Hayden’s thought process grew clearer. She stepped out into the corridor and then approached the other door. Without stopping she pushed through, confident Robert Price would have heard the commotion coming from Ramses’ cell. The look in his eyes told her that he had.
“I don’t know anything,” he blustered. “Please, believe me. If he told you I knew something, anything, about the nuke then he is lying.”
Hayden reached for the Taser. “Who to believe? The terrorist madman or the treasonous politician. Actually, let’s see what the Taser tells us.”
“No!” Price threw up both hands.
Hayden aimed. “You may not know what’s happening in New York, Robert, so I’ll lay it all out for you. Just once. Terror cells are in control of a nuclear weapon which we believe they have the capability to detonate at any moment. Now, also, a bonkers Pythian thinks he is actually in control. Small explosions are occurring across Manhattan. Bombs were planted at Grand Central. And, Robert, it isn’t over yet.”
The ex-Secretary gawped, quite unable to form words. In her newfound clarity Hayden was almost convinced he was telling the truth. But that one shred of doubt remained, nagging at her repeatedly like a small child.
The man was a successful politician.
She fired the Taser. It shot off and away, missing the man by an inch. Price shook in his boots.
“The next one will go below the belt,” Hayden promised.
Then, as Price teared up, as Mano grunted and she remembered Ramses’ demonic laughter, as she thought about all the terror coursing through Manhattan right now and her colleagues out there in the thick of it, at the very heart of jeopardy, it was Hayden Jaye who broke.
No more. I will not take this for one more minute.
Grabbing Price, she threw him against a wall, the force of the impact sending him to his knees. Kinimaka hauled him up, throwing her a questioning glance.
“Just get out of my way.”
Again, she threw Price, this time at the outer door. He bounced off, whimpering, falling, and then she had hold of him again, steering him out into the corridor and towards Ramses’ cell. When Price saw the terrorist locked in his cell he started to whine, to grovel. Hayden forced him forward.
“Please, please you can’t do this.”
“Actually,” Kinimaka said. “This is something we can do.”
“Nooo!”
Hayden threw Price against the bars and unlocked the cell. Ramses didn’t move, still seated on his bunk and reviewing proceedings under hooded eyes. Kinimaka took out his Glock and covered both men as Hayden unlocked their bonds.
“One chance,” she said. “One prison cell. Two men. The first to call me for a chat gets it easy. Do you understand?”
Price bleated like a poorly calf. Ramses still hadn’t moved. To Hayden the sight of him was unnerving. The sudden change in him was ludicrous. She walked away and locked the cell, leaving both men together as her phone squawked and Agent Moore’s voice came over the line.
“Come up here, Jaye. You have to see this.”
“What is it?” She ran with Kinimaka, chasing their shadows out of the cellblocks and back up the stairs.
“More bombs,” he said despondently. “I’ve sent everyone to deal with the mess. And this latest demand ain’t what we expected it to be. Oh, and your man Dahl has a lead on the fourth cell. He’s chasing it down right now.”
“On our way!” Hayden sped toward the precinct floor.
CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR
Dahl threw himself into the passenger seat and let Smyth drive; Kenzie, Lauren and Yorgi again in back. Even as they threaded their way back towards the precinct, reports of Drake hitting Grand Central were coming in, but he heard nothing beyond that. Moore had just called in one more tip from an informant — the fourth terrorist cell was operating out of an upscale apartment building near Central Park, and now that Dahl thought about it, it stood to reason that some of these cells would be funded differently to others — it helped them blend in — but Dahl wondered how a bunch of people could exist inside a specific society so easily without remembering their brainwashing indoctrinations. Brainwashing was a particular art and he doubted your typical terrorist had mastered it just yet.
Don’t be so naive.
Moore’s infiltrators were risking more than just exposure to get these tips out. The repercussions of this day would reverberate indefinitely, and he hoped Homeland had a handle on where it would all wash out. If an undercover got himself burned today his problems were just beginning.
Traffic cops, always prevalent around intersections, were trying their best to filter the traffic, facing enormous and probably insurmountable problems, but aware emergency vehicles had to be given priority. Dahl saw several little viewing platforms — almost like mini cherry pickers — where cops directed their colleagues from their higher vantage point, and he nodded his thanks as they were waved through.
Dahl checked the car’s GPS. “Eight minutes,” he said. “We ready?”
“Ready,” the whole team returned.
“Lauren, Yorgi stay with the car this time. We can’t risk you anymore.”
“I’m coming,” Lauren said. “You need the backup.”
Dahl forced down images of the basement and the SWAT leader’s death. “We can’t risk unnecessary lives. Lauren, Yorgi you have your value in different areas. Just watch the exterior. We need eyes there too.”
“You might need my skills,” Yorgi said.
“I doubt we’ll be hopping across balconies, Yorgi. Or using drainpipes. Just…” He sighed. “Please do as I ask and watch the bloody exterior. Don’t force me to make it an order.”
An uneasy silence fell. Each team member processed the events from the previous assault entirely differently, but since it had all happened only a half hour ago most were still in the shock stage. The observations were endless — how close they had come to being blown up. How a man had so selflessly sacrificed himself to save their lives. How cheaply these terrorists regarded all forms of life.
Dahl found his mind returning to that old saw — how could an adult imbue such hateful traits into the youngest child? The most innocent mind? How could a grown up, responsible person believe it was right to warp such fragile minds, alter the course of a promising life forever? To replace it with… what?… hatred, inflexibility, fanaticism.
However we look at it, whatever our views on religion, Dahl thought, the Devil truly does walk among us.
Smyth hauled on the brakes as they approached a high-rise. Prepping and exiting the car took seconds, and left all of them exposed on the sidewalk. Dahl felt uneasy, knowing the fourth cell were almost certainly inside and how competent they appeared to be. His eyes fell upon Lauren and Yorgi.
“What the hell are you doing? Get back in the car.”
They drew near the doorman, showed their IDs and asked about two apartments on the fourth floor. Both belonged to a young couple who kept themselves to themselves and were always polite. The doorman had never even seen both couples together, but yes one of the apartments did receive regular visitors. He thought it was some kind of social night, but then he wasn’t exactly paid to be over inquisitive.
Dahl moved him gently aside and headed for the stairs. The doorman asked if they needed a key.
Dahl smiled softly. “That won’t be necessary.”
Four floors were dealt with easily and then the three soldiers paced carefully down the corridor. It was as Dahl saw the correct apartment number come into view that his cell started to vibrate.
“What?” Smyth and Kenzie waited, covering their periphery.
Moore’s tired voice filled Dahl’s head. “The tip is false. Some informant fingering the wrong people for a bit of revenge. Sorry, I just found out.”