Текст книги "Panic"

Автор книги: Nick Stephenson

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Текущая страница: 11 (всего у книги 16 страниц)

Chapter 36

The fluorescent lights that illuminated the windows of the high-class department stores and restaurants lining Fifth Avenue cut through the evening gloom as the VW Beetle rattled up to Leopold’s apartment building. The sun had just begun to disappear beneath the skyline and the streets were getting a little quieter as most people were inside eating dinner, starting work on the night shift, or hitting the town for a few weekend drinks.

Leopold cringed as the car hit a pothole, feeling his teeth rattle in his skull. Albert pulled up to the building and entered the pass code into the keypad that opened the underground garage and the heavy gates opened up to let them through. The metallic knocking of the VW’s old engine echoed loudly as Albert drove the car through to the reserved space at the back of the lot, closest to the elevators.

The four of them piled out and rode to the top floor, where Leopold punched in a six-digit pass code and the elevator opened silently into the penthouse apartment’s cavernous entrance hall. The automatic lights came on and bathed the room with a warm glow. Albert whistled, clearly impressed.

Leopold led them through the enormous apartment, just as messy as he had left it earlier that morning, and opened a door that opened into a brightly lit room lined from top to bottom with glass-fronted storage cabinets. This particular room was unique in that it was meticulously neat. The cabinets were filled with laboratory equipment, and a large white counter filled most of the floor space, with a slim touchscreen monitor built into its surface.

“What’s this place?” asked Mary, looking around with interest.

“Store room,” said Leopold. “I keep most of my research equipment in here, but Jerome keeps some items in here too. Items I think we’ll find useful.”

Jerome stepped forward and entered a code into the touchscreen panel. A gentle whirring sound emanated from the unit and the entire countertop slid away, revealing a large storage cabinet underneath. Mounted to the interior walls were a dozen handguns, each of varying caliber, as well as hunting knives, throwing stars, and even a crossbow. In the center, on the floor of the unit, was a collection of chunky black objects that looked a lot like hockey pucks.

Mary turned to Leopold, hands on her hips. “I assume you have a licence for these weapons? They’re not exactly standard issue.”

“Of course,” said Leopold. “And being a major shareholder of the country’s biggest supplier of military weapons means I get access to some of the more interesting pieces.”

“What are those things?” asked Mary, pointing at the hockey pucks.

“Anti-personnel explosives,” said Jerome, before Leopold could answer. “Not as high-tech as the micro-explosives, but they pack a bigger punch.”

“What kind of punch?” asked Albert, reaching out his hand to touch one.

Jerome grabbed his wrist and growled. “Enough to super-heat the blood in your veins to boiling point within ten seconds.”

Albert gulped loudly.

Jerome reached his own hand out slowly, and picked up one of the explosives. “A simple twist of the casing and the explosive is armed,” he continued, holding up the black disc. “The case is made from very low-friction alloy, so it slides easily across most surfaces toward your target’s feet. A second or two later, and the device ignites, setting the target on fire rather than blowing him across the room. Makes for enhanced mayhem in confined spaces, with little impact damage to the surrounding area. Useful if you’ve got someone cornered.”

“And why do we need to know this?” asked Mary.

“Like you said, we need the right tools to get to Christina. Take a look around; I think you’ll find what we need,” said Leopold, picking up one of the handguns and examining it.

As he held the weapon in his hands, he noticed a slight tremor in his grip and realized he hadn’t eaten all day. He was hungry. Starving. “Show them the rest,” he said, patting Jerome on the shoulder. “I’m going to fix us some dinner. It’s not good attempting a daring rescue with low blood sugar.”

Leopold left the others and went through to the kitchen. The automatic lights flicked on as he passed through, set for low ambient lighting at this time of the evening. The kitchen was modest compared to the rest of the apartment – which wasn’t an issue for Leopold, who had most of his food delivered – but it still contained all the equipment needed to cook just about anything. The surfaces were reflective black marble and the appliances were finished with brushed aluminium and glass, except for the industrial-grade Viking gas oven which was stainless steel and took up most of the space.

Leopold opened the fridge and pulled out some cartons of leftover takeout from earlier in the week, stuffing them into the microwave in their containers. A few minutes later, the smell of Chinese food filled the room as Leopold emptied the contents of the cartons onto plates and laid them on the table.

The others soon came through, following the smell of food that had quickly filled the apartment. Albert was licking his lips. They sat at the large dining table overlooking Central Park and ate dinner just as the sun disappeared over the horizon. The city was a buzzing mass of floating lights, and the four of them ate hungrily without speaking, polishing off the meal in a little over five minutes. When they had all finished, Albert sat back in his chair and sighed contentedly.

“I needed that,” said Albert, both hands resting on his stomach.

“Thanks, Leopold,” said Mary.

“Good thinking,” said Jerome. “We need to keep our energy up. No good getting dizzy in a fire fight.”

Albert looked worried for a moment. Then a look of quiet contentment passed over his face and his eyes began to quiver. “Anything for dessert?” he asked, slurring his words slightly.

“What’s wrong with him?” Mary asked, turning to Leopold.

“Don’t worry. Just a little mild sedative I slipped into his food. It’s more effective when injected, but it seems to have done the trick.”

“What did you do that for?” asked Mary, sounding concerned.

“Like you said before, Albert’s a civilian. He doesn’t know what he’s letting himself in for, no matter how eager he is to help. He’ll wind up getting himself killed. It’s a miracle he’s still alive as it is; I’m not taking him along on this trip.”

Albert tried to sit up, as though he couldn’t hear what was being said. He gave up after a couple of unsuccessful attempts and resigned himself to the slumped position he had assumed in the chair. He put his hands back on his belly and slowly closed his eyes, breathing slowly and deeply. Then he burped and fell asleep.

“We’ll put him in one of the guest bedrooms where he won’t get into any trouble,” said Leopold.

“So it’s just the three of us against Stark’s private army,” said Mary. “Although I suppose that’s more effective than the three of us plus Albert.”

“What he lacks in skill, he makes up for in enthusiasm,” said Jerome.

Mary cracked a smile. Leopold put his hand on her shoulder and felt her body move toward him slightly. She turned to look at him.

He looked into her eyes. “You need to be sure about this one, Mary. I don’t want you there if you’re in any doubt.”

“Why would I be in any doubt?” she asked, blinking.

“You’re NYPD. You’ve got due process and rules to follow. Chances are you’ll get fired after this. Or worse.”

“The way I figure it,” she said, twisting herself away from him, “is that Christina’s life is more important than my career, so I’ll worry about the consequences later. No way I’m sitting this one out after everything I’ve been through today.”

Leopold dropped his hand from her shoulder and nodded silently. The discussion was over.

“We’ve finished in the stores,” said Jerome, breaking the silence. “I picked out a few items we can probably use. Of course, it would help to know the plan first.”

Leopold stood up and walked over to the freezer. “Sure. I’ll explain over ice cream.”

Chapter 37

“That’s your plan?” said Mary, glaring at Leopold as she spoke. “Are you crazy?”

Leopold, Mary, and Jerome were still clustered around the dining table, hand-drawn diagrams and maps covering the surface. It was nearly ten at night and tempers were beginning to fray.

“I don’t see an alternative,” said Jerome.

“Well of course you wouldn’t, butler-boy,” said Mary, pointing a finger at the startled bodyguard.

Jerome’s expression darkened, and Leopold thought for a moment she might apologize. He was wrong.

“And don’t give me that look,” she continued. “I’m just trying to tell you where all the holes in your damn plan are. They’re big enough to fall through.”

Leopold sighed and tried to break the tension. “I know it’s crazy, but it’s the only plan we could even feasibly pull off in the time we’ve got. If we don’t get Christina back by tomorrow, we’ll lose her forever. We still have the element of surprise on our side; they won’t expect an attack tonight from just three of us.”

“Of course they won’t,” snapped Mary, “because that would be bat-shit crazy! How the hell do we storm a heavily fortified safe house, filled with armored super-soldiers, in the dark, with just the three of us? Don’t you know anyone useful, with all your connections? We need backup.”

Mary slapped both palms down onto the table as she finished speaking. Leopold jumped slightly.

“I’m afraid my professional network doesn’t extend to hired mercenaries,” replied Leopold, folding his arms. “Besides, we don’t have the time to get a team together. Certainly not a team we can trust, at any rate. We’re better off keeping this between us.”

“It will work if we follow the plan to the letter,” said Jerome, tapping the table with his index finger. “If we want to get Christina alive, it’s our only chance. The only other viable option is to wait for a warrant, which will take too long. Do you have any better ideas?”

Mary didn’t reply. She exhaled slowly and sat down, fingers locked in a pyramid, eyes closed. After a moment she opened her eyes and spoke. Her voice was calm again.

“What I don’t understand, Leopold,” she continued, “is what we’re going to do if Stark has any more bleeding-edge weapons technology that we don’t know about. It’s bad enough going up against someone with a closet full of tiny bombs, without having to worry about running into some kind of space-age laser gun or something.”

Leopold frowned. “It’s unlikely he has access to anything else. The kind of technology required to get that much explosive power into something no bigger than a quarter takes some serious investment. Stark’s a resourceful guy, but I doubt he’s got access to that kind of money. I think he was given the micro-explosives to use for a very specific purpose.”

“So, you’re thinking he’s not the one signing the paychecks?” said Jerome.

“I don’t know,” said Leopold. “All I can tell for sure is that his operation doesn’t have anywhere near the resources needed to steal secret weapons technology from a secure military facility. Whatever he’s got planned, it’s going to be big.”

Mary took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Why don’t you run your plan by me one more time?”

Leopold repeated his strategy and Mary listened. She and Jerome made a few suggestions, and Leopold amended some of the hand-drawn diagrams with busy scribbles as they spoke. After a few minutes they were all in agreement. This was never going to work.

But they were going to try anyway.

Chapter 38

The leafy Park Slopes suburb, nestled in an exclusive corner of Brooklyn, was a refuge for the rich and famous. The streets were immaculate and lined on either side with row after row of tall houses, set back from the sidewalk. Senator Logan’s four-story townhouse was nestled in the center of the street, unremarkable from the outside and wedged between two identical-looking buildings. The house had a heavy wooden door at the top of a short flight of stone steps and huge windows blacked out with thick curtains. Were it not for the knowledge of what was inside, Leopold would not normally have given it a second glance. It was the perfect camouflage.

The streetlights emitted a soft glow, an altogether different light from the harsh neons of mid-town Manhattan, which would make it a little easier to avoid being spotted. This was an important factor. Leopold knew his plan would only work if they could access the garden at the back of Logan’s house, which would inevitably mean climbing a few of his neighbors’ fences.

Thankfully the lights were even dimmer at the end of the street, where Leopold could make out the wooden fence that marked the boundaries of the last house in the row. Once they had climbed over that, there were another six or seven fences to cover before they got to the right garden. From the satellite photos Leopold had printed out earlier, it would be easy to tell which was the right place; Logan looked like he’d spent a fortune turning his entire back yard into something that would give the botanical gardens a run for their money.

Jerome led the way, carrying a rucksack filled with the weapons they had picked out from the storage rooms earlier, and vaulted each of the fences with ease. Leopold and Mary followed, struggling to keep up.

“This is it,” whispered Jerome, as the others landed on the soft grass of the largest garden and rolled into a crouching position.

Leopold held out his hands as Jerome unzipped the rucksack and handed out the equipment. The consultant had chosen a silenced Glock .45, which now felt a lot heavier in his hands than it had before. He looked around the garden, making mental note of blind spots and exit routes. He could make out an ornate gazebo nestled at the back of the plot, standing next to three large greenhouses filled with plants. To the front was an illuminated pond filled with what looked like carp. The rest of the expansive garden was thick with foliage, and the view of the house was obscured by bushes and trees. There was a good twenty feet of lawn, but there was plenty of cover around to reach the back door unseen. The real challenge was what they were going to do when they got there.

Leopold felt a cool splash on his face as the first few fat droplets of cold rain began to fall. After a few seconds, the intensity increased and he could hear the rainfall against the glass of the greenhouses, clattering loudly through the otherwise silent darkness. His eyes adjusted to the lack of light, and he could just about make out the silhouette of three cameras mounted at various points along the back wall of the house. There would probably be motion sensors and infra-red imaging too. There was no way they were getting anywhere near the house without Stark knowing about it. Fortunately, this was essential to the plan.

“We triggered the alarms when we landed,” Jerome whispered. “They should send out a small team to investigate, just as we planned.”

Leopold nodded and checked his watch. So far everything was running on time. He crouched next to Mary and stared intently at the back door, watching for any sign of activity. After a few seconds, the door opened and three armed men walked slowly out onto the flagstones, submachine guns raised at eye level. They wore armor but no helmets. Probably too dark. The weapons had torches mounted on them, and the beams cut across the garden, illuminating the heavy rain as it fell. Leopold watched the three men creep slowly and quietly deeper into the garden. He held his breath. They were only a few feet away from his hiding place.

The man at the front of the group raised his fist, signaling his companions to halt. The three of them kept their weapons raised, scanning the darkness for any sign of movement. Ten seconds of silence, then the leader relaxed his stance and lowered his weapon; the others followed suit. He reached for his radio.

“This is Red Leader. False alarm. Probably a cat or something. No sign of any intruders. Coming back inside. Confirmation gamma-echo-delta-four. Over.”

The radio fizzed and a voice on the other end acknowledged. The three men turned slowly and made their way back in the direction of the house.

Even though he knew it was coming, Leopold still flinched as Jerome fired his silenced handgun, the sharp whip sound making the hairs on the back of his neck stand straight up. He saw the bodyguard’s shot catch the leader as his back was turned, piercing his skull as though it were soft fruit. Leopold and Mary followed suit, each taking out their target from behind with a single burst from their weapons, their silencers proving unnecessary as the mounting storm lashed about them. Their bullets slammed into the men’s exposed heads and they crumpled to the ground like cut rope.

Jerome knelt and removed the leader’s weapon and radio and Leopold and Mary did the same. As the bodyguard led the three of them toward the back door of the house, the consultant prayed the plan had worked. Three go out, three come back in. The infrared cameras wouldn’t be able to tell the difference.

Leopold was familiar with the radio check-in procedures that most military units adopted. The last transmission had been a few seconds earlier, meaning they had anywhere between three and ten minutes before the unit commander would check on them again. When they didn’t receive the right pass phrase over the radio, they would raise the alarm immediately and all hell would break loose.

The three of them slipped quietly through the back door and into the kitchen, taking care not to disturb the heavy frying pans and skillets that hung from hooks above the counter tops, and stood dripping near the back wall, checking for any signs of movement. The kitchen and dining area was large and empty, and appeared to be unused. Leopold could make out the other rooms from here, also empty, meaning they had this floor to themselves. Satisfied the coast was clear, Jerome signalled they could proceed, and Leopold pulled out the antipersonnel explosives from his backpack and placed them carefully on the counter top, taking care that they didn’t slide off the polished surface. There were three in total, one each. The consultant handed them out as the radio in Jerome’s hand stuttered.

“Red Leader, check in,” a crackly voice came through the speaker. “Authenticate delta-alpha-delta-three. Over.”

Jerome didn’t answer.

“Red Leader, check in. Over,” the voice came through again.

Jerome held the radio up to his mouth. “This is Red Leader, checking in. Over.”

There was no response for a few seconds. “Roger that, Red Leader. Out.”

“They know something’s wrong,” said Jerome. “We didn’t have the code. They’ll be sending a team to engage us. It’s time to put the next phase of the plan into action.”

“Take up your positions,” said Leopold. “We only get one chance at this.”

Chapter 39

The few lights in the house snapped into darkness. The soft glow that had given the rooms a warm and welcoming feel vanished in an instant, replaced instead by inky blackness and the occasional burst of white light from the storm flashing outside. The darkness gave more weight to the rain, which sounded like gravel hitting a tin roof. Leopold tightened his grip on the anti-personnel explosives and glanced over at Mary and Jerome, both stood ready for action, coiled up and tensed like springs.

Stark’s men were using classic engagement tactics. First, kill the power and disorient your targets. Second, surround and cut off exit routes. Third, neutralize. Leopold knew the drill. He listened intently through the clattering of the rain for the sound of movement, but there was nothing. He glanced at Mary, who seemed to be thinking the same thing. Jerome kept still, tilting his head slightly, listening. There was only the noise of the storm outside as they waited in the stagnant darkness. Just waiting and listening. Finally Jerome’s head turned sharply and he nodded to Leopold. They were here.

Leopold faced the doorway that led to the hall. Jerome and Mary covered the other entry points. Stark’s men would attempt to surround them on each side, but they wouldn’t be expecting a counterattack. They would expect a retreat. This single misapprehension would buy them a second or two to press their advantage, a fleeting chance of success. Christina’s fate came down to how those two seconds were going to unfold.

They came like a battering ram. Like a stampeding herd. Two men at each door, six in total, bursting into the room with their heavy boots and submachine guns. Like their comrades, they wore body armor but no headgear. They moved in unison, a single entity with lethal intent. But they weren’t expecting what happened next.

As the men entered, Leopold crouched and slipped out behind them before they had time to turn around to check their blind spots; a split second advantage brought about by the lack of light. Mary and Jerome did the same, and the three of them stood in separate doorways, looking in at the group of killers standing in the center of the room. The bodyguard nodded and each of them twisted the casing of their explosive, sliding them across the carpet as Stark’s men turned to face them, weapons raised and ready to fire.

The grenades got there first. The white phosphorous and other chemicals inside the devices crushed together on detonation, sparking an exothermic reaction powerful enough to raise the temperature of the target area to five thousand degrees Fahrenheit. The room was lit up with a blinding flash as the phosphorous ignited, sticking to the clothes and skin of Stark’s men. Leopold slammed the heavy door shut and dropped to the floor, avoiding the inevitable back-blast. He hit the ground hard, reigniting the pain in his ribs, just as the sprinkler system kicked in. Then the screaming started.

The white phosphorous was immune to the effects of the water pumping from the ceiling, and Leopold soon heard the whoosh of the white hot flames as they engulfed the room with astonishing speed and fury. He caught the acrid smell of melting fabric as the men’s clothes melted onto their skin. The screaming got louder and the heat intensified as the flames grew, seeking more fuel. Those who hadn’t passed out from the pain were still shrieking in agony as the blood in their veins reached boiling point and the last of the air was sucked out of their lungs by the hungry inferno.

Leopold gagged as the temperature near the door rose to an unbearable level, bringing with it the thick stink of chemical smoke and charred meat. The doors were modern and designed to resist fire, but it would only be a matter of time before the blaze got through. Hopefully they would hold out long enough for the flames to run out of fuel and die down, giving them just enough time to get to Christina before it was too late.

Stark was nine men down. With the mess at the library earlier, that brought the total dispatched to fourteen. The odds were getting a little better.