Текст книги "Boston Blood"

Автор книги: Louis Samways

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Текущая страница: 4 (всего у книги 17 страниц)

Seventeen

The news room that Sandra stood in was quiet for the first time in over 6 years. It was usually a loud and energetic place where people were reeling for the next big scoop. The past 24 hours have been absolute chaos in her eyes, ever since the massacre at Rixton Stella Avenue, in the outskirts of Boston. It was big news for the community and especially big news for the station. Boston’s outskirts were well known for being their territory. All the big news channels in Boston had the big areas. The known hotspot’s for crime and all this little station was left with was the outskirts that nobody wanted.  That same fact used to annoy the 20 something workforce that controlled the station. They were usually relegated to the fluffy news stories about yard sales raising money for charity and missing dogs. They were the local light hearted news channel that everybody in Boston did not watch, until today that is.

Giving the logistics of channel 72 news, and where they were placed in Boston, they had the advantage over their competitors when it came to breaking the news first in the Rixton area. On this day that meant more than any time before. They were able to report on the massacre at Rixton 25 minutes before the more prominent news channels showed up, the ones with the alphabet jumbled up in their names. Because they turned up before anyone else, that meant the other channels had to keep up with channel 72, and the only way to do that was to use the live feed from channel 72 with a nice little courtesy image on the top left of the screen that said “Channel 72 news feed” which gave the struggling news channel some exposure, it also made the selling of their live feed quite lucrative.

Sandra stood in front of her colleagues to address them of the situation at hand. The news room is abuzz with anticipation as the whole workforce of Channel 72 is stood in front of her, including camera men, journalists and even the owner Bob Sinclair.

‘As you know today has been a monumental day for channel 72 news. Our hard work has paid off in providing the world with uninterrupted coverage of the shocking events at Rixton. We have been lucky enough to be able to succeed at presenting such a professional news cast with such a small workforce. That being said, today’s success has been made possible due to everyone who works here. Without you people we would have sunk long before today’s breakthrough. That being said, I have some bad news. The FBI and local police have authorised the censorship of the Rixton massacre. What that means is that no news station, including ours can run a story on this case. The reason that the decision was made, is because the authorities believe that if we ignore the story then the extremists that have taken M.I.T hostage will not have the spotlight needed to succeed in their mission to instil a revolution and a public uprising. The censorship also includes broadcasting Connor Chase’s live video link when he addresses the public about his crimes. He said he would be releasing a live feed every hour for the next 12 hours, which means we can’t broadcast any of those hourly video streams. Again the authorities insist it will help flush him out. They have profiled him as the sort of killer who murders as a statement, so taking the cameras and coverage away from him will take away his ability to make one.’ says Sandra.

Her boss Bob Sinclair shakes his head mimicking the general response to the speech.

‘What if it just makes him make a bigger statement? Remember he did not have cameras on him when he murdered those 15 people at his house.’ Bob sighs inwards and shakes his head again.

 

Eighteen

The M.I.T building had been turned inside out; all of the PC’s and paper files dealing with the business of the company had been placed in the middle foyer of the building. The mass of computers and hard drives formed an incoherent pyramid that reached near to the top of the ceiling. There was a man on a ladder with a hammer. He was searching for something, and then he found it. He took a swing with the hammer at the fire sprinkler that was just above the mass of hardware that had been piled up underneath it. The thud of the hand held tool was heard echoing of the walls. Only one swing was needed to completely destroy the sprinkler. The man on the ladder gave a satisfied gaze that followed the debris of his handiwork as the plastic and metal shards hit the floor. He made his way down the ladder and stood in front of the pyramid pileup. He bent down and grabbed a rather large jerry can filled with petrol. He started to pour the petrol on the base of the piled up documents. He covered all the bottom of the pyramid making sure to go around and form a crude circle covering the bases of the pile up. He threw the jerry can into the heap and got out a box of matches. He lit a cigarette with his match and took a couple of drags. He smiled briefly before flicking the cigarette into the heap of documents and walked off into the atrium, closing a heavy security door behind him.

‘The fire is lit sir. All of the documents and hardware we have found will be destroyed.’ He said to the man that was waiting for him, Connor Chase.

‘Ah good. Just one thing, are you sure that the fire wont progress and reach us?’ Connor asks

‘No sir. The metal door in front on the foyer will stop the fire spreading, and once it reaches the outside of the building we will be long gone.’

‘If you ask me it seems a bit risky setting fire to a building you’re planning on occupying for a further 10 hours.’

‘That’s the whole point sir. We will be able to block out any incoming attempts at gaining entry to the building. The front passage of the building is the only known entrance that the feds will be able to get to.’

‘What about the fire exits?’

‘Each fire exit is armed with a sensor mechanism that will set off a kilo of C4. The blast will take anything out in a 400 yard radius. The roof has five men on it sir; each armed with stinger missile launchers with an anti-aircraft lock on system, plus each man has an RPG, just for fluency and freedom of attack.’

‘What if they do come in from one of the exits, does that mean we get blown up as well?’

‘No sir. We are situated in the middle of the building 7 stories up. There are no fire exits on that floor, only lift shafts and two stairwells, which will both be barricaded off until our job is done here, and then with the covering fire and support of the five sentry guards on the roof, an apache will land and take us away to our destination.’

‘Good, let’s get this show on the road then’ says Connor

Nineteen

Frank has been sitting down near the phone now for about one hour. He is under the impression that he will be getting a phone call. He knows that Connor Chase would be majorly pissed at the fact that they cut his line to the press. He wasn’t sure whether or not it was a good idea anymore. Sure the upside was that nobody else would be able to witness his heinous crimes and copy them, making the police’s case load bigger than it already was. But there was the danger of Chase going nuts and killing all the hostages because his demands were not being met. Frank knew that he did not mention anything about demanding to be center news or anything of those sorts. He did know however that the state, no matter how many hostages Chase had would not be agreeing to a new amendment, especially from such a violent lobbyist like him.

Frank was sitting alone in his personal office that was given to him by the DA. Frank thought that maybe the only reason Eddie gave him an office was because of the guilt that he may have felt about Frank being fired. Frank knew that Eddie’s position meant he had to be careful of who and what he indulged in, and nobody would support a DA that indulges in people of Frank’s calibre. Frank’s thoughts were rambling so he decided to turn on the TV to see if any of the news channels were finding ways to get the big days story out, bypassing the cease and desist order that the Boston PD had enforced.

The news channels were all complying as he skimmed through all of the news channels. Most of them were reporting on other world events like the prime minister of England being involved in a car crash a few days ago. It was old news but the channels had to make do with what they had, or rather what they were allowed to have.

Frank was bored so he lit up a cigarette. He smoked the cigarette slowly due to the fact that he was running low, his 20 pack was now cut down to a mere 3 cigarette’s including the upside down one for good luck.

He was nearly falling asleep when the door to his office was abruptly opened and Chief Shaw walked in.

‘Alright laddie, No time for small talk Frank, you need to come to the incident room.’

Frank sprung up off his chair trying to present an alert state, even though he was feeling run down.

‘Are you okay?’ Asks Shaw

‘Yeah I’m fine, just feeling the long hours Chief’

Shaw starts to laugh out loud. Frank thought of how strange that reaction was due to the situation at hand, but some people deal with it differently he thought to himself.

‘Oh boy Frank, you never cease to amaze me. I’m nearly double your age and I have yet to fall asleep with a cigarette in my mouth, and be that tiered that I didn’t notice it burn a dam hole into my jacket!’

Frank looks down at his Jacket and shakes his head, one more casualty of the day.

Twenty

Crystal and Jennifer had been sitting down on the train now for around 3 minutes. The time it takes to board the train is not as long as it takes for the train to start moving. On this line it wasn’t uncommon for the drives of the motors to get out of the cab and go for a break. The breaks usually don’t last longer than 10 minutes. No one really minded because it gave people time to put there luggage in compartments, because there is nothing worse than trying to fit a large bag in a compartment while the train’s swerving at 150 MPH. The stoppage also gave people time to go to the toilet without fear of falling over. Jason Bordello was one of those people taking advantage of the train being idle. Crystal and Jennifer looked on as Jason stood up and looked at both of them with smiling eyes.

‘I need to let the hose out a minute. If you don’t mind ladies I’ll be back in a few minutes.’

The reference to “hose” made the two girls blush, Jason smiled again and walked off down the aisle towards the toilet. Both girls watched him until he was out of sight, and turned to each other.

‘Dam, I wish I got one of those cabins instead of this open space seating.’ Jenifer said.

Crystal gave her a side glanced look that was peppered with confusion.

‘Why on earth would you want a cabin for? These seats are fine.’

‘HELLO?!? A gorgeous guy and a cabin equal a much more entertaining train journey.’

Crystal looks shocked at her friend’s comments.

‘You can’t just sleep with the guy! You just met him, plus you don’t know him from anywhere. He could be a creep for all you know.’

‘Who said anything about sleeping with the man? There are far more ways of making a man happy then just sleeping with him. He’s hot anyway, what’s wrong with having a little fun?’

‘There’s fun and there’s danger, I’d rather stay on the safe side then jump on every guy I see.’

‘You’re being so lame Crystal. That father of yours has put too many bows around your life. Live a little, who knows he may enjoy the both of us giving him something to smile about.’

‘God sake girl, I am not into that sort of thing. I’m really starting to not recognise you anymore, your changing from the girl I’ve always known to someone I’m not sure whether I want to know.’

‘Be quiet, he’s coming back’

Jason walks back over to his seat looking relieved. He looks at Crystal and Jenifer.

‘Is everything okay?’

‘Yeah sure it is. I’m just admiring the view.’ Jenifer says looking at Jason’s rear.

Jason gives her a candid grin and sits down opposite her, while Crystal saves face behind a book.

Twenty One

‘What’s going on then?’ asks Frank

The incident room is once again in turmoil with phones going off left, right and center. A group of officers and detectives are staring at the big screen where Connor Chase is about to give another speech. The insignia on the top right of the screen says “LIVE”.

‘I thought we cut Chase’s media exposure? Who’s broadcasting this?’ asks Frank

Shaw turns around to Frank abruptly; the sound of his question seemed to shake Shaw’s attention from the big TV screen.

‘YouTube lad, he’s got a live stream on every major video website on the internet: Justin.tv, YouTube, Dailymotion, and Livestream. He’s even got some streams on pornography websites. There isn’t one video streaming website on the internet that isn’t streaming this, including news networks from out of the country like Aljazeera and the BBC.’

‘Can’t we do anything about it?’

‘I know we are the Boston’s finest Frank, but unfortunately we are not the world police. We can’t be shutting down streams of videos just like that.’

Frank shakes his head in disbelief.

‘I was under the impression we could do just that. I know we have the capability.’

Chief Shaw nods in agreement.

‘We do have the capability it’s just we don’t want to step on other people’s toes.’

‘I hardly think it’s the time to worry about public relations chief’ Frank says scornfully.

‘Believe it or not laddie, it’s always the right time for public relations. You make one wrong decision and it impacts the investigation. Before you know it we have every Tom Dick and Harry poking their peckers into our business.’

Frank was growing impatient and refrained from continuing his opinionated stance on the matter. He walks away from Shaw towards the TV to get a better view of what was happening.  Connor Chase was once again on the center of the screen. His scrawny body unnaturally engulfing the area, the result of which Frank knew was cheap quality cameras, it was more noticeable on the resolution that YouTube ran on. A little banner popped up on the TV:

“Connor Chase Speaks in 1 minute’s time”

Frank thought how clever it was that Connor was biding time, letting news of his stream spread virally until the whole world was watching. Frank looked at the bottom viewer count insignia: 37,987,233 Viewers. Not quite the whole world but more than enough people to insight and spread a message, many more viewers than most videos that go live for the first time get. This man had a following, could it be a dangerous following?

‘Hello again, for the people who don’t know me, my name is Connor Chase. I am armed and so are my men. We have taken hostages and are situated at the M.I.T public relations building in downtown Boston. We have rigged the building with explosives that are both meant to keep people out and in. There is no escape for the hostages; we have men guarding every possible rout out of the building. All hostages are bound and gagged. We mean them no harm, unless our demands are not met. If our wishes are not complied with then we will kill each hostage live on this stream one by one. It is important that you take us seriously so now I am willing to show you how serious we are.’ Connor Says through the TV.

The atmosphere in the incident room changes in a heat beat when a woman is shoved into the cameras view. She is pushed towards Connor Chase who catches her before she falls with a smile on his face. To Frank’s dismay the women being manhandled on the live stream is Tasha, Connors Boss. Connor looks back up at the camera while controlling Tasha’s movement by gripping her hair as she gages on the duct tape around her mouth while trying to catch a breath.

‘This woman’s name is Tasha Mitchel. She is my ex-boss. Not only that but she’s also working with the police to try and make my capture a reality. Thing is she never counted on the fact that my reach goes further then she and everyone thinks. I’m not here to divulge secretes; but she is. So I’m afraid……’

At that moment Connor chase pulls a hand gun out of his jacket with his left hand, holding Tasha’s head still with his right hand. He Aim’s the gun squarely into her forehead, the shiny metal glistening off the light that’s cascading from the crude movie set style lights in the background. He pulls the trigger which is followed by the deathly sound of the bullet echoing off the walls, closely followed by screams. The gun was fired at point blank range and Tasha’s head had exploded at the receiving end of the gunshot, her head seemingly splitting into two while a huge vapour styled puff of blood hung in the air, long after her lifeless body had disappeared from the cameras view. Connor’s white jacket was now decorated with the last fractions of Tasha’s life. He looks up to the camera with a crooked smile.

‘She had to go.’ Connor says

He puts the gun back into his classy white tux.

‘The 28 ^{amendment will amend all the wrongs of this anti privacy government we live under. If I do not hear from someone in the next hour then I shall shoot someone else. I am not saying I want the law passed in an hour. I just want a courtesy call to show me that you people are taking this seriously. Might I add that if you are not taking this seriously then I will kill all of the hostages. Message understood I hope…’  The TV screen goes blank and is replaced with a distasteful TV test card that reads: “REVOLUTION TV WILL BE BACK WITH YOU SHORTLY” With a cartoon picture of “Uncle Sam” flipping the bird.}

Frank looks into the TV screen trying to piece together what just happened. The whole room is in shock at what they had just witnessed, none more so than frank. He felt a connection to Tasha, be it a sexual one at that, it was still a connection. One he hadn’t felt since he was happily married, before all the problems started. Now he felt as if the only thing left was his problems. He felt sick.

Twenty Two

Frank was staring down into the bowl. His knees were hurting because of the prolonged amount of time he had spent vomiting into the toilet. He had lost count of how long he had been in the bathroom being sick, but he had a good inkling it was long enough to raise suspicion with his colleagues regarding his whereabouts. He flushes the toilet and gets up. He catches a glimpse of himself in the mirror. He looks 10 years older than he did 27 hours ago. Frank turns on the tap and sprinkles water into his hair trying to refresh himself, recharge the exterior run down look he had to a more clean and tidy presentation. He looks back down and noticed the cigarette burn that he had inflicted on his shirt a mere hour ago was still there and it was still annoying him. He pokes at it and tried to peel off the crusted shirt fabric surrounding the smelted burn. It felt like hardened plastic that had melted away. Teach me for buying cheap shirts he thought.

Frank gave up on tidying up the appearance of his shirt when he caught another woeful glimpse of himself in the bathroom mirror. The toilets in the incident building were much cleaner than any toilets he had recently found himself occupying. That being said he still felt that dirty cold feeling he always felt when looking at a reflection of himself, the cold harsh reality of who he was and what he had done always settled in hard when observing his soulless eyes and rigid story filled complexion.

The voices were back; this time the whispering was non-existent and what sounded like shouting in his head was digging deep into his psyche affecting his already battered and frayed being.

“Get a grip Frank” He whispered to himself trying to sustain an equal balance of sanity and authority.

“ITS NO GOOD WHISPERING FRANK, WE CAN STILL HERE YOU” The voice said, Frank’s expression growing ever vigilant as sweat pours out of every pour of his body, the results of which make Frank even more weary of his mind and the fact that he knew he was losing it.

“Leave me alone!” Frank shouts, grabbing his head and shaking it as if he’s trying to get rid of the sounds he was hearing.

A boastful sound of laughter is heard as the once whispering voice was now taking pleasure in making Frank’s life a hell.

With Frank growing ever weaker at every failed attempt at gaining composure, he moans in agony while grabbing onto the sink for stability.

“FUCK YOU!” he screams as he takes a forceful swing and punches the mirror so hard that his hand shatters the glass and leaves a spider web imprint akin to a car’s windshield after an accident.

Frank drops to the floor again and huddles himself up, gripping his knees with his bleeding hand, the skin on his knuckles hanging off as a result of the impact from the punch. He moans out loud and crawls to the toilet in pain, as he grips the toilets bowl, he hauls himself over and once again vomits into it, the strain on his stomach is so hard; he feels as if he had just been stabbed.