Splicer (36 page)

Rusty heard the shots fired. He flinched, sensing they were aimed at them. He could sense, by the change in the timbre of the sound, that the train had finally entered the tunnel. Still there was no sign of an end to it. He tried to run faster but Jayne was unable to move quicker. She said "Sorry" then, loudly, over the angry drone and the painful roar that filled the rocky space around them. Rusty could barely hear her shout. Then she pulled away from him.

"Now!" she yelled. "Lay down on the track. It's our only chance." She was down on her stomach, her face dark and covered in dust and oil. Rusty, whose eyes had adjusted to the darkness, could see her white hands, scratched and bleeding, tensed against the oily cross timbers buried in gray gravel. There was a teary smudge on one cheek. He wanted to lay there with her, cover her head with his hands. Hold her when the train came. He shook his head. She was braver than him. Willing to face it. He couldn't.

Rusty looked back into the darkness behind them waiting for the light to come. He could feel the pressure, a literal wall of sound and air pressing down on them. It was there. But where was the light? He strained to see it, squeezed his eyes together against the murky distance, when he saw something he had missed. The curve of the tunnel had been corrected just behind them. The construction equipment had cut into the wall a foot or two, then for some reason, the machine and its crew must have pulled back and corrected their course. The mistake had left a tiny cleft in the wall, like a shallow closet. It was several yards back, towards the sound that was rushing at them like a tidal wave of iron and steel.

Rusty grabbed Jayne's arm, the one she had wrapped over her head. She pulled back on it, frozen. He grabbed her waist and lifted her up, feeling the bruised muscles in his back tearing. He pulled her sideways. She was fighting him. He cried out to her knowing they would be caught in mid-stride. He screamed in her ear, something. It mobilized her. She spun, and they ran the few steps, stumbled, then he pushed her hard into the cleft in the rock. Stepping back in recoil, he looked up and saw or felt or heard the world falling in on him. A dark gray howling mass of machinery was hurtling at him through the shadows. Like the ground itself moving up towards him. He was frozen there by the scale of the danger - the sight of his own death only a few feet away. He stiffened for the impact. Two hands grabbed his jacket and pulled. He landed against Jayne hard, her arms around his neck. The world was falling all around them. Hot oil was striking the back of his head. They choked on the diesel smoke until their lungs ached. Her face was pressed into his chest. He held her for support, his weight against hers. As time passed, the world stopped moving, the smoke dissipated, they heard the vague receding sound of the locomotive move away. But they were unwilling to let each other go.

Kozak squeezed his eyes together behind his glasses at the two figures moving towards the cabin from the south. He was alerted by one of his officers who identified the silhouette of a rifle held in the arm of one of the suspects. What puzzled him was that they were linked, arm in arm, one favoring a leg. Someone was hurt.

He moved away from the small group of medics and police officers standing on the wet grass in front of the cabin and removed his glasses to get a better look. He called one of the uniforms over and told him to go with another cop up to the rise.
Give them assistance. Be careful.
Then he walked back to the front of the cabin.

An ambulance, one of two, sat at the end of the narrow gravel road, below the rise to the cabin, its lights flashing. He radioed the other two search teams that two people, likely Redfield and McEwan, were being escorted back to the front lawn. And to keep an eye open for Grieves. He frowned.
What a fuck-up.

Just ten minutes ago he took a call informing him that they had found Rosenblatt's corpse in the main boardroom at
GeneFab
. Suicide, they said. With a note to his wife. But there was more than that. He had damage to his genitalia. The report Koz would have to write on this case would be a goddamn porno novel.

Koz zippered up the front of his police issue nylon jacket against the wind and pulled out his notebook. He had toured the cabin. He didn't even want to write that up. Didn't know how. One of the world’s most extravagant fallout shelters built on a rock in the middle of Nowhere, Ontario. For what? What the hell was Grey slash Grieves slash Mike slash Malcolm’s father thinking?

He walked over to Grey who had his hands in his pockets. He was looking down at his expensive leather shoes ruined by the rain. His long silver mane was matted to the back of his neck. Kozak's men had picked him up on the logging road that snaked its way up to the cabin only an hour ago. They had been following him ever since he left Langley. As soon as they had called in his name, Kozak jumped like a man who had stepped on a live power cable. The mystery man behind this whole case - delivered up like a surprise package. They wouldn't have had a hope in hell of extradition. So why was he here? Grey had been recalcitrant about shedding any light on the whole business - until he learned that Malcolm Grieves was the new prime suspect in the Ludd murder and had in fact taken Redfield and McEwan hostage. He even confessed that the Kim Soo woman who had worked over Rosenblatt was an agent on his payroll. There was a warrant out for her as well. Meanwhile Grey was folding in front of their eyes.

"Still no sign of my son?" Grey asked stonily.

"Not yet," answered Kozak. "But the gun that was missing appears to have turned up." He pointed at Redfield and his companion, now at the edge of the yard. One of the officers had the rifle. The other carried McEwan with Rusty's help. Looked like she had a twisted ankle. Or a break. Grey looked up, concerned.

One of the officers pulled Kozak aside. They talked briefly. Rusty walked up, shaken, dirty, his left arm puffy and bleeding. He also looked angry.

"You did it again, Kozak. You went after the wrong guy." He stared, waiting for a response. Koz glared back. "And in the process, more people got killed."

"Get a medic for Redfield," Kozak shouted to one of the officers. "Looks like a gunshot wound. How did it happen?"

"You going to arrest me now?" Redfield looked ready for a fight. He definitely looked like someone who didn't give a damn about what happened to him anymore. Like he was shell-shocked.

"What happened, Mr. Redfield?"

Rusty shook his head. He remembered what Jayne had said about her conversation with Koz and Rusty's alibi. He acted like he hadn't believed her. But Koz was here and he wasn't looking belligerent - any more than usual. Rusty felt oddly like Kozak was on the right side again.

"Grieves. He was hunting us. Having a great time," said Rusty.

"That's ridiculous," piped up the older man in the dark suit and overcoat. Rusty turned to him, not recognizing him. He didn't look like a cop, more like a retired businessman or a college professor.

"This is the closest he got," Rusty pointed and looked at the ragged bloody wound in his upper arm.

"Where is he?" asked Kozak. Rusty closed his eyes for a moment. He was feeling light-headed again.

"Train hit him," answered Jayne, almost dazed, limping up behind. "He's up on the ridge. By the tunnel." She looked around. Everyone seemed to be digesting that information with some difficulty.

"What's left of him," mumbled Rusty. He had been running on straight adrenaline and fear. They had both run out. He put his arm out and grabbed one of the officer’s shoulders before he hit the lawn.

Aaron Grey's expression looked pinched, like someone had let the air out of him as well. "Where is he?" he said, his white hair in his eyes.

Rusty looked at Kozak but couldn't see his eyes through the light reflecting off his glasses. He pointed. "He chased us into a tunnel."

"Does he need help?" someone asked.

"There's nothing left ..."

A shiver flicked through the older man's frame. He seemed to totter. "My God ... the tunnel. How many times had I told him …"

"Grieves? Our officers will go up ... for the body. It's quite a climb."

Kozak looked back at the cabin, the huddled form of Debbie Grieves in the open door. She had arrived with the police. She helped them find the cabin. And would probably be helpful in identifying Malcolm’s body.

Aaron Grey seemed to shrink slightly.

"You're Malcolm's father?" asked Rusty, sitting on the wet ground, not caring.

"That's correct," he answered, lifeless.

"He's also the man who planned and ordered the death of Jeff Ludd," added Kozak.

Jayne's eyes widened. "You ordered your own son to murder Ludd?"

Grey shot a look at the lawyer. "Never. What kind of person do you think I am? Do you know how long I worked to get that company out of the hands of that Machiavellian son-of-a-bitch Ludd?" He looked down at his hands, rubbed them together. "I ordered Rosenblatt to take care of it. How... how my son became involved ... Rosenblatt was a complete idiot."

Rusty looked confused. He looked at Kozak again, waiting for an answer.

"Rosenblatt's dead," offered Kozak. "He apparently offered Grieves something like a million dollars to kill Ludd. Grieves had agreed, but then had second thoughts. So in the end he had to do it himself. Rosenblatt called me tonight from his office. He confessed to everything. Then he committed suicide."

Jayne couldn't feel any more surprise. One more body. Everyone was a bit player. Just another suspect with another self-important reason for wanting their piece of Ludd. And the man who orchestrated the whole thing was standing next to her, looking lost, looking like the ghost of somebody who once had a purpose in life but couldn't exactly recall what that was anymore. He'd lost his soul like a man loses his car-keys.

Kozak lit a cigarette and coughed. "We tracked down Malcolm Grieves' bank account yesterday ..."

"Dante, right?" said Rusty.

Kozak almost smiled. "Dante Technology. Over two hundred thousand dollars. All from Rosenblatt again, according to his wife."

"Advances for the job?" asked Jayne.

"No. He was bribing Rosenblatt. He was the only one who knew how Ludd had been lured to the Club and then killed. I guess he needed the money to finish his research and it looks like this was going to be his lab." Kozak waved his hand in the direction of the cabin. Rusty had a far-away look on his face that irritated Kozak. And he didn't like the comment about Dante. "You're going to have to make statements, the both of you." He lifted his unshaven chin towards Jayne. "What the hell happened at the University?"

Jayne answered slowly. "They were after Malcolm. We went there to meet with him. We joined a party in progress."

"You did more than meet with him," said Kozak.

In a tired voice Jayne said "Self-defense, Inspector."

"They were armed. You probably noticed that," said Rusty. "We weren't."

"Three bodies? And you had no weapons?" commented one of the cops. Grey stared off across the lake, his mouth tight. Then he spoke again.

"They were agents. A U.S. military special ops team working for the DIA. They were after the code words that would reactivate the
Splicer
. Although you'll never prove that. "He turned to Kozak. "They were also behind stealing that envelope in New York that I had given your partner. That was our fault. We thought we had him covered."

Kozak grabbed Aaron's collar in his hands. "Why don't you shut up, Grieves or Grey or whoever the fuck you are. From where I sit, it looks like you started everything. And for what? Do you even know?" He let him go with a push. "Cuff him and get him out of here."

The old man had fallen on one knee in the waterlogged uncut grass. "You fool. Of course I know. For YOU. And your CHILDREN!" he shouted.

Kozak let out a breath full of cigarette smoke, which seemed to cloud his expression. "You don't even know my children."

Rusty glared, cradling his arm. "You're not talking about the
Splicer
are you? There is no goddamn
Splicer
," he said, pulling himself up with the help of another uniform cop.

Aaron Grey fixed him with his piercing blue stare. "You don't know what you're talking about," he said.

Jayne interrupted. "He's right. You're son admitted it."

"It was all an elaborate hoax by Ludd," continued Rusty. "He needed something at the Vegas Technology show to get the industries attention. And it was a good lie, because we were close. But close doesn't count. Malcolm and Ludd cooked up a faked set-up. Phony software. An incubator with a hidden door. He even hired a magician to work out the details."

"And everybody bought it. The military. The investors. You ... whoever you are?" added Jayne. Grey shook his head like a man trying to wake up out of a nightmare.

"You're looking at CIA," answered Kozak, cocking a thumb at his prisoner. "And I thought
I
was about ready for retirement."

Grey was beginning to sag, like he was about to faint. He kept looking at his hands, turning them over slowly.

"You're a dedicated son-of-a-bitch," said Jayne to him. He didn't look up.

"My son was everything," he said. "I did this for him." His eyes were red. He was holding back tears. He kept staring at his gnarled hands and turning them over until a police officer in a rain poncho grabbed them, pulled them behind the old man’s back and wrapped nylon cuffs around his wrists. "It wasn't supposed to end like this."

"It never is," added Rusty. "Malcolm wanted that invention more than life. And at the same time, knowing he was working on something that had that much potential for ... misery, the thought of getting that close, almost drove him crazy. Maybe it did. He just couldn't let the damn thing go." Rusty turned and limped over to Jayne. "Madame, may I escort you to yonder ambulance?" He offered his arm.

"It would be a pleasure." He took her by the waist, her arm on his shoulder, and they walked carefully down the crumbling steps to the drive at the bottom of the slope together.

Kozak turned as if to say something, then he dropped his arm and turned back to Grieves. "Let's go, Spymaster," he said.

Back on the slippery slope of the descending bank, Rusty had his arms full. "Jayne, I hope you get better fast. But I've got to admit, I've grown sort of attached to this form of transportation."

She smiled at him, saying nothing.

"And I guess I owe you one," he added.

"What do you mean?"

"In the tunnel. You saved my life."

"I'd forgotten about that," she mused as a paramedic prepared to help her into the back of one of the rescue vehicles.

"I'll make it up, somehow," he said, getting in beside her. She flashed her signature sardonic grin at him. "I'm sure you will," she said. When he sat down beside her she took his hand.

"By the way" she said "I take back what I said about the life of a salesman being boring." And despite their aching muscles, hunger and fatigue, they laughed, and then both fell into a dreamless sleep as the ambulance tracked its way back to civilization.

THE END

AN EXERPT FROM THEO CAGE’S THRILLER –
BUZZWORM
.

Police officers call Washington DC ‘the District’. But we still say it like we’re spitting out a mouthful of beer that’s gone punky. It’s not a feel-good word for politicians. Or for homicide detectives, of which I am the latter.

Washington used to be the murder capital of the free world - over four hundred homicides a year. We’ve gotten better, but only marginally. I think we are now number three or four. Some consolation.

Angela, my ex, left me in 2001, the worst year for the city. And mine too. I can’t blame her though. Bullets were as common as houseflies and generous overtime easily paid the alimony payments. I think I ate dinner with her that last year maybe a dozen times. Even that may be an exaggeration. You’d have to ask my daughter Kyla. She was the only one counting.