Against the Clock (11 page)

"GETTING IN is easier than getting out."

the book of seekay

15:08:49

Barratt lay prone, face first on the hard road, his head pinned against the rough bitumen. His vision was still blurred from Dornan's blood and the weight of the police officer's knee pressing heavily against the side of his face.

Another officer placed his knee and full weight at the center of his back while his hands were painfully secured behind his back with hard plastic flexi-cuffs.

He felt the officers place small plastic bags over his hands and tape them in place, secured for forensic analysis. He was searched quickly and thoroughly.

Before releasing him from their heavy grip, police officers cleared the immediate site, his gun collected from under the large 4WD. A police van pulled up close to the scene.

It was standard procedure. He was considered a suspect in a multiple homicide. One man's brains were plastered across his face, two more men shot dead in the park, and unknown casualties in the wrecked van crumpled into Kitchener Fountain. They would consider him dangerous.

Barratt had been on both sides of this exchange before. He gave no resistance.

15:10:36

Shirin watched at a distance as the four policemen roughly lifted Barratt from the road and placed him in the waiting van.

More sirens could be heard in the distance. Media vans littered the perimeter with hungry reporters while pedestrians and patrons of nearby buildings flocked to the park, trying to see the violence that had unfolded in their city. Police battled the growing crowds, trying to put barricades in place. The scene was a circus of activity.

Dornan's dead body had been cordoned off. A makeshift tent was pitched over his corpse and surrounding pavement to preserve the scene for the forensic team.

The fire department was at work on the van wrapped around the statue of Kitchener Fountain, trying to free the injured and dead agents.

Stepping back into the shadows, Shirin knew it would only be a matter of time before news of Barratt's arrest reached the desk of Director Zelig. She didn't have much time if she were going to free him.

15:11:17

Gerald Maier's office was plain, without adornment. It functioned as a place where he could focus on the intricacies and often-circuitous financial stratagems of the rich, corrupt, and immoral.

The challenge of unraveling the twisted spider webs of financial fraudsters kept his mind sharp and his heart happy. He loved the chase.

Sitting behind his desk, the USB he'd reluctantly accepted from the beautiful woman hours earlier sat beside his monitor taunting him. He didn't want to get involved until terms of contract had been established. But there it sat, willing him to have a quick look.

Giving into his curiosity, Maier snatched the USB from the desktop, slipped it into the port of his PC, and geared himself up for another chase.

15:12:57

Smith sat with his back to the wall, facing the entrance of the quaint restaurant. A young waitress returned from outside, talking with animated shock about what she had seen at the park.

The news of a shooting had reached most of the businesses in the district quickly. Smith wasn't concerned.

He looked down with indifference at the cutlery symmetrically placed in front of him and wondered how long it would take before his meal was served.

The cell phone in his front pocket vibrated silently. It was the emergency burner phone issued by the old man.

"Yes?" he answered quietly.

"Secure?" the old man asked.

"Yes."

"How did the meeting go?"

"As expected."

"And our friends?"

"Left separately."

"Did they get what they wanted?"

"No."

"Very good. For the moment, they are more useful to me together. Help them, then get back to me," the old man hung up without waiting for a response.

Smith placed the cell on the table. Without looking at it, he removed the back cover, took the battery out, slid the SIM card from its slot, and reassembled the casing. He rose from the table, and walked out of the restaurant mechanically.

A replacement phone would be waiting for him at the usual dead-drop location. Again, the old man's air for caution inspired in him an admiration he rarely felt for anyone in his line of work.

15:13:14

Shirin curled the throttle of the Kawasaki Ninja motorbike backward and felt the 750cc engine reply instantly. She had very little time if she was to keep Barratt alive.

Her office was twenty minutes away. To get Barratt out of police custody before Zelig's team got to him, she would need supplies.

The scream of the stolen bike's motor fell behind her as she gunned the engine and weaved in and out of traffic. She would make it back in time. She had to.

15:18:27

Barratt sat on the molded stainless steel chair fixed to the concrete floor. His hands were no longer bound. They didn't need to be.

He was somewhere down in the bowels of the police station. Locked in a solitary confinement cell. The walls were made of thick Perspex, unbreakable, supported at regular intervals by metal posts. The two guards sitting outside his cell could see his every move.

They had asked him nothing during transit. Nothing while they transferred him to the holding cell. Nothing while a preliminary forensic team took his fingerprints, collected DNA and GSR samples. They had stripped him of his blood-soaked clothes and scraped underneath his fingernails. After a cursory medical exam, a bright orange jumpsuit was thrust at him, and he was escorted back to the holding cell.

Rubbing at the bruises forming on his wrists, he knew what they were doing. They were making him wait. Building anticipation, building anxiety.

He felt the temperature in the cell rising. They had increased the heat. He laughed loudly. It was almost comical. They were using every old trick in the book.

They had no idea who he was. No idea the interrogations he had endured in the field. No idea the bloody interrogations he had himself delivered on others…

With that thought, Barratt grew sober. Zelig would surely send his own team to either silence him or collect him. Either way, he knew he would survive neither.

He had to find a way out.

15:23:02

Director Zelig sat tensely behind his large desk. News of the events at Kitchener Park had been trickling back to his office in vague reports. Regardless of the details, it was clear Shirin had escaped. It was still uncertain if one of the corpses on the scene was Barratt. Either way, the trap had failed miserably.

His famously short tolerance of failure exploded in a blast of profanities. If the mission leader was still alive, his life was about to become a hell.

A sharp knock on his door brought his eyes off the latest report. Agent Lipski, his over-zealous executive assistant, charged into his office. His face was flushed red, his spectacles pushed hard against the bridge of his nose.

"It's him!"He shook a piece of paper in his hand excitedly.

"It's who?"Zelig asked testily.

"It's Barratt! They have him at Belmont Police Station. They just submitted his fingerprints for a match with the federal database! It's him!"

15:31:06

Belmont Police Station was a buzz of activity and tension. Investigating violent homicides was not uncommon, but the events at Kitchener Park screamed of something above Detective Fairley's pay grade.

Returning to his cluttered desk, he knew something about this man in the holding cell didn't sit right. The man was caught at the scene, covered in another man's blood, a recently fired gun within arm's reach, and a faceless corpse meters away, and still, he remained calm, unflappable.

The man was a killer. Fairley had no illusions about that. His steely eyes, scarred body, and impenetrable focus spoke volumes. He was no stranger to violence.

Since his incarceration and processing, he hadn't spoken; not to declare his innocence, not to ask for a lawyer.

Fairley had a bad feeling building up inside him. The beginnings of a headache started niggling at the front of his brain. He didn't like where this case was leading.

15:32:10

Zelig dialed Smith's number on his cell. It rang several times before Smith answered.

"Yes." Smith's voice was neither hurried nor polite.

"The arrangements for this evening are in place?"Zelig asked.

"Yes."

"Good. I need you to get to Belmont Police Station. Barratt has been apprehended and is being held at the police station. I have sent an official team to collect him. I want you there."

"You think she will try to assist him?"

"I'm counting on it."

"How would you like me to proceed?" Smith asked.

"Quietly. Just in case she slips past them."

"Understood. Will your team be aware of a third party?"

"No, and let's keep it that way," Zelig said. Should things get messy, he didn't need any extra questions asked.

"Time frame?"

"Agents should be there within fifteen minutes."

"I'm forty minutes out," Smith lied. He could be there in six minutes. "Leaving now."

15:33:21

Detective Fairley answered his phone in a hurry. It was a call he had been waiting for. He had worked with Matthew Dobbs from the Identifications Office many times over the past two decades, and this time, he hoped his friend would get back to him with something useful before interrogating the man down in the holding cell.

"What have you got for me, Dobbs?".

"I got a match on the prints you sent over, still waiting on the DNA. But it's not good. This guy's file is restricted. I can't access it."

"Shit!"

"That's what I was thinking," Dobbs mumbled. "He's either a spook, a Fed, or a person of great interest to one of them."

"Shit!"

"Yeah…You should know this has definitely been flagged back to people higher up the food chain than you and me by now. Be careful whose toes you step on."

"Great." Fairley rubbed at the headache pounding behind his eyes. "Thanks for the heads-up."

Fairley returned the receiver back to its cradle. It was time to inform the captain of the shit storm about to hit his precinct.

15:39:24

Barratt sat still, motionless, staring at the two guards outside his cell. One sat opposite him, flicking through a sheaf of papers while constantly checking the time on his watch. The other was busy on the phone attached to the wall. There was no keypad on the phone. A direct line upstairs.

The larger officer replaced the receiver, pulled his sagging pants up a little, and motioned for the other officer to get up. They exchanged hushed dialogue Barratt could not hear, but he could see them grow noticeably tense.

The bigger officer approached the Perspex cell, tapped on it with his thick hand, and told Barratt to stand up.

"Seems you have some important visitors on their way to see you," he said in a flat tone.

To the side of the access door, the Perspex cell had two holes built into its design. The first was at waist height and just large enough in diameter to allow a man to extend his joined hands up to his forearms. The second was a rectangular window at ankle height. Each opening was secured with a lockable flap, which the officer unlocked and slid back.

"Step up to the wall, lace your fingers together, and place your hands through the hole," the large officer said with a bellowing voice.

Barratt did as instructed. The officer placed heavy metal handcuffs around his wrists and secured them tightly.

"Turn around and back up hard against the screen."

Again Barratt complied without hesitation and felt the officer fix leg irons around his ankles, their weight already bruising his flesh.

They were going to move him.

15:47:03

Shirin entered the foyer of the Belmont Police Station, passing the throng of reporters, vagrants, and citizens awaiting service and attention from the gruff, overweight desk sergeant.

She walked with an air of confidence bestowed on those familiar with wielding power. She oozed confidence and importance.

Her high-heeled boots clunked on the smooth floor, while her business suit swayed with her every stride. Her hair was pulled back sharply into a tight bun. Her bright eyes were dulled by brown contact lenses, and her narrow face plumped with prosthetic in-fills fitted on the inside of her cheeks.

Partnered with strategically applied makeup, Shirin's disguise was effective. She looked every part the sharp and capable attorney.

At the front counter, she presented herself as Kristine Yates, attorney for John Black, the man being detained in connection with the Kitchener Park shootings.