The Chop Shop (23 page)

He heard
Anderson's ragged breathing. A trail of footsteps followed in their wake.
Anderson stopped on the landing, and he looked at Michael and nodded to the
doorway.

They stepped
into the corridor. A trail of blood led away from one of the windows, past the
lifts and around the corner. Glass cracked under his shoes, and he gritted his
teeth, finger grazing the edge of the rifle's trigger.

Anderson leaned
around the corner. “Another body. Armed.”

“Is he one of
them?”

“I don't think
so. Just security. I think we're good to move on.”

They returned to
the stairwell and continued their ascent. Something exploded outside, and a
fiery flash of light came through the windows momentarily.

“What was that?”
Richard said.

“Ammunition
cooking off. Keep going,” Michael said.

Anderson stopped
partway between the second and third floors. He pressed up against the wall,
trying to see a little more of the landing above. He raised his rifle again.

“What is it?”
Michael whispered. He held up a hand to stop the others behind him.

“God damn it,”
Anderson muttered to himself. “I heard something. I think he's waiting up there
for us.”

A metallic click
echoed from somewhere above, and Michael tensed. Something struck the wall. It
bounced off and rolled down the stairs.

“Fuck, grenade.
It's a fucking grenade,” Anderson said.

The grenade
stopped at David's feet. He kicked it down onto the landing below. Michael
turned away, huddling against the stairs, and the grenade detonated with a
deafening bang. Pain filled his ears, and he grimaced at the sound of a female
scream. Archibald was groaning, as dark patches appeared on his suit, expanding
outwards from the wounds.

Helen tried to
crawl up the stairs. Her right foot dangled by a string of muscle, and her
trouser leg was in bloody tatters. She reached out, clawing at the hand rail
and then slumped against the step. Blood dripped from her chin onto the
concrete.

“She's gone,”
Archibald said.

“Taylor, stay
with him. Make sure he doesn't bleed out,” Anderson said. He moved up to the
top stair, plucked a grenade from one of his pouches and removed the pin,
counting to three before tossing it into the corridor. Lumps of shrapnel burst
through the wall as it detonated.

Michael flexed
his trigger finger. They took up positions either side of the doorway, and the
others remained on the stairs, aiming their guns through the railings. He
listened, but only heard Archibald groaning from the pain of his injuries.

Anderson readied
a stun grenade. “Don't hesitate.”

He pulled the
pin, counted again and rolled it around the corner. They entered the corridor a
second after the explosion. The window blinds caught fire, burning bright as
they gave off a strong haze that filled the corridor and his lungs.

A hand reached
around the corner, and Michael saw the gun. The muzzle flash flared bright, as
the weapon spat a hail of bullets at them. He fell sideways, striking the wall
with his shoulder. Pain ran through the bone, but he ignored it and fired back.

Hot brass
tumbled free from the ejection port on his rifle, and holes appeared in the
wall, blasting chunks of plaster everywhere. The crack of gunfire left a
ringing in his ears, as the sergeant cried out, going down on one knee and then
finally collapsing. His carbine clattered on the floor amongst the debris.

“I'm moving up,
watch your fire,” Anderson said. He edged forward along the left side of the
corridor, blocking Michael's line of sight.

Richard pulled
the downed officer back into the stairwell. The smoke grew quicker, and Michael
gripped the handle on the back of Anderson's body armoured as he followed. His
shoes sent shell casings jingling across the floor. The corridor was silent,
save for the wailing of the wounded.

Anderson peeked
around the corner. He backed away a millisecond later, as another hail of
bullets tore up the walls. “He's down there on the left, but I can't see him
properly.”

“Just one guy?”
Michael said.

“Yeah, funny
eyes. Looks like he's packing a carbine. Dave, grab the grenade off Walker's
vest. I need it.”
David tossed it down the corridor, and the lieutenant snatched it from the air
and pulled the ring free. “As soon as it blows, you back me up down there,
okay? Don't stop.”

Michael nodded.
Anderson let the safety pin pop free, and then reached around the doorway and
rolled it forward. The corridor lit up with a bright flash and filled with
black smoke.

“Go, go, keep
moving,” Anderson said.

He felt his eyes
water and burn from the smoke, and a stabbing pain formed in his lungs as he
broke into a coughing fit. Up ahead a blinding muzzle flash pierced the
darkness and smoke. Searing heat burned past his cheek. Anderson cursed, as he
pressed down on the trigger and sprayed off the entire magazine. He drew his
pistol from its holster and continued forward.

The lieutenant
paused to check the next corridor, and then moved on into the office. Spent
casings rolled about the floor beside an empty magazine and chunks of plaster.

“He's not
stupid; he's trying to wear us down,” Michael said.

David knelt down
at the corner, squinting through the rifle's reflex sight. “Multiple rooms both
sides. Probably offices. Somebody is going to have to make sure he doesn't
double back on us.”

“I need to sit
down a minute,” Anderson said. He put a hand to his neck, managing to stay up
right for another moment before he slumped into the corner.

“Shit, he's been
hit in the neck,” Michael said.

“Richard, go.
Help him. I've got this covered,” David said.

They laid the
lieutenant down on the ground and removed his helmet and balaclava. Blood oozed
out of a gash that ran along the side of his neck.

“How bad is it?”
David said.

“The shot missed
his artery, but he's bleeding bad. We need to get him back downstairs with the
others,” Michael said.

“We've got two
others wounded and one dead; it's going to be a really bad night for the rest
of us if we get shot while we're trying to carry them down the stairs,” David
said.

Anderson shifted
his position on the floor. He left a puddle of blood where his head had been
resting. “He's right. Finish him off and collect me later.”

Bullets impacted
the corner, and David fell backwards as a round took a fist-sized chunk out of
the wall where his head had been. Wailing sirens approached in the distance.

“Just go. I'll
be fine,” Anderson said.

Michael frowned
to himself. He wiped the blood and sweat off his hands.

David returned
fire. “He's in the last office down there. You see it?”

Michael leaned
out. “Yeah. We'll move down on the left. Keep his head down or both of us are
going to be pasted everywhere.”

“Then keep out
of my fucking line of fire, or it'll be your own bloody fault. Move,” David
said. He fired two rounds down the corridor.

Michael felt his
throat tighten as he stepped out of the office. He moved forward, shimmying
against the wall and struggling to breathe as he clutched the rifle with a
death grip. The fear seemed like it would freeze his muscles solid.

The gunman
leaned out of the office, only to vanish back inside again when David put a
dozen holes in the wall. Michael slowed, aligning the reflex sight with the
doorway. The gunman's hand reached around the corner, clutching a pistol, and
he fired.

Michael recoiled
at the sight of the weapon. His finger tensed against the trigger, discharging
half the magazine before he realised what was happening. The gunman's arm
separated from his body at the elbow, and it flopped on the floor still
clutching the pistol. Smoke rose from the muzzle.

Michael surged
forward. “Go, go, go, he's down.”
He swept into the office as the gunman rolled away, left hand rising with a
knife between two fingers. It whistled through the air past his head, and
Richard screamed. He recognised the gunman's face in that split second,
remembered the grainy CCTV shots and those eyes.

The man was dressed
in a plain shirt, tie and black trousers, with his body armour thrown over the
top, as though they'd interrupted him on his way to a business meeting. He
reached for the other pistol holstered on the front of his vest, unconcerned
with the sight of his bloody arm on the floor.

Michael shot him
just below the throat. He kept his finger on the trigger, letting the recoil
walk the barrel upwards. The next round struck the throat, and the third took
his jaw and teeth apart. A bloody hole replaced his nose as his head snapped
backwards and struck the wall.

David pushed his
way into the room. They riddled the body with more bullets, blowing off the
other arm and one of the legs at the knee.

“I think he's
dead,” David said.

Michael
unholstered his pistol and jabbed the barrel into an eye socket. “I'll make
sure of it.”

He fired. The
skull broke apart into several chunks, popping the other eyeball free of its
socket and leaving only the neck and a lump of bloody spinal cord sticking
upwards.

The dead were
lined up along the asphalt, as blue police lights flashed silently. Ambulances
waited nearby, and a line of tanks and armoured vehicles stretched down the
road. Michael watched a paramedic cleaning out the wound to Richard's shoulder.
He lost count of the time, found himself apathetic and numb, smelling only
cordite in the air.

“Still alive?”
Corporal Hill said.

“Just about.
What's the body count?”

“Eight of ours
dead, just about everyone else injured. No survivors from Eratech's group.”

“What a
bloodbath.”

Corporal Hill
pulled off his helmet and balaclava, running a hand through the mess of his
sweat-soaked hair. “I know. I tried to tell Harris, but he never listens;
Harris always knows best. Well, Harris isn't going to be walking any time soon,
if he even has a job left.”
Hill handed him a water bottle. He took a long sip and nodded. “Assurer are
pissed.”

“Extremely. It's
been a bad few weeks. I'm hoping it'll get better, but you know what it's like
around here. Fuck it, I've got to go and sort this mess out. See you when I see
you.”

“Too bad about
Helen,” Michael said.

“David shrugged.
“I never liked her.”
“She was your partner.”

“Yeah, and now
that she's dead, they'll give me a new one. Hopefully the new model will be better
than the last, or least not a dyke. By the way, I heard you were tapping Sam.
Be careful you don't catch anything; she's been around the block a few times by
now.”

“Fuck off, Dave.
Is there ever a time when you're not a complete and utter cunt?”

“No. I might be
a cunt, but I'm still alive. More than you can say for these sorry fucks. I'm
out of here.” David strolled past the bodies towards a waiting patrol vehicle,
stopping momentarily to relieve a female Eratech corpse of its jewellery.

Michael clenched
his teeth. The cold was starting to get to him again, and he buttoned up his
coat, but he didn't feel any warmer for it. He walked towards the ambulance.
“How you holding up?”

Richard exhaled,
and his breath turned to vapour. “I'll live. It hurts, but the blade hit the
bone. Good enough for me.”

“What about
Archibald?”

“He'll live,
probably, but he's going to need a lot of surgery,” Maria said, frowning.

“I'll tell you
one thing,” Michael said. “I didn't think it was going to blow up in our faces
like this. Maybe we should have just let this one slide.”

“They started
it, we finished it. Eratech had it coming; bombs, hits on police units,
assassinating people in the streets. This was payback. Start turning a blind
eye and everyone will want to get in on the act. We're always outnumbered on
the streets, right? It's not a good precedent to set,” Maria said.

“Who's that?”
Richard said. He pointed with his good arm.

An SUV pulled up
at the gates, windows tinted black, and a lone woman stepped out of the passenger
seat with a severe expression and a crisp suit that looked like it'd just come
from the cleaners. She came straight towards them with a brisk stride, not
slowing as she buttoned up her coat and raised the collar to cover her neck.

“Detectives Ward
and Lanning, come with me,” she said with a French accent.

“Who are you?”
Michael said.

She flashed them
an identity card and stuck it back in her pocket before Michael could read it
properly. “I'm from the company. They're putting me in charge of Richmond station.
We have some talking to do.”

Michael and
Richard exchanged weary glances.

They were back
in Harris's office, and the Frenchwoman took the major's chair, reaching under
it with one hand to raise the height. She sat up a little taller than before.
Her skin was deathly pale in the dim light, as though the blood had been
drained from her face, and those handful of wrinkles suggested she was in her
early forties.

“You've caused
the company a lot of problems. Not nearly as much as your commanding officer, but
you've still played your part.”

“It might help
if you were to elaborate on the situation, ma'am,” Michael said.

“You really
don't know?” she said, raising a thin, plucked eyebrow.

Michael shook
his head.

“Yes, well, I
suppose that might explain a few things then. I tell you this only because it
will inevitably leak sooner or later. Harris has exceeded his authority, and
he's been strong-arming money from the surviving members of Belton's family
since these troubles kicked off.”

“How so?”

“He blocked the official
investigation into the murders, and then offered to find the killers in return
for repeat payments and a lump sum upon completion. The family wanted revenge
as much as justice, so they went along. He used the pair of you as pawns to
further his own investigation, not to mention plundering company resources for
his own private needs.”
“Yeah, why doesn't that surprise me? What about Eratech? What about the bombs,
the hits on police units and assassinations?” Richard said.

“Tangential to
what Harris had you on, although it goes without saying that the three of you
managed to complicate matters far beyond your means.”

“You're talking
about the drones Eratech are developing, aren't you?” Michael said.

She narrowed her
eyes. “How did you hear of such things?”

“Harris. How
else do you think?”

“Our differences
have, had, been resolved with Eratech, at least until you kicked the hornet's
nest again. The government brokered a cease-fire between both companies. They
were getting anxious, their project is already over budget, and really, we're
all on the same side here. We want to make money, and everyone was losing money
with this corporate war going on. I don't know what's going to happen now you
just wiped out dozens of their employees.”

“So what, you
just sign the treaty of Versailles and decide to party on? They were
slaughtering us out there just because we're employed by Assurer,” Richard
said.

“The police
contract for Lower London provides a great deal of income for Assurer. By
putting pressure on it, they attack one of the company's key revenue streams.
It's just unfortunate for you that you were caught up in the crossfire. Look,
Mr Lanning, this is a business, not a public service. No money, no company, no
job for you.”

Michael sighed.
“You don't even care, do you?”

“No, why should
I? I'm a trouble-shooter. I'll fix the problems here, collect my fee and then
move onto the next assignment.”

“They tried to
kill me in my own flat. Should I be concerned?” Michael said.

She shrugged. “I
don't know. Any troubles arising from your little escapade with Harris are your
own to deal with, but if it makes you feel any better, I expect it will be
smoothed over eventually, given the money changing hands between our companies.
All of this leaves me with the question of what to do with you. The company
have given me free rein to do what needs to be done in order to correct the
institutionalised problems of this station.”
The Frenchwoman went silent, alternating her stare between them both.

“So we're out on
our arses like Harris,” Richard said.

“Harris isn't
going anywhere, not as a free man. Firing you was my first thought, but events
have taken their toll on manpower. I suppose the irony is that you have done
your jobs too well, and I can admire that much. I'll keep you on for now, at
least until you give me another reason not to.”

“Are you going
to take those bodies to pieces?” Michael said.

“No need. I
believe your fellow officers have already done that for us. The company will
probably reverse engineer them. Eratech have problems in America with the civil
war, and we're in a much better position to continue developing the
technologies. We're done. I will see you tomorrow, early, if you intend to make
a better impression than you have tonight.”

They stepped
outside, where the floors were caked in mud. Neither of them spoke a word, and
Michael stopped at the stairs, leaning against the railings as he looked down.
“I think that went as well as it could.”

“I suppose so.
We still have jobs, but Jesus, what a night. What a month, even. I've never
seen anything like it, and let's not even get into our new superior.”

“We'll figure
her out, or more likely, she'll leave when she realises the bureaucracy around
here will drown her chances of climbing the company ladder any higher.”

Richard started
down the stairs. “I look forward to that day. See you tomorrow, it's going to
be a fucking nightmare.”

Outside, Michael
thought of phoning Sam to pick up him. He decided against it, nodding to the
guards at the checkpoint as he ventured out into the streets. His skin was
already numb to the cold, and he stopped to look back at Richmond station,
eyeing the chequerboard pattern of lights gradually fading into darkness.

He walked to the
end of the road and turned a left into an alley, where the shadows swallowed
him alive.