed right with him. He cussed the crane operator and weaved some more. He had to lose him before he came out the other side.

A round whizzing past him quickly followed by the sound of the shot behind him made him duck around another stack. They were coming.

•      •      •

“Shoot at me again, you little bastard!” Walter railed away to himself up in the seat of the crane. When the muzzle flash lit up the stack where the man was hiding, he had just assumed the shots were aimed at Jack. When the bullet had caromed off the housing he was in, he had realized that wasn’t the case.

Like most people, Walter had never been shot at before. His mind processed it like most people. First with disbelief: Is he shooting at me? Then, once he realized he wasn’t shot, with anger. He’s shooting at
me!
So now Walter was a pissed off crane operator. He fought back with the only weapon he had.

He kept the hopper glued to the air over the shooter’s head as he zigzagged through the stacks, even lowering it a bit as if he aimed to squash the man like a bug. As much as he would have liked to, he didn’t think the FBI men would approve. But then again, he hadn’t asked. He could hear voices on the radio, so he just kept quiet and worked the crane, muttering more curses under his breath. He could see the two feds chasing after the man, the woman’s hair waving behind her as she sprinted.

•      •      •

Sydney sprinted hard to keep up with Jack. She remembered what a runner he had been but hadn’t realized he had kept up on it. She ran everyday! She should be kicking his ass! He had longer legs though—she would blame it on that. She heard him yelling into the radio as he rounded the stacks, following the moving hopper full of cement.

“Greg, he took a couple of shots at us. We’re chasing him at a run now west through the stacks. We’re following the hopper. Can you get some shooters on the other side?”

“I’ve got one with a decent view and I’m moving others in place. I still don’t have a solid perimeter yet, Jack. You need to stop him or slow him down!”

“I’m trying!”

“I know. I’ll have some help there in two minutes.”

“This may be over in one.”

•      •      •

The Deliveryman paused when he reached the end of the stacks. He was now close to one of the large ramps that descended into the pit from street level. There were more supplies stacked tightly under the structure and a large open area off to the side that looked like it held a newly poured foundation. Large expanses of cement could be seen. Some had already been floated and covered in plastic, while others still showed protruding rebar. He had obviously interrupted a large project. But at least it explained the hopper. He glanced around the stack to see it hovering about twenty yards to his left. Obviously he had lost the crane operator in the last few rows, but he was still close enough to mark his position. A group of seagulls wandered around the yard, but no workers could be seen. The flashing lights of police cars seemed to be everywhere up on the street level. It pissed him off.

All he had asked for was a lousy twenty million. It was pocket change to the damn feds. Why all the trouble for some lousy secret medications? They were just going to screw him right up till the end, weren’t they? Well if that’s the way they wanted it, he sure as hell wasn’t going to go down without a fight. The boat was only a block way. If he had to shoot his way there, he would.

•      •      •

“Jack, it stopped!” Sydney yelled.

Jack turned around and looked at her, only to see her pointing skyward. He followed her gaze.

The hopper hung motionless in the air. Either the man had stopped or Walter had lost sight of him. He felt for the radio.

“Walter?”

“I’m here.”

“Did he stop?”

“I think so. He was zigzagging a lot and I may be a row off, but I haven’t seen him come back your way and I’ve been watching real close. I think he stopped at the edge.”

“Can you see us?”

“Yeah, her hair helps.”

Jack looked at Syd with confusion, but quickly dismissed the comment.

“We’re only two stacks over from the hopper. I need to know exactly where he is.”

“I can’t see him, Jack. But I’d put money on him being no farther than one row away from the hopper. Closer to the south, I think. That’s my best guess at this point. Sorry.”

“That’s okay, you did great.”

Jack pictured the area in his mind and looked for any possibilities. He could ask for more men to enter the site, but that would pull them off the perimeter and Greg needed every guy he had. If they put more people in now there was a good chance of a friendly-fire accident. The fewer people in the pit meant the less chance of someone being exposed if something happened. No, the best plan was still the original one. Set up a perimeter and deny any escape. Then they could go in after him, if they had to. Maybe if they could just get him out in the open? Perhaps he would give it up. The Deliveryman had been a soldier once. He had to know his odds were bad. Most would give up at this point, or some, like a cornered animal, would turn and fight.

“Here’s what we’re going to do. I want you to go down at least five rows to the north. I’m going to put some pressure on him here. If he moves out into the open, take him out. Don’t expose yourself, stay behind cover. I may throw a round his way to get him to move. You got it?”

“I don’t know, Jack. You really think we should separate?” she asked.

“I know. You tend to want to stick together in this situation, but this is the best idea I have for us right now. Those vials
can’t
get away.”

She nodded. “Okay, just remember, the vials are in the backpack.”

“Yeah?”

“Let’s try not to shoot them?”

“Right.”

Edible fish won’t disappear if over-fishing stops.
July 30, 2009—USA Today
 

—FORTY—