Sullivan Saga 2: Sullivan's Wrath (12 page)

“I agree,” Kate said. “Unfortunately, you chose to make it necessary by refusing my calls and not getting back to me after Rick and I first visited.”

Hall smiled again. “My apologies. I’ve been rather busy running the affairs of Edaline.”

“Mr. Hall, I don’t really care. All you have to do is answer a few simple questions, and I and my legal team will leave you alone.”

Hall nodded.

“First,” said Kate, “do you or do you not have possession of a ship containing proprietary technology belonging to me?”

“I do not,” said Hall.

“Did you?”

Hall hesitated. “I did. But it was stolen. That’s the reason, in fact, why I didn’t get back to you. I was trying to recover the ship so I could turn it over to you.”

Kate smiled. “Where was it stored?”

“In a warehouse.”

“Write down the address,” she said, sliding her tablet across the table. When he had finished, she took it from him and glanced at it.

“One more question, Mr. Hall.”

“Yes?”

“Do you know the whereabouts of either Rick Sullivan or Frank Allen?”

Hall smiled more broadly. “I do not. I’m sorry.”

“Well?” asked one of the lawyers after they had left Hall’s office.

“I’m pretty sure he’s telling the truth,” said Kate. “I’ve had other information indicating that Rick and Frank are no longer on Edaline.” She thought about her visit from Liz and shivered involuntarily. “Still, I want to see that warehouse, see if Rick left anything behind for me to find.”

“We’ll get the car.”

Kate waited as her lawyers called the driver. He drove them into the industrial part of the city and to the address that Hall had given them. Kate studied the building for a moment before getting out of the car. The large bay door had been torn away. The site had apparently been cleaned up, however, as only scattered bits of metal remained on the ground.

She walked up to the hole in the door and stepped inside. The warehouse was certainly large enough to hold a freighter. As she walked the inside perimeter of the building, she kept watch for anything Rick might have left behind. She came to a spot on the left side of the building and kneeled down. A dark stain marred the concrete floor. Kate couldn’t be sure, but she suspected it was blood. A few meters away was another similar stain.

Kate concluded her search and stepped back outside where the lawyers were waiting. “Something happened here,” she said, “but it’s been cleaned up.”

“We can go back to Hall, ask more questions,” offered one of them.

“No,” Kate said. “It doesn’t matter now. I’m convinced he can’t be of any further help.”

“What are you going to do now?”

Kate shook her head. “I don’t know.”

“Can we be of any further service?”

“I don’t think so. If I could just have a ride back to my hotel, I’d be grateful.” She glanced at the car that had been following them the whole time to make sure the MPs inside saw that they were leaving. General Miller’s men had been vigilant in seeing that she remained safe.

Kate waved at them, and they waved back. As she was about to get into the car, the sound of tires squealing made her look up. A fast-moving vehicle had just turned the corner and was speeding toward them.

The two lawyers took her arms and took a few steps away from the street, pulling her with them as they went. The car skidded to a stop in front of them, and the barrel of a gun poked out from the passenger’s window. Before Kate could even process what was happening, the MPs in the other vehicle were beside her. One of them pushed her and the lawyers to the ground as the other pulled his own gun.

Kate, her face pressed into the concrete, heard at least a dozen shots before the car sped away again. She opened her eyes. In front of her, the MP who’d drawn his gun was lying on the ground, his eyes searching hers. She reached out and put her hand on his cheek just as he coughed, sending a spray of blood down her arm. She reached down as the man began convulsing and grabbed his hand. He squeezed her hand hard. She wanted to yell out, but she held back and kept her eyes on his as he took his final breaths. The grip on her hand loosened, and Kate sat up, looking around her. The others were uninjured. She closed her eyes and tried to stop shaking as someone helped her to her feet and gently pushed her into the car.

GENERAL MILLER WAS moving as soon as he heard what had happened. He threw open his office door and beckoned for his secretary to follow him. “I want MPs surrounding Kate Alexander’s hotel,” he said. “Send an armored vehicle to meet up with her car. I want men positioned at every corner between that warehouse and the hotel.”

The secretary turned away to carry out his orders as Miller reached the outer door of the office. He was about to walk through and into the corridor when someone stepped in front of him.

Miller raised his eyes from his tablet. “Jensen? What is it?”

“I overheard what happened, sir. Are you going down to the scene of the attack?”

“Yes.”

“Anything I can do?”

“No, thank you, Jensen. Carry on as you were.”

“Yes, sir.”

Jensen returned to his desk, took his tablet out and put it on his lap, out of sight.

Miller on his way to scene of attack on K. Alexander
, he typed.
Recommend action.

Resources not available
, came the reply.

Orders?

Stand by
.

Jensen frowned. He glanced up at the outer office door. Miller was standing at the elevators, waiting. He was tired of being delayed, tired of being told to stand by, to wait. He’d had countless opportunities to kill General Miller. Why hadn’t he been given the order? Right now, with Kate Alexander still in harm’s way, was the time to act. If Miller could be killed and another attempt made on Kate Alexander, before she was taken to safety, it might be enough to motivate the loyalists who were keeping their heads down. And if Prime Minister Hall and Richard Sullivan—wherever he was—could also be killed, Jensen was sure the people would demand the return of their rightful leaders.

Jensen stood up and walked across the office. He entered the hallway just as the elevator doors opened.

“Sir!” he called as Miller stepped in.

“Yes, Jensen?”

“Something to report, sir.”

“Ride down with me.”

Jensen followed the general into the elevator. He slipped his hand into his coat pocket and closed his fingers over the switch blade he kept there.

“What is it, Corporal?”

“Just this, sir.” Jensen withdrew the knife and extended the blade in the same fluid movement. He thrust it upward toward Miller’s heart.

The general fell back against the side of the elevator car as the blade struck him. It made contact with the button on his pocket and slid off, diminishing the force of the thrust. Miller felt the knife slice through his flesh above his left breast, but the cut was superficial.

He balled his fist and punched Jensen squarely on the bottom of his jaw. The corporal dropped the knife as he was knocked over to the far side of the elevator. Miller drew his sidearm and aimed it at Jensen’s head.

The elevator dinged, and Miller looked toward the doors. The men at the security desk would have seen the attack on the camera in the elevator.

Three men rushed in as soon as the doors opened and picked Jensen up.

“Are you all right, sir?”

Miller holstered his gun and looked down at the tear in his uniform, wet with blood. “It’s just a scratch.”

“You should go to the infirmary all the same, sir.”

“Yes, you’re right. Have my staff meet me down there. And tell them to have Kate Alexander brought directly to me.

ALLEN NODDED TOWARD the scene outside the cockpit window of the freighter. “Looks like we have company.”

Sullivan stood up. “They’re bringing a shipping container. Must be the weapons.”

The two men stepped toward the rear of the freighter and opened the side hatch. The men with the container approached them.

“Let’s see the guns,” said Sullivan.

They opened the hinged lid of the shipping container. Sullivan glanced inside and quickly counted the weapons.

“All right. Frank?”

Allen took the credit card from his pocket. He handed it to the man who seemed to be in charge. The man swiped it across the reader on his tablet to confirm that it held the appropriate amount then, in a single fluid motion, placed it into his pants pocket and drew a gun from his waistband.

Sullivan was quicker. He grabbed the man by the wrist and jerked his arm downward as the first shot went off. Sullivan grabbed him around the neck and spun the man around, yanking the gun from his grip as he did so.

Holding the man by the throat and aiming a gun at his head, he wheeled around to face Alvo’s other men.

“Just back off,” Sullivan said.

He dragged the man to the side hatch of the ship and, after making sure Allen had already gone in, pulled him inside.

Sullivan pistol-whipped his captive on the back of the head. He fell, unconscious. Sullivan slammed the hatch shut and sprinted to the cockpit.

“So much for our deal with Albo,” said Allen.

Through the window they watched more men arrive with another shipping container. They set down the container and pulled off the top. A large anti-aircraft gun smoothly rose up from its tripod and began flashing red lights.

“It’s on automatic!” Sullivan yelled. “Let’s get the hell out of here. It’ll take a few seconds for the gun to calibrate.”

“No, we need the guns!”

“Forget the guns,” said Sullivan.

“I can’t.” Allen manipulated the controls in front of him, and the ship lurched forward, toward Albo’s men and the big gun. The men scattered, leaving the gun. The ship rammed into it, sending it toppling to the ground.

Allen set the ship down hard and turned to Sullivan. “We need those guns.”

“The crate is too far away. But I have an idea.” Sullivan ran back to the side hatch. He threw open the hatch and glanced around. There was a man on the ground just a few meters away. Sullivan guessed he had been hit by part of the freighter. He made sure the man was out and crept around to the other side of the ship. He spotted the big anti-aircraft gun. It had powered down when it had been knocked over. Sullivan sprinted toward it and hoisted it over his shoulder.

A shot hit the concrete at his feet, and he nearly dropped it. He ran back around to the side of the ship and in through the hatch before any more of Alvo’s men managed to move around to that side.

“Get us a couple meters off the ground, Frank!” Sullivan yelled toward the cockpit.

The ship rose from the tarmac. Sullivan could hear the sound of bullets bouncing harmlessly off the hull. He stepped into the big cargo bay and set the gun up near the door but off to one side. He hit a button below a ship-wide intercom box on the wall next to him. “Open the bay door, Frank!”

The door began lowering. Sullivan took position behind the gun and waited for the door to open completely. “Tilt the ship back a bit and spin her, slowly,” he called into the intercom.

The ground came into view. Sullivan spotted a man raising a rifle to his shoulder. A quick burst with the big gun sent him to the ground. As the ship swung around, more of Alvo’s men came into view. Standing behind the gun’s protective shield, Sullivan was safe from most of their fire and was able to take them down one by one.

When the ship had made several rotations, Sullivan called to Frank on the intercom again. “They’re all down. Set us on the ground.”

Cautiously, Sullivan scanned the area around the ship. In the distance he could hear sirens. He found the crate of energy weapons and pulled it into the ship. Allen met him at the entrance to the cargo hold, dragging Alvo’s unconscious man behind him.

“You get your credit card back?” Sullivan asked.

“Yes.”

“Then toss him out. I’ll get to the cockpit and shut this door.”

Sullivan made his way to the cockpit and made sure no critical systems had been hit during the firefight. He watched on a monitor as Allen set Alvo’s man down on the ground behind the ship. As soon as Allen was back in, Sullivan closed the cargo bay door and lifted the ship off the ground.

Allen joined him as they left Abilene’s atmosphere.

“I’m guessing whoever’s left alive down there doesn’t have long to live,” Allen said. “Not once Alvo finds out they’ve lost both the guns and the money.”

Sullivan nodded. “Not our problem now.”

“How about that big gun?”

“I spent the magazine.”

“Too bad. I’m sure that would have come in handy.”

“For what, Frank? You still haven’t told me what these guns are for.”

“I told you I don’t know yet. Why won’t you believe me?” Allen nodded toward the controls. “Let me take over. I want you to go back and check those weapons, make sure nothing’s wrong with them.”

Sullivan shook his head. “I really hope you know what you’re doing, Frank.”

In the reflection of the window in front of him, Allen watched his friend leave the cockpit. “So do I, Rick,” he whispered.

WORD SPREAD QUICKLY. Cenobian orders around the globe had received word from Father Curtis that a miracle had occurred in their midst. None of the other monks doubted him. Christ had appeared in front of thirty-two monks, and their accounts were all exactly the same. Not only Cenobian monks but faithful Christians everywhere believed the story.

Non-Christians—both those of other faiths and non-believers—were more doubtful. The technology certainly existed to create such an illusion. The monastery was flooded with requests to have scientists and engineers examine the scene of the vision. They wanted the food the monks were eating to be tested for hallucinogenic compounds. Some accused the monks of outright deception.

“It is clear,” said one prominent scientist, “that whatever the cause of this vision, it is not supernatural in nature. Such ‘visions’ go back millennia, and they have never been verifiable. Just as tales of ghosts and goblins, witches and werewolves, pixies and poltergeists, have plagued the more irrational among us, so have encounters with gods or saints. Still, the Cenobian monks seem genuine in their belief. I, for one, believe that they—whether they are aware of it or not—have had some drug put in their food or drink. To paraphrase Ebenezer Scrooge, there's more of gravy than of grave about this.”