“Yes, sir.”
“Give him something to eat, will you? I won’t be long.”
Jessup said nothing to Gizbo’s puzzled stare. He was puzzled enough as it was. Why did Shelby have to gatecrash Memoria’s HQ? Why did he go to the Bronx? Who was helping him? More importantly, why did the Feds insist it was a one-man job?
“Let’s go,” he said to the lieutenant. Together, they went up the stairs following the sergeant and the train driver. “Close the station and send all the witnesses to the base for a quick and quiet questioning. I want the tapes on my desk the moment the questioning’s finished. Make sure the other platforms are under control, as well as the parallel lanes. Search all potential suspects and detain if necessary, but make sure you keep the Feds at bay and give the public no excuse to file complaints.
The captain glanced at his watch and swore under his breath. The Mayor had cut down the migrants’ hours, hadn’t he? In thirty minutes, the Sixth Avenue Express would leave Brooklyn completely packed, followed by trainfuls of workers who cleared the debris in Manhattan South. If they didn’t open the line by then, in the next thirty minutes they could expect an absolute stampede at all the surrounding stations…
Jessup cringed. To find Shelby, he had fifteen minutes at the very most.
By the time he walked up the stairs, one of Memoria’s choppers had already landed. The other hovered over the landing pad. The first one disgorged a squad of over a dozen soldiers, all clad in black, with Memoria’s orange logos on their shoulders. They formed an uneven line and jogged toward Jessup.
“Sir?” Gizbo glanced at him, unsure, and turned on the radio.
“They’re not going in,” the captain said looking straight ahead. “Call for reinforcements.”
Behind his back, the lieutenant mumbled orders into the microphone as Jessup watched the other helicopter land far to their right. The engine roar died down, the rotor blades losing momentum. A few seconds later, the cabin door slid open. Agent Archer leapt out, followed by three civilians: two men and a woman. Yet more men stayed inside, dressed like guards or wardens and apparently accompanying the three.
Immediately, Jessup recognized the migrants’ leaders. The senior — in rank as she was in years — was Anna Gautier. The two men were Lionel Batford and Nicholas Floyd. The captain boasted nice fat files on all three, much of which he could recite from memory, thanks to his own mole among their leaders. The men were about the same age as Frank Shelby. The difference being, they had been born in migrant camps.
Anna Gautier smoothed out her grey hair, disheveled by the downdraft. She turned to the captain, but the Memoria squad poured into the station blocking her from his sight.
“Stay as you were!” Gizbo stepped forward.
A few patrol cops joined the officers, their guns at the ready.
The lieutenant raised his hand.
“I order you to stop — now!” He spoke into the radio and glanced back, nervous.
Jessup’s eyes searched for the squad leader. They all looked alike, faces hidden under the identical helmets and masks, and no insignia, apart from the orange flower on one shoulder. The uneven line approached fast, stomping their combat boots against the tarmac. The gloomy formation didn’t seem to experience emotion: Jessup had a funny feeling he was attacked by a line of either robots or suicide killers, the kind he’d seen during the city war.
“Sir,” Gizbo glanced back again, “they look like…” he didn’t finish the sentence as if scared of what he was about to say.
Cold sweat trickled down Jessup’s spine. He wiped the palms of his hands, suddenly clammy. No doubt these were the same goons who had attacked the police station and killed Detective Freeman. But how could he prove it? Should he confront and provoke them? But what if Memoria waited for an occasion exactly like that? No, not now. He shouldn’t show he suspected anything.
As if obeying a silent order, the runners stopped in their tracks at five paces from them. Jessup glanced up: could there be a support chopper hovering nearby and controlling the squad’s actions by radio? But the skyline was clear. The next moment, a tall man stepped out of the line.
“Captain Jessup. We’re here to assist the arrest of a dangerous criminal,” said a firm voice from under the mask. The speaker nodded at the men behind his back. “My men are adequately trained. They are capable of finding Frank Shelby and arresting him. Eliminating him, if necessary.”
Ever since the station had been trashed and Shelby shot at in the very heart of the city, Jessup had had little doubts they would stay true to their word. Until now, Shelby had had luck on his side. The guy was a new Houdini indeed.
Jessup peered into the man’s wide visor as if trying to see the color of his eyes — or read his thoughts. His nylon helmet lining had come adrift by the man’s temple showing a strand of gray hair. Not much of the description, but it would have to do. With a cop’s eye, he registered the slightest details. You never knew when you might need them.
“We’re awaiting your orders… Captain.” The threat in his voice was almost tangible. Gizbo drew back and reached under his coat for his gun.
What was it Shelby knew that no one else was supposed to know? Jessup looked at the man, sensing his cold stare. What did Memoria want from Shelby? Why did they try to eliminate him? Then again, what were the motives behind killing Kathleen Baker? The corporation must really be onto something, brazenly sending their men here wearing the same uniform they’d worn when seen attacking the police station. They had to be in a hurry indeed.
Having said that… Shelby and his little helpers must have forced the Memoria bosses to make a mistake or two. Might not be a bad idea to show yesterday’s police reports to his analytics. They might see something useful.
Strangely, all of a sudden he had a good feeling about this Shelby and his friends.
“Captain, you’ve got to let them through,” he heard a familiar voice behind the fighters’ backs.
Agent Archer elbowed his way through and showed his ID to Jessup and Gizbo.
“As a Federal agent authorized by the government, I command you to let these men enter the station,” he stepped close to Jessup and added in a quiet voice, “Otherwise I’ll be forced to report you for perverting the course of justice.”
“Please do,” Jessup snapped. “Let them through!” he waved to his men. Brushing Archer aside, he nodded to Gizbo.
The policemen stepped aside. Jessup didn’t want to see the rest of it. He headed for the checkpoint hearing the stomping of combat boots behind his back. He needed to speak to Gautier first. The migrants’ leaders had just arrived from Memoria, off limits for the police. With any luck, they could by privy to something useful.
Anna Gautier, a.k.a. the Steel Lady, strode in front, chin up, making it clear she couldn’t care less about Bud Jessup walking to intercept her, let alone speak to him. She looked straight ahead, her face unemotional.
When he was at an arm’s distance from her, the two men confronted him: the dark, burly Lionel Batford and the long, round-faced Nicholas Floyd. Jessup attempted to bypass them to block Gautier’s way, but the two wouldn’t let him. The captain grinned and raised a brow.
“Ms. Gautier?” he called. “Hello?”
The woman didn’t stop.
“Don’t force me to-” He stopped, unwilling to pull rank. He hurried after her, nearly catching her up by the checkpoint. “Anna, you sure you’re all right? Can you tell me what’s going on?”
The police guards at the checkpoint saw something going on and blocked the electronic turnstiles. One of them walked out of their room, another phoned the guards’ room upstairs. Three more guards appeared on the balcony with semi-auto weapons in their hands. They shouted to Lionel and Nicholas to stop when the two tried to get closer to the captain.