Deadlock

5

A video projector hooked up to a laptop threw the blurry DVD footage on to the wall of the darkened conference room. It took a second for the person holding the camera to find the main subject: a man being held at gunpoint in the centre of what appeared to be a clearing surrounded by giant redwood trees.

Shot over the shoulder of the person holding the shotgun, it was clear that the victim was male, but that was about all Lock could make out from the grainy-green images.

‘Hang on,’ Jalicia said, leaning over to fiddle with the laptop. A volume bar on screen rolled to maximum.

On screen, a heavily distorted voice came from close to the male hostage: We need an answer, Kenny.

‘This is your undercover guy?’ Lock asked.

Jalicia nodded.

The ATF agent stared up at the gun, his face still obscured by the person holding the shotgun. You know who I am.

The voice came again, deep and metallic. OK then, maybe this’ll refresh your memory.

‘We had the FBI do a voice analysis,’ Jalicia said. ‘The person speaking is, in actual fact, a woman, but the footage was doctored to conceal that fact.’

Next came the sound of a vehicle engine, and then the ATF agent said something that Lock didn’t quite catch. ‘Jesus, no,’ Jalicia murmured, filling in the missing audio for them. From her lack of reaction it was clear to Lock that she’d watched the footage enough times to rob the images of their shock value.

The frame adjusted suddenly, swooping over the ATF agent’s head before settling on a black van. The side panel was open, revealing a middle-aged woman and a teenage boy, both naked, gagged and restrained.

Lock froze. He could feel his teeth grinding against each other and his stomach lurching. He recognized the woman, and immediately knew who the agent was. He swiveled round and stared at Jalicia. She had the decency not to meet his gaze.

‘Ken Prager, right?’ Lock said, his voice breaking with emotion.

‘You know him?’ Ty asked, unable to conceal his surprise at Lock’s reaction.

‘I grew up with him. We were good friends. Played football together. I was there when he got married.’ Pinheads of sweat were forming on the back of Lock’s neck. ‘But then you already knew that, didn’t you?’ he said to Jalicia.

‘Ken did mention you more than once,’ Coburn said.

Jalicia ran the tip of her right index finger over the touch pad of the laptop computer. Lock tracked the cursor’s progress on screen towards the pause button.

‘No,’ Lock said. ‘I want to see it.’

‘Don’t do this to yourself, man,’ said Ty.

Lock turned to him. ‘Stay out of this, Tyrone.’

The next few minutes disintegrated into a series of bloody snapshots on screen as Ken Prager’s wife and son were dragged from the van. Prager’s son, Aaron, whom Lock had last seen as a sweet-natured, boisterous seven-year-old, was forced at gunpoint to cut the swastika from his father’s back as Prager’s wife, Janet, choked back sobs.

Lock fought the urge to vomit as bile burned the back of his throat. He dug his nails into the palms of his hands so hard that they broke the skin.

Lock had witnessed many terrible things in his life: roadside bombs that sprayed flesh into the air like so much confetti; innocent women and children needlessly mutilated; an endless parade of depravity. Sometimes he’d been able to intervene, sometimes orders from above had meant all he could do was bear witness. His training as a military close protection operator was specifically designed to force him to react but also to analyze situations as they developed. The rules of engagement were simple: if you saw something which didn’t impact on the immediate security of the person you were guarding, you noted it but did not get involved. This was different though. Very different. Although they hadn’t seen each other in years, Ken Prager had been like a brother to Lock, as Ty was to him now. Lock didn’t forge many close friendships, but when he did they were unassailable.

The images stacked up. The cold disposal of Janet and Aaron by means of a single gunshot to the back of their heads. By the time Ken Prager was dispatched, Lock could sense his old friend’s relief. After all, who would want to live after witnessing the murder of his wife and child?

When the footage came to an abrupt cut-off, no one spoke. Lock’s shock had given way to a cold rage.

Jalicia snapped the laptop shut, and Coburn got up and opened the blinds. Watery San Francisco sunlight seeped across the conference table and splashed against the far wall, which only seconds ago had been bloodier than a butcher’s block.

Lock glanced at Jalicia and Coburn. ‘Would you give us a moment alone?’

Without a word, they got up and left the room, closing the door behind them.

Ty spoke first. ‘You have to do this job now, don’t you?’

Lock nodded.

‘Then I’m coming with you.’

‘It’s too dangerous,’ said Lock.

‘Exactly,’ said Ty. ‘That’s why you need someone watching your back. Listen, Ryan, half the kids in my neighbourhood graduated to one prison or another. I know the turf.’

Lock hesitated. There was nothing he could do now to help Ken Prager. He hadn’t even known he was undercover with the ATF. But if something happened to Ty, that would be different.

‘I’m not letting you walk into that place on your own, brother,’ Ty persisted.

‘I really don’t want you to feel you have to do this,’ Lock said, studying Ty’s look of concern.

‘But you feel you have to because he was your friend, right?’ Ty asked him.

‘Of course.’

Ty reached out and put a hand on Lock’s shoulder. ‘Then you’ll understand why I can’t let you walk in there on your own.’