Authors: Christopher Heffernan
Richard placed a
bottle of water on the table.
“We don't have a
file on you at this station, but I can only assume you've been in this position
before,” Michael said.
“You lot don't
intimidate me at all. I could put both of you on the floor just like that,”
Simon said, snapping his fingers together behind his back.
“It's not us you
need to be intimidated by, or the guys outside. Sure, maybe they'll give you a
few bruises or a broken bone here and there, but those heal. They might water
board you for a bit, too, but they won't kill you. What you really need to be
concerned about is what happens when you get processed out for your tribunal,”
Michael said.
Simon leaned
across the table. “You ain't got nothing on me.”
“We found you,
didn't we?” Richard said. “Tracking somebody down these days can be very hard,
but here we are, sitting in an interrogation room less than a day after you
were involved in a murder. That's really quite something, isn't it?”
“You need to
start thinking about your tribunal. Corrupt and unethical as it may be, we do
have some influence over the process, as they're handled by an offshoot of
Assurer. Cooperate with us and we can get them to go easy on you. Otherwise,
you're looking at some serious time doing hard labour north of the wall.
There's a lot of toxic waste and radioactive materials up north, and that's if
you aren't skinned alive and eaten by one of the cannibal gangs. There's not
much food to go around in those parts,” Michael said.
He reached into
his pocket and placed four leaflets on the table. “I brought these for you to
read, just so you know what you're getting yourself into. They're very old now,
printed during the war, but the principles are very much the same.”
Simon spat on
the leaflets, sneering. “You think I'm a fucking coward? Son, you've got
another thing coming if you think you can scare me.”
Michael sighed.
“You're really testing my patience. I'm not trying to scare you, I'm trying to
appeal to your rational sense of self-preservation. Perhaps you don't have one.
Let me try and make this clear: if you are sentenced to punishment north of the
wall, you will most likely not be coming back alive. If by some chance you do,
there will be serious health issues affecting you for the rest of your life.
With no access to medical care, you will die. Look at these leaflets, for God's
sake.”
Richard offered
Simon the water bottle, but the man shook his head, so he unscrewed the cap and
drank most of it himself. He took a deep breath and put the bottle aside.
“Listen to him,”
Richard said. “You're on the bottom of the food chain here. Whoever hired you
for this hit is laughing right now. You think they appreciate or value your
loyalty or silence? They're just exploiting you, letting you take the rap for
the hit they ordered. Show some respect for yourself.”
Simon eyed the
floor, staring without blinking. “What have you got on me? What's the
evidence?”
“One witness.
CCTV footage. Forensics is a nightmare; most of the time we never get anything
back, and when we do, it's rarely conclusive. If we send it in, then it'll be
enough to make you look guilty, which of course you are, and that's if
everything else isn't enough to convince the tribunal. There's a fire team
cleaning your flat out right now. Anything else there we might want to know
about?” Michael said.
“If I talk, I
want to go free. No charges, no punishment. I disappear,” Simon said.
“Not happening.”
Michael stood up and made for the door. He paused for a moment, turning back to
look at the prisoner. “Where you serve your punishment and how you serve it are
up for debate, but you aren't walking out of here a free man. Your choice, take
it or leave it.”
Simon rattled
his handcuffs. “I want to speak to the station commander. I'll deal with him,
not you.”
Richard shrugged.
Michael leaned
against the wall. His eyes were shut, but he still sensed some of the light
through his eyelids. He drifted briefly in and out of sleep, the light fading
each time. A door slammed somewhere nearby. He jerked up straight, looking left
and then right, as he reached for his gun.
The policeman on
guard duty cast a glance in his direction. He adjusted the fit of his balaclava
and went back to watching the cockroach crawling about the floor. Michael
checked his watch. The long hand reached quarter past.
Harris stepped
out of the interrogation room with a clipboard under his arm. The policeman
moved to lock the door, but Harris raised a hand to delay him. “He'll talk to
you now.”
“Just like
that?”
The major
nodded. “Don't take too long to question him. The night shift starts soon, and
I need to speak with you before the changeover happens.”
Michael went
back inside the interview room. Simon was slumped in his chair with the
handcuffs still on, and the muscles in his arms had relaxed, even though they
still bulged like inflated balloons.
“I'm ready to
answer your questions,” Simon said.
“All of them?”
“All of them.”
He hit the red
button on the audio recorder.
“Did you get
what you needed?” Harris said.
They were sat in
his office, and the air tank of cigarette smoke. It crept down the back of
Michael's throat, tickling and itching before it reached his lungs. He coughed
hard enough to make his eyes water and his chest throb with pain. He nodded in
response.
“The murder
victim was an old school friend of Jonas Westfield, Westfield being the most
likely candidate to take over from Jim Belton. He had a lot of dirt on
Westfield and once he started yapping to those journalists, somebody decided to
shut him down.
“The only thing
is that the killing obviously leads back to Westfield. He's young, but
politically savvy and with extensive connections. If he was going to have
somebody killed, he'd do it properly instead of hiring a couple of
neighbourhood thugs. Eratech would have done it properly, so that leaves who?”
“Maybe somebody
acted without authorisation. Somebody close, they could have panicked.”
“Right, but it's
another can of worms to open. I spoke to that journalist again, you know.
Westfield's got links with Eratech. It makes sense if they were the ones who
put down his predecessor, doesn't it?”
“Sure, but we're
going to have trouble pulling this guy in for questioning.”
Michael nodded.
“Who has the police contract down in Devon?”
“God knows. I
doubt they'll be cooperative; they're pretty much guaranteed to try and profit
from the case at our expense. Assurer would do the same thing in their
position.”
“At least we got
one of them, right? We did get him, and you didn't let him walk. Sir, tell me
you didn't let him walk.”
“I didn't let
him walk. We came to some other agreement,” Harris said. He glanced at the
clock and rubbed his eyes. “There's something else we need to talk about. The
air accident that happened this morning, those Assurer fire crews picked
something out of the facility ruins. They're investigating it right now.”
“Was Assurer
responsible for that crash?”
“No, not
directly. They wouldn't risk such an act. I know what you're thinking. Somebody
was responsible for it, and I wouldn't be surprised if their aims crossed over
with ours somewhere along the line. But that's a matter for somebody else to
worry about. Listen, if what I'm hearing is correct and it finds its way into
my hands, we're going to move immediately.”
“Move on what?”
“Eratech's hit
squad. This goes two ways. If the information doesn't reach me by tomorrow,
then I'm not going to see it, but if it does reach me, are you game?”
Michael looked
away for a moment, and he felt a wave of heat flood his face. “This isn't
sanctioned by the company, is it? Do they even know what you've been up to?
This bounty you keep talking about isn't coming from them.”
“No, and no.
They're not going to know, either. Eratech's team are making too much trouble.
They're a threat to our policing contract, and they're a threat to everyone
under my command. The morgue has been filling up with our lads since this whole
thing kicked off. It's ending tomorrow night if I have any say in it.
“If you want to
back out, just tell me. I've been leading troops for more than a decade, and I
can tell when somebody is having doubts. I need committed people for this; it's
not going to work otherwise.”
“I just want to
know one thing, sir. What's your angle on this? Somebody is paying for it, but
it isn't Assurer. Just give me something. I've been risking my life out there on
this case so you can profit from it. You owe me that much.”
Harris slumped
back in his chair, and he remained silent for a moment, eyes lowered as he
thought. “Somebody has an interest in the case. If I can catch or kill the
people responsible for the murder of Jim Belton's family and suicide, a lot of
money is going to come my way. I'd split it with you and Richard.
“You've seen my
daughter. You stare at her like everyone else. All those burn injuries. She's
all I've got left, Ward, and I can't stand seeing her like that. I remember
what she was like before the bombings. Surgery can fix her, but the surgery
costs money. More money than I'd ever make.
“You can
understand that, right? You'd do the same thing in my position.”
Michael
grimaced. “If we do this, we have to do it properly. I've seen these guys shoot
up an entire street with machine guns, and they don't mess about. You can't
just roll in there with a fire team and arrest them. They already wasted one
unit. It's going to take surveillance, tanks, IFVs and as many men as you can
get.”
“We'll do it
with what I can get without tipping my boss off.”
Michael looked
out onto the streets below, listening to the sound of distant police sirens. A
car drove by now and then, headlights cutting through the dark before vanishing
into the night. His hand still held the letter, and the paper had wrinkled
along the edge where his sweat had soaked into the fibres.
The smell of
stir fry in the air was strong as the frying pan crackled and sizzled in the
kitchen.”
“It'll be ready
in the minute. I haven't cooked a proper meal for months. You okay? You're
still holding the letter,” Samantha said.
He nodded. “I'm
fine.”
“They said they
could sort it out, just a minor operation? It'll be okay, yeah?”
“It should be,
as long as there are no complications. Something might come up tomorrow. If it
does, it might be a while before I'm back. It's police business, nothing to
worry about, but like I said, I could be out of the loop for a while.”
Samantha's
expression darkened, and she turned away from the kitchen for a moment. “You
need to get better at lying. It's Harris and that case, isn't it? I think it's
getting out of hand. Half the people I work with are a bunch of complete
arseholes, but I don't want to see Harris bring the entire Assurer contract
down from incompetence.”
“I can't talk
about it, but if everything happens like it should, then it's over. No more
targeted attacks on police patrols or stations, no more bombs. It ends. Done.
Game over. That's it.”
She sighed, returning
to the food. “I can live with that, but I'll hold you to it. I don't care how
many people think I'm damaged goods because of all that rubbish David goes on
about. I've got to look out for myself. That's our deal. I hope you're better
at keeping them than he was.”
Michael nodded.
He put the letter down and removed two plates from the cupboard.
She touched him
softly on the arm. “And you know, Mike. Be careful, okay?”
“It'll be fine;
we'll have support.”
“What do you
think Harris did to get that guy to talk? He was in there, what, twenty minutes
you said?” Richard said. He sipped his cup of tomato soup.
Michael
shivered. He locked his fingers together and shifted his chair closer to the
radiator, but the metal was as cold as it always was. “It's going to be a
bitter autumn. I still remember the last one. Hopefully it won't be quite as
cold this time round.”
“That's the
worst answer I've ever heard.”
“It's better not
to know. I don't think either of us will like it if we found out the truth.”
“Well, I'll give
you my own guess as to what happened. Harris let him walk; it's the only way
that steroid head would've rolled over for you like that. You're thinking it as
well, aren't you?”
Michael frowned.
“Trying not to think about it, more like. He said he didn't cut him loose like
that, but on the other hand, Harris is nearly as bent as that lamp post
outside. Everybody seems to be these days. I doubt he'd be willing to leave a
murder off the record sheet like that, though, not with the pressure of our
performance targets.”
“I could really
do with that holiday about now. You're right, it's bloody cold. Maybe we'll get
ice and snow. We had ice when the ICBMs went off. Mounds of snow in the
playground, pale blue skies. People were making snowmen soldiers, and then
there was the flash. I'm probably sterile now. Fucking Russians. Nobody ever
liked the fucking Russians,” Richard said.
He stood up,
took the cup of soup in hand and walked to the window. Michael heard the
distant sound of the foam cup splitting an instant later.
“What did you
hit?” Michael said.
“David's car.”
“Good aim.”
“Yeah, I think
so too. I'd ask you why Harris has us locked down like this, but you're not
going to tell me, are you?”
“Maybe you'll
get your holiday.”
The office door
opened, and David and the others walked in.
“Jesus, you two
are actually still alive. I thought somebody would have shot you by now,” Helen
said, pulling the woolly hat off her head.
“I know, I'm
kind of disappointed. I was hoping I could get your chair, Rich,” David said.
“I'm happy to
see you all, too. Except you, David. You can go and jump out the fucking
window, you fucking waste of time,” Richard said.
“Just because
you can't get laid,” David said.
“I get laid all
the time.”
“It doesn't
count if you have to use chloroform.”
“Archibald,
what's up with your secondment? Are you back now?” Michael said.
Archibald
nodded. “They shuttered us, for all the good it did. The suits were on our
backs at every turn. If we turned up anything of worth, than I wouldn't know
it.
“For once in my
life, I actually missed this dump. The work they had us doing? I don't think it
was police work. I think they pulled us in to do something the company should
have been doing themselves.”
Michael yawned.
He rubbed his eyes and sank deeper into his chair. “You must have built up some
kind of picture, though. You're interviewing people, checking evidence, finding
out who's behind these attacks.”
“That's just
it,” Archibald said. “Everything we did was micromanaged by the next person up
the chain of command. We weren't allowed to talk to any other parts of the
investigation team. They kept us in the dark on purpose to keep information
from spreading. Maybe they found something and cracked it all open, but if they
did, they're keeping it to themselves.”
“They raided
some Eratech subsidiary office on jumped up charges. If you wanted to a point a
finger at somebody, I'd start with them. Archibald knows it, but he doesn't
like to say it. Assurer is using its police contract as a cudgel to beat
Eratech with,” Maria said.
“We still don't
know why. Neither party has anything to profit from it. It's not like Eratech
could take over the police contract if we lost it,” Archibald said.
“Sounds like a
total clusterfuck. Somebody must have gotten themselves a promotion out of it,”
Michael said. His telephone rang, but he didn't answer it, and he sat watching
the receiver. One by one the others turned to look at him.
“Gonna pick that
up?” Maria said.
Michael put the
receiver to his ear.
“It's time. I've
got what we need, and we're going ahead with it. Meet me in briefing room
three. Bring Richard with you,” Harris said.
Michael took a
deep breath and hung up. “It's time to go, Richard.”
“Go where?”
“Harris wants us
in briefing room three. Make sure you bring your gun.”
“Want to tell me
what's going on?” Helen said.
“No,” Michael
said. He turned his computer off, grabbed his stuff and headed out the door. He
stopped further down the hallway to see Richard jogging to catch up. David
peeked out, watching them.
The radiators
were working out here, and the warm air sent a sudden chill down his spine,
hairs standing on end. His heart rate sped up as blood rushed to his head, and
a sheen of sweat formed on his brow.
Somebody had
taped sheets of lined paper to both lifts. Out of order. They climbed the
stairs in silence, and he felt a tingle in his hands, trembling against the
bannister rail.
Every seat in
the briefing room was already taken, and more policemen clustered around the
sides. Corporal Hill made a space for them on the left. He handed Michael a
spare briefing packet. Harris was up front by the whiteboard, with a dry marker
in hand.
A television had
been set up beside him, rigged to a portable media player.
“We're all here
now, so I'll get started. Take a moment to look through your briefing packets.
If you've already had a chance, then do it again. These orders come from
Assurer, but I'm giving you one last chance to bail. I can make up the numbers
from elsewhere, but you forfeit your right to all bonus payments related to the
operation,” Harris said.
“It also goes
without saying that you do not mention this to Assurer. I'm looking out for
your welfare here, but the company won't like it.”
Michael flicked
through the print outs. He felt his chest tighten and the air leave his lungs.
His sweat soaked through the paper, causing some of the ink to bleed. He nudged
Richard in the arm and looked to the door, but he shook his head in dismissal.
Nobody else
moved.
“All right,
then.” Harris hit the play button on the media unit.
The television
came to life, and a black and white wireframe view of Lower London appeared,
shot from one of the cameras mounted beneath the plate. Flashing blobs showed
the movement of pedestrians on the street. A black space appeared, as jagged
white lines showed the remains of Heathrow airport, and the camera turned,
focusing on a patch of urban area to the south.
“What you're
looking at is recorded footage of an industrial estate. It once produced tank
parts during the war, but they abandoned it after the conflict. Now we believe
it to be housing a private combat unit run by Eratech to further their
interests. This is the same one who has been engaging police units throughout
the city. I'll leave the whys of that to Assurer.
“We've taken a
lot of casualties. This is your shot at hitting back. Prisoners are good, but
if we end up with a row of body bags, then so be it; I don't want anyone taking
chances out there. Shoot first and ask questions later,” Harris said.
Corporal Hill
leaned forward. “I think we'd all like to know what we're going up against
here. There's a lot of rumours floating about the station. Might help if you
clarify them, sir.”
A few of the
others echoed agreements.
“What we're
dealing with is a number of individuals, section or platoon size, who have had
their bodies enhanced with left over technology from the war, designed to boost
their combat effectiveness. I'm talking United States military research used
for special forces teams operating behind enemy lines. Bits and pieces of it
have leaked out over the years, and I'm sure you're aware of black market
modifications out there, but this is the real deal.”
Hill sighed and
rubbed his temples. He blinked the fatigue away. “That doesn't really tell us
much, sir.”
“Quicker and
more efficient cognitive abilities. Physical enhancement allows them to run
faster for longer, see better in the dark, suppress pain for sustained periods
of time and endure intense trauma to the body that would incapacitate or kill
an ordinary man. Very effect, very dangerous,” Michael said.
“Then it sounds
like they've got us at a bit of a disadvantage.”
Harris wheeled
the television away from the white board, and he scribbled notes and symbols
with his marker pen. “It's nothing we can't handle. Consider this plan drawing
the blueprint for the area at hand. It's as accurate as we can get. We'll be
rolling straight down the road along here, and at this point, we're going to
set up the platoon command post.
“The two tanks
will provide overwatch along with the first IFV. Two section will take up a
position along here to the left, and three to the right, setting up an L-shaped
position to cover the buildings. One section will then move in and sweep each
building clear in turn, under cover from the other units. If needs be, we'll
try and draw them out into the open,” Harris said.
“With respect,
sir, we need at least another platoon to do this right. Anything less is just
taking chances,” Corporal Hill said.
“Then we're just
going to have to wing it. You've got twenty to gear up and rally outside in the
car park. This might be a long one, so bring everything you can fit into the
back of the vehicles. We're ending this tonight.”
They laid the
guns out across the tables; shotguns, rifles, pistols, machine guns, grenade
launchers and anti-tank rockets. An officer went through each one in turn,
checking and loading them.
Michael
tightened the straps on his body armour. He inspected the trauma plates and
their pockets.
“Pass us some
more vests. We're coming too,” David said.
“So you can
shoot me in the back?” Richard said.
“Don't tempt
me.”
Corporal Hill
held up a helmet. “You should be wearing one of these as well.”
“Don't like
them,” David said. “The visors screw with my peripheral vision.”
“You get used to
it, but fine. Don't blame if me if they have to take skin from your arse to
cover up the hole in your face,” Hill said. He tossed the helmet to another
officer.
The policemen
cocked their weapons, one by one, and filtered out of the armoury, and then the
detectives too, until Michael was alone. He slung the carbine's strap over his
shoulder, and then took the shotgun, too. A lurching sensation filled his
stomach, and shadows crept forward from the corners of the armoury where the
red lights didn't reach.
One of the
lockers was slightly ajar, and a stack of personal possessions sat inside, with
photographs pinned to the door by magnets. He slammed it shut and went outside.
The convoy
waited for them, headlights cutting through the dark like sharp knives, as policemen
loaded their gear into the vehicles. His breath turned into a cloud of vapour.
An eastern wind carried the scent of bonfires in its wake, and the cold air
burned his exposed skin. He felt numb.
Harris stood to
the left, inserting the last bullet into the cylinder of his magnum. “I don't
think the old 9mm is going to cut it for this one.”
“You're coming
too?”
Harris nodded.
“Somebody has to run this operation, might as well be me. I've missed being out
in the field; sit behind a desk long enough and you'll go crazy.”
“We're ready to
move, sir,” Lieutenant Anderson said. He beckoned for Harris to join him inside
the infantry fighting vehicle.
“See you at the
command post,” Harris said, and he climbed into the back of the vehicle.
Michael found
himself a seat inside a police patrol vehicle. The interior stank of old beef
burgers and take away. Richard sat to his left with Archibald, and David, Maria
and Helen sat opposite. The insides glowed green and red from the dashboard
gauges. He listened to chattering voices on the radio net, punctuated with
static and beeps. Then the call came in.
The checkpoint
guards opened the gate, and the convoy drove on. He felt his throat turn dry
with a taste of sickly saliva. Blue emergency lights flashed on and off as they
drove through the streets. Michael stared out through the armoured glass. They
passed rows of condemned buildings and tent encampments occupied by the
homeless.
The homeless
gathered in queues outside soup kitchens and warmed themselves around burning bins,
dressed in filthy rags and shoes that were falling to pieces. Malnourished
children turned to watch the convoy go by, as the lead tank scattered packs of
wild dogs. Burning rubbish lit the roads where the street lights had failed,
revealing beaten old signs covered in scribbled phone numbers and
advertisements for handy man services.
The cold sank
deeper into his bone, and he shut his eyes momentarily, as his breath condensed
on the window. The blue lights lit up an alley, and the people in it turned away
from beating the dog they'd cornered, catching the glare of the lights with the
whites of their eyes and gone in a heartbeat, as the vehicles kept moving.
He noticed a
subtle tremble in Maria, rustling a plastic sandwich wrapper on the floor with
her foot. Nobody spoke, except for the chatter on the radio. Michael hit the
glow button on his watch.
“Heads up, we're
nearly there. Get yourselves ready,” Corporal Hill said on the radio.
“Target in
sight,” he said, with a tenser voice two minutes later.