The Edge of Armageddon Page 3

  From actual jungle to concrete jungle, Drake thought. We never close.

  All around him sat the dependable crossed lines and turbulent waves of his life. Alicia and Beau, Mai and Kenzie, and Torsten Dahl. The second chopper housed Smyth and Lauren, Hayden, Kinimaka and Yorgi. The team was speeding into New York’s airspace, already cleared by President Coburn on down, and banking hard as they zipped through gaps between skyscrapers and zoomed low towards a square-shaped roof. Turbulence battered them. The radio squawked as information streamed in. Drake could only imagine the bustle on the streets below, the hurrying agents and frantic SWAT teams, the hellish thought of the sprint toward saving New York and the eastern seaboard.

  He breathed deeply, sensing the next few hours would go ballistic.

  Dahl caught his eye. “After this, I’m taking a vacation.”

  Drake admired the Swede’s confidence. “After this, we’re all gonna need one.”

  “Well, you ain’t coming with me, Yorkie.”

  “Not a problem. I’m pretty sure Johanna will be in charge anyway.”

  “What the hell’s that supposed to mean?”

  The chopper fell fast, sending their stomachs toward the stratosphere.

  Alicia sniggered. “Only that we know who runs the Dahl household, Torsty. We know.”

  The Swede made a face, but didn’t comment further. Drake shared a grin with Alicia and then noticed Mai watching the both of them. Shit, as if we didn’t have enough to worry about.

  Alicia waved at Mai. “You sure you can handle this kinda action, Sprite, after cutting yourself shaving so recently?”

  Mai’s expression didn’t change, but she did send a hesitant hand toward the new scar across her face. “Recent events have made me so much more careful about those people I trust. And to watch for those who betray.”

  Drake cringed inside.

  Nothing has happened. She left me, ended it! Nothing was promised . . .

  Emotions and thoughts churned together to make an acidic bile that mixed with a thousand other feelings. Dahl, he noticed, inched away from Kenzie, and Beau barely broke eye contact with Alicia. Christ, he hoped the passions were running a little lower inside the second chopper.

  More wild winds battered them as the chopper’s skids tapped against the building’s roof. The bird settled and then the doors were flung open, occupants jumping down and sprinting to an open door. Men with guns guarded the entrance and several more were stationed inside. Drake ducked in first, feet flying and feeling a little unprepared without weapons, but knowing full well they would be tooling up soon. The team hustled down the narrow staircase one at a time until they emerged in a wide corridor, blacked out and lined by even more guards. Here, they paused for a moment before receiving instructions to continue.

  All clear.

  Drake jogged, aware they had lost vital days getting the information out of the bazaar and then being debriefed by suspicious agents, especially those from the CIA. In the end, it had been Coburn himself who intervened, commanding that the SPEAR team be sent immediately to the hottest spot on the planet.

  New York City.

  Now, down another flight of stairs and they came to a balcony area where they could look out over an inner set of rooms—the station house of a local police precinct on 3rd and 51st, he had been told. Unknown to the public the precinct doubled as a Homeland Security office—in fact it was one of two that had been called the city’s “hub”, the nucleus of all the agencies’ activities. Now Drake watched the local police going about their everyday actions, the station bustling, loud and packed, before a black-suited man approached from the far end.

  “Let’s move,” he said. “No time to waste here.”

  Drake couldn’t agree more. He pushed Alicia along, much to the blonde’s distaste, receiving a dour look for his troubles. The others crowded in, Hayden trying to approach the new guy but running out of time as he vanished through a far door. As they filed through they came into a round room with white tiled floor and walls, and chairs placed in rows facing a small dais. The man ushered them in as fast as he could.

  “Thanks for coming,” he said emotionlessly. “Just so you know the men you captured—the self-named Ramses, and Robert Price—have been taken to the cells below us, there to await the outcome of our . . . manhunt. We figured they might hold valuable information and should be close by.”

  “Especially if we fail,” Alicia said grimly.

  “Indeed. And these prison cells, underground, with added security inside the Homeland division, will keep Ramses’ presence undetected, as I’m sure you can appreciate.”

  Drake remembered that Ramses’ local units, after they had stolen or violently taken the nuke from Marsh’s hands, were under orders to await Ramses’ go ahead for detonation. They didn’t know he had been captured, or that he’d almost died. The New York cells of Ramses’ organization knew nothing at all.

  It was at least one thing the SPEAR team had in their favor.

  “He will become useful,” Hayden said. “I’m pretty sure.”

  “Yeah,” Smyth added. “So lay off the cattle prod for now.”

  The Homeland agent winced. “My name is Moore. I am the lead field agent here. All intelligence will pass through me. We’re setting up a new task force to assimilate and assign actions. We have the hub, and now we’re arranging the offshoots. Every agent and cop—available or not—is working this threat and we are fully aware of the consequences of failure. This cannot . . .” he faltered a little, showing stress which would normally be unheard of. “This cannot be allowed to happen here.”

  “Who is in charge on the ground?” Hayden asked. “Who makes the decisions here, where it really counts?”

  Moore hesitated and scratched his chin. “Well, we do. Homeland. In conjunction with the Counter Terrorism Unit and the Threat Squad.”

  “And by we do you mean you and I? Or do you mean just Homeland?”

  “I think that may change as the situation demands,” Moore allowed.

  Hayden looked satisfied. “Make sure your cellphone battery’s charged.”

  Moore looked the group over, as if sensing their urgency and liking it. “We have a short window as you know. It won’t take long for these bastards to figure out Ramses ain’t about to lay down that order. So, first things first. How do we locate a terrorist cell?”

  Drake checked his watch. “And Marsh. Shouldn’t Marsh be the priority since he’s with the bomb?”

  “Intelligence says Marsh will merge with the local cells. We don’t know how many that will be. So we concentrate on both, of course.”

  Drake recalled Beau’s report of the conversation between Marsh and Webb. It occurred to him then that the slippery Frenchman, whom they first met whilst being forced to participate in the Last Man Standing tourney and pretty much battled against ever since, had shone for the light of good when it mattered. Shone like a star. He really should give the guy an extra break.

  Somewhere along the tibia . . .

  Moore spoke again. “There are several ways to locate a deep cell, or even a sleeper cell. We narrow the suspect pool. We investigate links to other known cells that are already under surveillance. Check fiery places of worship where well-known Jihadists spew their poison. We look at newly ritualized people—those who suddenly develop interests in religion, withdraw from society or speak out about a woman’s dress. The NSA listens to metadata collected from millions of cellphones, and evaluates. But far more effective are the men and women who risk it every day of the week—those we have infiltrated into the population from which fresh Jihadists are regularly recruited.”

  “Undercover.” Smyth nodded. “That’s good.”

  “It is. Our information thus far is thinner than Barbie Iggy Pop. We’re trying to confirm the amount of people in each cell. Size of cells. Areas. Capabilities and readiness. We’re combing all the recent phone logs. Do you think Ramses will talk?”

  Hayden was itching to get started. “We�
�re gonna give it a friggin’ good try.”

  “The threat is imminent,” Kinimaka said. “Let’s assign teams and get the hell out there.”

  “Yes, yes, that’s good,” Moore explained. “But where will you go? New York is a very large city. Nothing can be gained by running off without a place to go. We don’t even know if the bomb is real. Many people can make a bomb . . . look right.”

  Alicia shifted in her seat. “I can vouch for that.”

  “Vehicles are at the ready,” Moore said. “SWAT vehicles. Choppers. Unmarked, fast cars. Believe it or not we do have plans for this scenario, ways to clear the streets. Officials and their families are already being evacuated. All we require now is a starting point.”

  Hayden turned to her team. “So let’s quickly assign groups and get started on Ramses. Like the man said—our window is small and it’s already closing.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Julian Marsh left the motel feeling refreshed, even exhilarated but also a little sad. He’d dressed well; blue jeans with one leg a tad darker than the other, several layers of shirts and a hat tugged down over one side of his head. The look was good, and he thought he’d outdone Zoe. The woman emerged from the little bathroom looking a bit disheveled, hair only partly brushed and lipstick half-applied. It was only after a few minutes of appraisal that Marsh realized she was deliberately trying to emulate him.

  Or pay tribute to him?

  Probably the latter, but it did set Marsh on edge. The last thing he wanted was a female version of himself cramping his unique style. Almost as an afterthought he plucked the backpack from the bed, stroking the material and feeling the contours of the living beast inside.

  Mine.

  The morning felt good, crisp, bright and happy. Marsh waited as a five-seater car pulled up and two men jumped out of the front. Both were swarthy and bore full beards. Marsh spoke the final password for the final journey and allowed them to open the back door. Zoe appeared as he climbed in.

  “Wait.” One of the men produced a pistol as the woman approached. “There should be only one.”

  Marsh tended to agree, but a different side of him wanted to get to know the woman even better. “She is a late addition. She’s okay.”

  Still the gun hand hesitated.

  “Look, I have been out of contact for three days, maybe four.” Marsh couldn’t clearly recall. “Plans change. I gave you the password, now heed my words. She’s okay. An asset, even.”

  “Very well.” Neither man looked convinced.

  The car took off fast, spinning a plume of dirt from the rear tires, and turned toward the city. Marsh settled back as the skyscrapers loomed even larger and the traffic thickened. Shiny, reflective surfaces surrounded the car, blinding in some places as they redirected the artificial lights. Crowds thronged the sidewalks and buildings flashed with information. Cop cars cruised the streets. Marsh saw no sign of heightened police attention, but then couldn’t see above the roof of the car. He mentioned it to the driver.

  “Everything seems normal,” the man came back. “But speed is still essential. Everything will fall apart if we move too slowly.”

  “Ramses?” Marsh asked.

  “We await his word.”

  Marsh frowned, sensing some condescension in the reply. This plan was entirely his and Ramses’ minions should be dancing to his tune. As soon as they arrived at the place Marsh had chosen and prepped months before they could begin.

  “Stay under the radar,” he said by way of asserting control. “And under the speed limit, eh? We don’t want to get stopped.”

  “We are in New York,” the driver said, and then both men laughed as he gunned it from a red light. Marsh chose to ignore them.

  “But,” the driver then added. “Your backpack? It’s . . . contents have to be verified.”

  “I know that,” Marsh hissed. “Don’t you think I know that?”

  What type of ape had Webb saddled him with?

  Perhaps sensing the rising tensions, Zoe sidled over toward him. Only the nuke sat between them. Her hand wriggled slowly over the backpack, a fingertip at a time, and down toward his lap, making him start and then stare.

  “Is that really appropriate?”

  “I don’t know, Julian. Is it?”

  Marsh wasn’t entirely sure, but the sensations were pleasant enough so he let it go. It occurred to him briefly that Sheers was a bit of a looker, powerful as a Shadow Pope, and no doubt able to call upon any male specimen she required.

  Why me?

  The nuke probably helped, he knew. Every girl fancied a man with a nuke. Something to do with power . . . oh, well, maybe she liked the idea that he was that little bit more formidable than her. His quirkiness? Sure, why the hell not? His train of thought derailed as they pulled up at the curb, the driver briefly pointing out the building that Marsh had chosen on a previous visit. Outside, the day was still warm and entirely unexpected. Marsh imagined fat government asses planted firmly in their plush leather seats about to get the spanking of their lives.

  Soon now. So soon I can barely contain myself.

  He took Zoe by the hand and pretty much skipped across the sidewalk, letting the backpack dangle from a crooked elbow. Past the doorman and with instructions left, the four-strong group took an elevator to the fourth floor and then checked the spacious, two-bedroom apartment. All was well. Marsh threw open the balcony doors and took another sniff of the city air.

  Might as well whilst I still can.

  The irony made him laugh at himself. It would never happen. All the Americans had to do was believe, pay up, and then he could dispose of the nuke in the Hudson as planned. Then, a new plan. A new life. And a fascinating future.

  A voice spoke at his shoulder. “We have a man on the way who is able to verify the contents of your backpack. He should arrive within the hour.”

  Marsh nodded without turning. “As expected. Very good. But there are still a few considerations. I need a boffin to help with the money transfer once the White House has paid. I need help setting the chase in motion, to help divert attentions. And we need to activate all the cells and arm that bomb.”

  The man behind him shifted. “All in the planning,” he said. “We are prepared. These things will come together very soon.”

  Marsh turned and walked back into the hotel room. Zoe sat sipping champagne, her slim legs raised and resting along a chaise longue. “So we’re just waiting now?” he asked the guy.

  “Not long.”

  Marsh smiled at Zoe and held out a hand. “We’ll be in the bedroom.”

  The couple snagged a strap each of the backpack and carried it with them into the biggest bedroom. Within a minute they were both naked and twisting together atop the sheets. Marsh tried to prove he possessed the required reserves of stamina this time, but Zoe was just a little too wily. Her wide flawless face did all sorts of things to his libido. In the end it was good that Marsh finished quickly because there soon came a knock at the bedroom door.

  “The man is here.”

  Already? Marsh dressed quickly alongside Zoe and then the two of them wandered back out into the suite, still flushed and slightly sweating. Marsh shook hands with the newcomer, noting his lank hair, pale complexion and rumpled clothes.

  “Don’t get out much?”

  “They keep me locked away.”

  “Oh, well, whatever. Have you come to check my bomb?”

  “Yes, sir, I have.”

  Marsh placed the backpack on the low glass table that occupied the center of the large room. Zoe walked by, catching his attention as he briefly remembered her naked form from only minutes ago. He dragged his eyes away, addressing the newcomer.

  “What’s your name, lad?”

  “Adam, sir.”

  “Well, Adam, you know what this is and what it can do. Do you feel nervous?”

  “No, not at the moment.”

  “Tense?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Twitchy? Stresse
d? Maybe overwrought?”

  Adam shook his head, eyeing the backpack.

  “If you are I’m sure Zoe here can help you out.” He said it half-jokingly.

  The Pythian turned with a sly smile. “Be happy to.”

  Marsh blinked, as did Adam, but before the youth changed his mind their bearded driver spoke up. “Hurry this,” he said. “We must be ready for . . .” he tailed off.

  Marsh shrugged. “All right, no need to start stamping your feet. Let’s get down and dirty.” He turned to Adam. “With the bomb, I mean.”

  The young man turned a bewildered gaze firmly upon the backpack and then rotated it, so the buckles faced him. Slowly, he undid them and eased the top open. Inside lay the real device, surrounded by a sturdier and altogether superior backpack.

  “Okay,” Adam said. “So we all know about MASINT, the Measurement and Signature Intelligence protocol that scans data received from radiation and other physical phenomena signatures associated with nukes. This device, and at least one other like it that I know of, have been post-designed to slip under that field. Now, there are a lot of systems detecting and monitoring the world for nuclear devices but not all of them are cutting edge, and not all of them are fully manned.” He shrugged. “Look at the recent debacles in civilized countries. Can anyone really stop a determined man or tight cell acting alone? Of course not. It only takes a single malfunction or an inside job.” He smiled. “An unhappy employee or even a dead-tired one. Mostly it takes money or leverage. These are the best currencies of international terrorism.”

  Marsh listened to the young man talk, wondering if one or two deeper precautions had been taken when he explained his route to Ramses and Webb. It would have been in all their best interests. He would never know and, frankly, didn’t really care. He was right here now, and about to open the doorway to Hell.

  “Essentially, this is what we call a ‘dirty bomb’,” Adam said. “The term has been around forever but still applies. I have a scintillometer to detect alpha particles, a contaminant detector, and a few other goodies. But mostly,” Adam took a screwdriver out of his pocket, “I have this.”