The mad Swedish bastard’s probably been kicking back with a bar of Marabou, watching Alexander Skarsgård’s most naked moments.
Drake nodded his thanks to Alicia as she returned and handed him two pieces of chocolate. For a moment the team just stood there, reflecting, numbed. Trying not to think about what might happen next. Behind them the café stood like a derelict old enterprise, its windows cracked and tables turned over, its doors split and hanging from their hinges. Even now, teams were carefully combing the place for more devices.
Drake turned to Beau. “You met Marsh, didn’t you? Do you believe he’ll follow this thing through?”
The Frenchman made an elaborate gesture. “Um, who knows? Marsh is odd, appearing stable one moment and then insane the next. Perhaps it was all an act. Webb didn’t trust him, but that is no real surprise. I feel that if Webb still had an interest in the Pythian cause then Marsh would not be allowed to even pretend to do this thing.”
“It’s not Marsh we have to worry about,” Mai broke in excitedly. “It’s…”
And suddenly it all made sense.
Drake caught on at the same time, realizing the name of the person she’d been about to say. His eyes locked on to hers like heat-seeking missiles but for a moment they could say nothing.
Thinking it through. Evaluating. To the terrible end.
“Fuck,” Drake said. “We’ve been played from the very beginning.”
Alicia watched them. “Normally I’d say ‘get a room’, but…”
“He could never have gained entry to this country,” Mai groaned. “Not without us.”
“And now,” Drake said. “He’s right where he wants to be.”
And then the phone rang.
Drake almost dropped his chocolate in shock, so absorbed was he by the alternate line of thinking. When he looked at the screen and saw an unknown number a pyrotechnic blast of conflicting thoughts ricocheted around his head.
What to say?
This had to be Marsh calling on a new burner cell. Should he resist the urge to explain to him that he was being played, a mere dupe in the grand scheme? They wanted the cells and the nuke to remain neutral as long as possible. Give everyone at least another hour, a chance to track it all down. Now though… now the game had changed.
What to do?
“Marsh?” he answered on the fourth ring.
A stranger’s voice addressed him. “Noooo! This is Gatorrrr!”
Drake removed the phone from his ear, the squeal, the timbre rising at the end of each word, insulting his ear drums.
“Who is this? Where’s Marsh?”
“I said — Gatorrrr! The fooool is crawling now. Where he should beeee. But I have one more demand for youuuu. One more, and then the bomb will either explode or it won’t. It’s up to youuuu!”
“Fuck me.” Drake was having trouble focusing down on the words due to the random screeching. “You need to calm down a bit, pal.”
“Run, rabbit, run, run, run. Go find the police precinct on 3rd and 51st and see what pieces of meat we have left for youuuu. You will understand the final demand when you get there.”
Drake frowned, searching his memory. Something very familiar about that address…
But the voice again shattered his train of thought. “Now runnnn! Runnnn! Rabbit run and don’t look back! It willll detonate in one minute or one hourrrr! And then our war will beginnn!”
“Marsh wanted a ransom only. The money is yours for the bomb.”
“We do not neeeed your moneyyyy! You think there are not organizations — even your own organizations — who help us? You think there are no rich men who help us? You think there are no cabals out there secretly funding our cause? Ha ha, ha ha ha!”
Drake wanted to reach down the received and wring the madman’s neck, but since he couldn’t accomplish that — yet — he did the next best thing.
Killed the call.
And finally his brain processed every bit of information. The others already knew. Their faces were white with fear, their bodies wound tight with tension.
“It’s our precinct isn’t it?” Drake said. “Where Hayden, Kinimaka and Moore are right now.”
“And Ramses,” Mai said.
If the bomb had exploded at that very moment, the team could not have run any faster.
CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN
Hayden studied the monitors. With most of the station emptied and even agents personally attached to Moore sent into the streets to help, the local hub for Homeland Security felt stretched beyond the absolute limit. The unfolding events across the city had taken precedence over the reunion between Ramses and Price for now, but Hayden did note the lack of contact between the two, and wondered if there was actually nothing for either of them to say. Ramses was the informed one, the man with all the answers. Price was just another dollar-chasing dupe.
Kinimaka helped man the monitors. Hayden went over what had transpired previously between them, where the Hawaiian had advised against forcing information out of both men, and now questioned her reactions.
Was she right? Was he being pathetic?
Something to think through later.
Images flashed before her, all miniaturized upon dozens of square screens, in black-and-white and color vision, scenes of fender-benders and fires, flashing ambulances and terrified crowds. The panic among New Yorkers was being kept to an absolute minimum; although the events of 9-11 were still very much a fresh horror in their thoughts and influenced every decision. For so many people who had a 9-11 survival story, from those who didn’t go into work that day to those who were late or running errands, the dread was never far removed from their thoughts. Tourists bolted in terror, often toward the next jolt of surprise. Police began to clear the streets in earnest, brooking no objections from the ever-testy driving locals.
Hayden checked the time… barely 11 a.m. It felt later. The rest of the team were on her mind, the pit of her stomach rolling in acid for fear that they might lose their lives today. Why the hell do we keep doing this? Day after day, week after week? The odds are less favorable every time we fight.
And Dahl in particular; how did the man stay at it? With a wife and two children the man must have a work ethic the size of Mount Everest. Her respect for a soldier had never been higher.
Kinimaka tapped one of the monitors. “Could be bad.”
Hayden stared. “Is that… oh shit.”
Stunned, she watched as Ramses burst into action, running over to Price and head-butting the man to the ground. The terrorist prince then stood over the struggling body and began to kick it mercilessly, each blow procuring an agonized scream. Hayden hesitated once more and then saw the pool of blood starting to spread across the floor.
“I’m going down.”
“I’ll come too.” Kinimaka started to rise but Hayden waved him back down.
“No. You’re needed here.”
Ignoring the stare she raced back down into the basement, beckoned the two guards stationed in the corridor, and opened the outer door to Ramses’ cell. Together, they burst in, guns drawn.
Ramses’ left foot smashed into Price’s cheek, breaking bone.
“Stop!” Hayden shouted in anger. “You’re killing him.”
“You do not care,” Ramses let fly again, shattering Price’s jaw. “Why should I? You make me share a cell with this filth. You want us to talk? Well, this is how my iron will is carried out. Perhaps now you will learn.”