The Siren Project (30 page)

While he was read his rights, Mitch watched
to ensure Christa was safely in the rough care of the ESU team. Other team
members swarmed around the limo as McNamara, Bradick and the two heavies were
pulled from the car and their weapons confiscated.

“We had no idea he was a murderer,”
McNamara declared. “We had nothing to do with it. I used to work for the
National Security Agency. I have a top level security clearance. I can give you
a number in Washington to call. You’re making a big mistake.”

An ESU officer spun McNamara around and
pushed him hard against the car. “Shut the fuck up!” Before he could voice a
complaint, handcuffs were snapped on his wrists.

Mitch, his face pressed against the metal
of the car, locked eyes with McNamara and grinned. “I guess you need a bigger
computer, asshole!”

Mitch was pulled away from the limousine by
two E-men as police cars crowded in behind the gridlocked cars. Christa was
loaded into a squad car, escorted by a police woman, while Mitch was marched
toward another police vehicle. Police officers took up position either side of
him in the back seat, then the squad car headed off in the same direction
Christa had been taken. He caught glimpses of McNamara trying to talk his way
out of the situation, but the ESU team weren’t interested.

Mitch glanced at one of the two police
officers sitting either side of him. “How did you know where to find me?”

The bigger of the two officers looked at
him disdainfully. “Something about a FBI computer flag. It came over the radio.”

A wry grin crossed Mitch’s face. “There’s
just no escaping those FBI computer flags!”

* * * *

Mitch was locked alone in his cell for
more than five hours before someone came to question him. He declined to make a
phone call, mindful of the ever present threat of Echelon, and certain Mouse
knew where he was. He had no doubt Mouse’s computer tricks had put him there,
safely out of McNamara’s reach, and it would be those same skills that would get
him out. When the guard finally led a tall, well dressed middle aged man to his
cell, Mitch was wary. His visitor had short cropped hair framing sharp African
American features and eyes that exuded a steely toughness that could break a
hardened criminal with a look.

“My name’s FBI Special Agent Lamar. According
to everything I'm seeing and hearing, you killed a Secret Service agent by the
name of Mathew Prescott. Is that true?”

“No.”

“You used to work together, before they
threw you out of the Secret Service.”

“Yeah, we did.”

“I understand you even went skiing together
once.”

“Up in Canada. That was a long time ago.”

Lamar placed his foot on the bunk Mitch sat
on, and stared down at him. “If you were such good buddies, how is it our
computer flags you’re in a black limo stuck in traffic in downtown New York? Better
than that, we know the license plate number, the street you’re in, in fact,
we’re so freaking brilliant, we know where in the street you are! And we don’t
even have a tail on you! Shit, I've never even heard of you before today.” He
commenced pacing. “I’ve been in the Bureau twenty years, and I've never seen a
flag like this! Not to mention you weren’t even a suspect. Hell, we didn't even
know Prescott was dead.” Lamar turned to Mitch. “Is he dead?”

“Yes, he is.”

“But you didn't kill him?”

Mitch shook his head. “No.”

“The Bureau computer is convinced you did. And
the Bureau computer must be right, because apparently, I was the one who told
the computer you were public enemy number one and, I was the one who requested we
send a God damned SWAT team to arrest you. Funny thing is, I don't remember
doing any of that stuff. So why don't you tell me, what the fuck is going on?”

“Technical glitch?”

Lamar scowled. “I did a little checking on
you Mitchell. You’re no boy scout. From what I can tell, you're something of a
vigilante, not that anyone will miss a Columbian drug dealer. Is that what this
is, vigilante justice?”

“If you want me to answer, I need to know I
can trust you.”

Lamar gave Mitch a suspicious look. “What
the fuck for? Just tell me the truth. What happened to Prescott?”

“He . . . died in the line of duty.”

“You want to explain that?”

“The four men who were arrested with me had
a hand in it.”

“What four men? The arrest record says just
you and a woman were taken into custody.”

“They’re out already?” Mitch couldn't hide
his surprise.

“Who’s out? What are you talking about?”

“The real killers. That’s what I’m trying
to tell you. There were four of them, and they were going to do to me, what
they did to Prescott.”

“Why?”

Mitch thought for a moment. “Is the woman I
was brought in with, still in custody?”

“Yeah, she’s on ice upstairs.”

“We’re both going to need protection.”

Lamar raised his eyebrows. “Witness
protection?”

“Whatever you’ve got.”

“Why should I do that?”

With Knightly brain dead, his organization
all but destroyed, Mitch knew he needed an ally. He glanced through the bars of
his cell, checking if anyone was listening, then leant toward Lamar and spoke
in a low voice. “Look, I don’t have all the answers, but I can tell you this,
Prescott’s death is the tip of the iceberg. Before I can tell you anything, I
need to talk to Christa, and . . . you need to be in the room.”

“Listening to the conversation?”

“No, I mean Christa and I talk privately,
while you're in the room.” Mitch was almost certain Lamar was not conditioned,
but before he would make a deal with him, he needed Christa’s confirmation. “After
that, if everything pans out, I’ll tell you what I know.”

“Now you know, I can’t do that. Have you
two collude on your story? Not a chance.”

“That’s not the reason. But if you want me
to tell you what I know, that’s the price.”

Lamar hesitated. “I’ll think about it.”

“Don’t take too long. With McNamara out
already, it’s only a matter of time before they get to us. Unless you want two
more dead bodies on your hands, you’ve got to get us out of here, to a safe
place. And there can’t be any record of where you put us, on any computer.”

Lamar studied Mitch uncertainly.

“And double security at the convention,” Mitch
added.

“Do what?”

“There’s going to be a domestic terrorist
attack on the convention being held in New York this week.”

Lamar’s eyes narrowed. “How do you know
that?”

“Meet with me and Christa first, then I’ll
explain.”

The FBI Special Agent produced a small
white card and passed it to Mitch without a word, then stepped to the bars and
called the guard to let him out. “You’ll be safe enough in here until I get
back.”

Mitch stepped up to the cell bars. “Lamar!”

“Yeah?”

“Don’t use the phones. They’re unsafe.”

Lamar gave him an incredulous look, then
strode off down the corridor. Mitch glanced down at the card, neatly embossed
with the insignia of the Federal Bureau of Investigation, and read the name:
Michael J. Lamar, Special Agent.

* * *
*

The watchhouse guard unlocked Mitch’s
cell late that evening. Mitch had been dozing, but the clank of the key in the
cell lock roused him. The guard motioned for Mitch to step out.

“The charges have been dropped,” the guard
said as he pulled the cell door open.

Mitch sat up surprised. “When?”

“Do I look like the district attorney?”

Mitch grabbed his coat and followed the
guard down the dimly lit corridor, past other cells occupied with sleeping
prisoners. “What about the woman I was brought in with?”

“I’m night shift. I don’t know anything
about a woman.”

The guard led Mitch out to the night desk,
where the officer on duty handed him an envelope with his personal items. Mitch
signed for them, then was shown to the station's entry. Christa was standing by
the front door alone, waiting.

“Do you know what’s going on?” Mitch
whispered.

“No, they just let me out. They said you
were being released too, so I waited.”

“Did you talk to Lamar?”

“Briefly. He asked a lot of questions, but
I told him I wouldn’t say anything without seeing you first.”

“Was he conditioned?”

“No.”

“You’re sure?”

“Absolutely.”

“What about McNamara, and the others?”
Mitch asked.

“No, none of them.”

“That confirms it then. McNamara is part of
the organization running things, not a slave to it.”

Christa stepped aside as a couple of police
officers brought in a man under arrest. “I haven’t been outside yet. I thought
McNamara might be waiting out there.”

“You know they were released almost as soon
as they were arrested?”

“I guessed. Lamar asked me about them. He
obviously had no idea who they were. When I was released, I thought McNamara
could have arranged it.”

“He might have.” Mitch studied the room
around them. There were a few police officers coming and going, a sergeant on
duty at the main desk and several prisoners being processed, but no one seemed
to be paying them any attention. “Come on.”

Mitch strolled casually across the room
toward a hallway leading back through the police station, past a row of mostly
deserted offices.

“Can I help you?” A uniformed officer stood
in the hall watching them curiously.

“My wife needs to use the bathroom.”

The young officer pointed down the hall,
toward the rear of the station house. “Down there, on the left.”

Christa smiled. “Thanks.”

They headed down the hall, took the left
turn out of sight of the officer, then continued on past the ladies room to the
rear exit. Mitch let them out into the alley behind the police station. It was
dark and deserted with bright street lights at one end and a gloomy side street
the other.

Mitch started toward the dark side street,
speaking in a low voice. “If McNamara got us released, he’ll wait only so long,
then he’ll send someone in looking for us.”

They turned into the side street and headed
away from the main entrance to the police station. They'd gone barely twenty
feet when a car pulled into the street far behind them, illuminating them with
its headlights.

“Hurry,” Mitch whispered, holding Christa’s
arm firmly, almost running.

Another side street lay ahead, but the car
drove toward them fast, too fast. Suddenly Mitch lamented not having his gun. He
knew from the sound of the car’s engine it was racing to close the distance
between them. The car lights grew brighter, picking them out starkly against
the shadowy grime of the back street.

“Run,” Mitch yelled, pulling Christa
forward.

They darted into the side street, as the
car screeched to a stop at the intersection, then Mitch heard a car door behind
them open.

Chasing us on foot? They
want us alive!

“Mitch!” Mouse’s voice cut through the
night.

Mitch stopped dead, spinning around to see
Mouse standing by the car waving them back. Gunter sat hidden in the shadows,
behind the wheel.

“Hurry, there’s surveillance everywhere,”
Mouse yelled.

Mitch and Christa ran to the car, jumped
in, then Gunter slammed on the gas.

“Good thing those storm troopers missed the
tracking device in your shoes,” Mouse said. “I knew as soon as you went out the
back way what was up. Been watching your position all day.”

“That was a nice job,” Mitch said. “Getting
us arrested like that.”

Mouse shook his head. “That wasn’t me! I
didn’t know what was happening when the chopper arrived. I got you out of jail
tonight with a cheap trick, but getting you in there, that was something
special. I shut down the traffic lights, knocked out the power, I even faked a
message to the fire department, just to confuse things. But I was running out
of ideas fast.”

“They told me the FBI computers flagged me.
That’s how the SWAT team got involved.”

“I can hack into their computers, but not
in two minutes. That was somebody else. They must have routed priority alert
messages between the FBI and local police.”

“There was an authorization from a FBI Special
Agent.”

“Wow, a forged authorization! That takes
time and planning. At least it does for me. No way I could get that shit
together in the few minutes from when the spook parade arrived to when the SWAT
team pulled the plug. It’s a physical impossibility.”