‘None,’ she agreed. ‘Drake stole them from Anders’s computer to blackmail him later. Now this one . . .’ She frowned at the photo for a moment, trying to figure it out. ‘That’s Chip Anders’s hand. See his ring? He’s signing a register at a reception desk. This was taken with a camera somewhere on his suit. Probably the pen in his pocket.’
‘And there’s your sniper, sitting at the receptionist desk.’
Indeed it was. Scarlett clicked to the last photo, another taken with a pen-cam. Yes. ‘Jackpot. It’s Kenneth Sweeney with Demetrius Russell and Alice Newman all together. Marcus didn’t have to remember her voice,’ Scarlett said, relieved. She’d put too much pressure on him asking him to make the ID.
‘I have to say I was impressed with your reporter,’ her father said. ‘He could have made a positive ID, giving you the arrest and himself a story. But he didn’t.’
‘No, he didn’t. It wouldn’t have been the right thing to do. I think you’ll like him once you get to know him, Dad.’
‘I’m looking forward to it, Scarlett Anne.’
Thirty-four
Cincinnati, Ohio
Wednesday 5 August, 7.15 P.M.
Ken drove around the block three times before choosing a parking place behind the Ledger building. There was a back door and a loading dock, although the dock didn’t look like it had been used in decades. He didn’t have much time to draw O’Bannion out. He needed to be on the road to Toronto by daybreak, ten A.M. at the latest.
He was not going to miss his flight tomorrow night. Beaches, palm trees, half-naked women – and freedom – awaited.
He felt the buzz of adrenaline race across his skin as he got his gear ready to go. He had two assault rifles and three handguns and enough ammunition to take out at least a hundred people. Luckily there wouldn’t be nearly that many at the main Ledger building. More than half of the eighty-five Ledger employees worked at the printing facility on the west side of the city. Most of the staff in the main building would have gone home, but because Ken had done his homework, he knew that at least four of O’Bannion’s team were still here. He’d seen their cars parked on the street – Gayle Ennis, the office manager; Cal Booker, the general manager of operations; Stone O’Bannion, reporter and Marcus’s brother; and Elvis ‘Diesel’ Kennedy, chief IT wizard and all-around pain in the ass.
Of all the employees, Stone and Diesel were his prime kill targets. Stone had written the McCord story and someone had hacked into McCord’s computer to find evidence of his kiddie collection. That the hacker was the IT wizard was a logical conclusion. He’d shoot Cal Booker if he had to, but the guy was in his sixties and overdue for retirement, so killing him seemed overly cruel. He would take Gayle Ennis with him. He’d seen the way Marcus had behaved around her at Mikhail’s funeral.
Marcus would come for Gayle.
Everyone else in the building was fair game if they got in the way of his bullet stream.
Ken had donned body armor from his neck to his balls. He looped the two rifles over his chest, Rambo style, then shoved the handguns into holsters at his waist and ankle. Then he pulled his oversized coveralls up and pushed his arms through the sleeves. The coveralls would hide the guns until he got inside, then he would lower the zipper and go to town.
He hadn’t done anything like this in twenty-five years. Not since his and Demetrius’s prime income came from the drugs they transported up I-75 from Florida. Those were the days. Joel had still done their books, but Ken and Demetrius had made the rules. And had broken them whenever the hell they wanted.
Shit. When did we get old? Except there was no ‘we’ anymore. Demetrius was gone. Dumb bastard. You had to go and make me kill you.
He pulled on a ski mask, then bunched it up so that it was perched on the top of his head and topped it with a ball cap. He zipped up the coveralls, pulled the cap’s bill down to cover his face.
Showtime. He got out of his car feeling a giddy nervousness. Like he was going on his first date. He should have done this all along instead of depending on other people to do it for him. The day he stopped getting his hands dirty was the day he’d started becoming soft. Old.
He circled the building and came in through the front. He’d work his way to the back.
He drew a breath as he pushed open the front door, pulled the mask down over his face and the coverall zipper down his chest. He had the rifle cradled in one arm and a handgun in the other hand when the woman at the front desk looked up and Ken smiled.
Excellent. He’d already found Gayle Ennis. He’d grab her and run.
‘I’m sorry, we’re closed for deliv—’ She had a moment of stunned shock, then she started to scream. In seconds he was behind her, his arm slung around her front, the handgun shoved up under her chin.
A burly security guard who’d been standing in the corner rushed forward. He hit the ground running. Literally. His feet were still propelling him forward when Ken’s bullets ripped his head open. The guard dropped like a rock. As did the second guard, who rushed Ken from the offices at the rear of the lobby.
Gayle screamed long and loud, warning her fellow office mates.
‘Go ahead and scream, Miss Ennis,’ Ken murmured in her ear. ‘I want them to come. I’m ready for them.’
She clamped her lips shut, trembling so hard he thought she’d faint. He dragged her away from her desk and checked the main office that had ‘M. O’Bannion’ on the name plate. It was empty. ‘Where is he?’ Ken asked.
‘I don’t know.’
‘Doesn’t matter. He’ll come for you.’ He found the woman’s cell phone in her pocket and quickly dropped it into one of his own pockets, just as the first employee ran into the room and went down in a burst of bullets from Ken’s gun.
Gayle screamed and Ken approved. ‘Very nice,’ he murmured in her ear. ‘That’s how this is going to go down. I shoot, you scream. Your friends come to save you and I shoot some more. Got it?’
He dragged her from the lobby through a door into the newsroom, where a group of cubicles sat in the middle of the room. A third guard fired, then retreated behind a bay of cubicles as the bullet whizzed past Ken’s ear. That was too close.
‘I’ll kill Gayle,’ Ken called to the guard, pulling her a little closer, completely unashamed to be using a woman as his shield. Whatever works. ‘Show your face.’
Ken saw a shadow on the newsroom wall, and he aimed for its source. Ken saw the guard’s uniform sleeve emerge seconds before the man’s full body came into view. Another burst of bullets sent the third guard sliding to the floor.
A door to the left had ‘S. O’Bannion’ on the name plate. Stone.
Ken pushed the door open, but once again found the office empty. Sonofabitch. ‘Where are they, Gayle?’ he asked quietly, but she clamped her lips together and refused to answer.
He dragged her through the cubicles, most of which were empty. The last one had a middle-aged woman huddled under the desk, trying to hide. Ken fired another burst of bullets and Gayle began to sob.
‘Stop,’ she moaned. ‘What do you want? We’ll give you what you want.’
‘Yes, you will.’ Because what he wanted most was Marcus O’Bannion. ‘I want Stone and Diesel. Where are they?’
‘I’m here.’ Stone O’Bannion came through a doorway, his hands out. ‘Let her go. You want me, take me.’
‘Drop your weapons on the floor and kick them over here and then we’ll talk.’ Ken waited as Stone took a handgun from his pants pocket and another from an ankle holster and kicked them away.
‘Let her go,’ Stone demanded. ‘Take me instead.’