The Edge of Armageddon (7 page)

Drake flung his body toward the restaurant wall, grabbing the waitress around the waist and taking her with him. Glass and brick fragments sluiced off his rolling body. The oncoming van squealed for traction as its tires struck the restaurant floor and its middle rocked over the window sill, its back end now rising and smashing into the lintel above the pane. Metal screeched. Tables collapsed. Chairs piled up as debris before it.

Alicia had also reacted instantly, scrambling around a table and away, her only wound a small gash across the shin from a fast-moving splinter of wood. Mai somehow managed to roll across the top of a moving table, escaping any harm and Beau went one better, leaping above her and jumping from surface to surface, at last timing a jump so that his feet and hands struck the side wall and helped him land safely.

Drake looked up, the waitress screaming at his side. Alicia stared accusingly.

“So you grabbed her, did you?”

“Look out!”

The van still came forward, slowing by the second, but now the barrel of a gun poked out of the lowered passenger window. Alicia ducked and covered. Mai rolled some more. Drake withdrew his own handgun and fired six bullets at the disembodied hand, the sounds loud in the confined space, vying with the van’s deafening roar. Beau was already in motion, darting around the back of the vehicle. At last the wheels stopped turning and ground to a halt. Broken tables and chairs cascaded from the hood and even from the roof. Drake made sure the waitress was unharmed before moving forward, but by then Beau and Mai were already at the vehicle.

Beau had smashed the driver’s window and was grappling with a figure. Mai checked positioning through the smashed windshield and then picked up a splintered length of wood.

“No,” Drake began, his voice a little croaky. “We need—”

But Mai wasn’t in the mood for listening. Instead she threw the improvised weapon through the windshield with enough force that it stuck hard in the driver’s forehead, quivering in place. The man’s eyes rolled up and he stopped struggling with Beau, the Frenchman looking bemused.

“I did have him.”

Mai shrugged. “I thought I should help.”

“Help?” Drake repeated. “We need at least one of these bastards alive.”

“And on that note,” Alicia piped up. “I’m fine, ta. Nice to see you saving Waitress Wendy’s ass though.”

Drake bit his tongue, knowing at some deep level that Alicia was only ribbing him. Beauregard had already dragged the driver out of the vehicle and was rifling his pockets. Alicia headed over to the miraculously untouched laptop. The USB had finished uploading and had deposited a hash of pictures onto the screen—disturbing images of silver canisters that made Drake’s blood run cold.

“It appears to be the inside of a bomb,” he said, studying wires and relays. “Send it to Moore before anything else happens.”

Alicia leaned over the machine, tapping away.

Drake helped the waitress to her feet. “You okay, love?”

“I . . . I think so.”

“Mint. Now how about rustling us up a lasagna?”

“The chef . . . the chef hasn’t arrived yet.” Her gaze swept the destruction fearfully.

“Hell, and I thought you just threw ’em into a microwave.”

“Don’t worry.” Mai came over and laid a hand on the waitress’s arm. “They will remodel. Insurance should take care of this.”

“I hope so.”

Drake again bit his tongue, this time to stop a curse. Yes, it was a blessing that everyone was still breathing but Marsh and his cronies were still wrecking people’s lives. Without conscience. Without ethics and without concern.

As if by psychic link the phone rang. This time Drake picked it up.

“Are you all still kicking?”

Marsh’s voice made him want to hit something, but he kept it strictly professional. “We’ve forwarded your pictures on.”

“Oh, excellent. So that’s that bit sorted out then. I hope you grabbed a bite to eat whilst you waited because this next part—well, it could kill you.”

Drake coughed. “You do know we haven’t verified your bomb yet.”

“And, hearing that, I see that you want to slow events down whilst you try to catch up. Not happening, my new friend. Not happening at all. Your cops and agents, military people and fire department, may be part of a well-oiled machine, but they are still a machine, and take a little while to get up to speed. Therefore, I take that time to tear you apart. It’s quite fun, believe me.”

“What do the Pythians get out of all this?”

Marsh clucked. “Oh, I think you know that conceited group of ragamuffins recently imploded. Was anything ever more certain? They were led by a serial killer, a psycho stalker, a megalomaniac and a jealous domineer. All of whom happened to be the same person.”

Alicia leaned closer to Drake at that moment. “So tell us—where is that bastard?”

“Oh, a new girl. Are you the blonde or the Asian? Probably the blonde by the sound of it. Darling, if I knew where he was I’d let you flay him alive. Tyler Webb only ever wanted one thing. He abandoned the Pythians the moment he knew where to find it.”

“Which was at the bazaar?” Drake asked, now playing both for time and information.

“A hive of heinousness that place, am I right? Imagine all the deals done there that will impact the world for decades to come.”

“Ramses sold him something,” Drake said, testing.

“Yes. And I’m sure the tricky French Pain Au Sausage has already told you what that item was. Or you could always ask him right now.”

So that confirmed it. Marsh was watching them, though he didn’t have eyes in the restaurant. Drake sent a quick text to Moore. “How about telling us where Webb went?”

“Well, seriously, what am I, Fox News? You’ll be asking me for cash next.”

“I’ll settle for that terrorist asshole.”

“And back to the job at hand.” Marsh spoke the words and then seemed amused at himself, abruptly laughing. “Sorry, private joke. But we’re done now with the verification part of the chase. Now I want to give you my demands.”

“So just tell us.” Alicia sounded weary.

“Where’s the fun in that? This bomb will detonate unless I am completely satisfied. Who knows, dear, I may have even chosen to own you.”

In an instant, Alicia appeared ready to go, eyes and expression so fired up she could ignite a desiccated forest.

“I’d love to get you alone,” she whispered.

Marsh paused, then continued quickly. “The Natural History Museum, twenty minutes.”

Drake set his watch. “And then?”

“Hmmm, what?”

“It’s a big ass piece of architecture.”

“Oh, well if you get that far I’d suggest stripping a male guard called Jose Gonzales. One of our associates sewed my demands into the lining of his jacket last night. Ingenious way to transport documents, eh, and with no comeback to the originator.”

Drake didn’t reply, more perplexed than anything.

“I know what you’re thinking,” Marsh said, again showing amazing cerebral qualities. “Why not just mail you the pics and tell you my demands? Well, I am a peculiar man. They told me I have two sides, two minds and two faces, but I prefer to see it as two separate qualities. One part twisted, the other bent. You see what I mean?”

Drake coughed. “I certainly know what you are.”

“Excellent, then I know you will understand that when I see your four torn-apart corpses in about seventeen minutes, I will feel both wonderfully happy and terribly annoyed. With you. Now, goodbye.”

The line went dead. Drake clicked his watch.

Twenty minutes.

Hayden and Kinimaka spent their time with Ramses. The terrorist prince appeared ill at ease in his six-foot square cell: dirty, disheveled and, though clearly exhausted, pacing like a caged lion. Hayden donned a flak jacket, checked her Glock and spare ammo, and bade Mano do the same. No chances would be taken from here on in. Both Ramses and Marsh had proven too clever to underestimate.

Perhaps the terrorist myth was right where he wanted to be.

Hayden doubted it, doubted it immensely. The fight inside the castle and the desperate death of his bodyguard had showed how anxious he’d been to escape. Also, was his reputation ruined? Shouldn’t he be trying desperately to repair the damage? Probably, but the man wasn’t destroyed to the level where he couldn’t rebuild. Hayden watched him stride as Kinimaka fetched them a couple of plastic chairs.

“There is a nuclear weapon in this city,” Hayden said. “Which I am sure you know, since you brokered the deal to Tyler Webb and Julian Marsh. You are in this city and if the time comes we’ll make damn sure you’re not underground. Of course, your followers don’t know we have you . . .” She let it hang right there.

Ramses pulled up, tired eyes fixing on her. “You refer to the double-cross of course, where my men will soon kill Marsh, take charge of the bomb and detonate. You must know this through Webb and his bodyguard since they are the only ones who knew. And you also know that they merely await my command.” He nodded as if to himself.

Hayden waited. Ramses was sharp, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t slip up.

“They will detonate,” Ramses said. “They will make the decision themselves.”

“We can make your last few hours pretty much intolerable,” Kinimaka said.

“You won’t make me call it off,” Ramses said. “Even through torture. I will not halt that detonation.”

“What do you want?” Hayden asked.

“There will be negotiation.”

She studied him, looking intently into the face of the new world enemy. These people didn’t want anything in return, they wouldn’t negotiate and they believed death was but a step up to some kind of Heaven.
Where does that leave us?

Where indeed? She felt for her weapon. “A man who wants nothing other than to commit mass murder is easily dealt with,” she said. “With a bullet to the head.”

Ramses pressed his face to the bars. “Then go ahead, western bitch.”

Hayden didn’t need to be an expert to read the madness and zeal shining from those soul-dead eyes. Without a word she changed tack and exited the room, locking the outer door carefully behind her.

Never too careful.

The next room along housed the cell of Robert Price. She had gained permission to keep the Secretary here because of the imminent threat and his potential part in it. As she and Kinimaka walked into the room, Price turned a supercilious expression upon her.

“What do you know about the bomb?” she said. “And why were you in the Amazon, attending a terrorist bazaar?”

Price sank down into his bunk. “I want a lawyer. And what do you mean? A bomb?”

“Nuclear bomb,” Hayden said. “Here in New York. Help yourself, you piece of shit. Help yourself right now by telling us what you know.”

“Seriously.” Price stared. “I know nothing.”

“You committed treason,” Kinimaka said, moving his bulk close to the cell. “Is that how you want to be remembered? An epitaph for your grandkids. Or would you rather be known as the repentant who helped save New York?”

“As lovely as you make that sound,” Price’s voice rattled like a coiled snake. “I wasn’t involved in any ‘bomb’ negotiations and know nothing. Now, please, my lawyer.”

“I’ll give you a little while,” Hayden said. “Then I’m gonna put Ramses and you together, in the same cell. You can fight it out. We’ll see who talks first. He would rather die, not live, and he wants to take every living soul with him. You? Just make sure you don’t commit suicide.”

Price looked flustered at at-least some of her words. “No lawyer?”

Hayden turned around. “Fuck you.”

The Secretary watched her go. Hayden locked him inside and then turned to Mano. “Any ideas?”

“I’m wondering if Webb is involved in this. He’s been the figurehead all along.”

“Not this time, Mano. Webb isn’t even stalking us anymore. This is all Ramses and Marsh, I’m sure.”

“So what’s next?”

“I don’t know how else we can help Drake and the guys,” Hayden said. “The team is already at the very core of this. Homeland have everything else managed, from cops kicking in doors to spies pulling their hard-earned covers, to army build-up and the arrival of NEST, the Nuclear Emergency Support Team. FDNY are everywhere, with all they’ve got. The bomb squad is at the highest alert. We have to find a way to break Ramses.”

“You saw him. How do you break a man who doesn’t care if he lives or dies?”

Hayden stopped angrily. “We have to try. Or would you rather just give up? Everyone has a trigger. That worm cares for something. His fortune, his lifestyle, a concealed family? There has to be something we can do to help.”

Kinimaka wished they could call on Karin Blake’s computer expertise, but the woman was still embroiled in her Fort Bragg regime. “Let’s go find a workstation.”

“And pray we have time.”

“They’re waiting for Ramses’ go ahead. We have some time.”

“You heard him as well as I, Mano. Sooner or later, they’re gonna kill Marsh and detonate.”