Final Victim

Chapter 28

His nipples were on fire. He faced the computer in his barge and endured his stinging flesh. The TV news said that Lockwood had been transported to Washington for a Friday morning nine-o'clock hearing at the Department of Justice. The Rat had cracked the DOJ computer and obtained a valid username/password by fone-phreaking a DOJ agent's modem call into work. He brought the DOJ Administration Building's menu of Building Services up on the screen.

2300 Constitution Avenue

Washington, D. C.

Central Computer Menu

H)VACPhysical Plant, Misc

HeatingDWP

VentilationGas

Air ConditioningEnergy Mgmt. Systems

Energy StarMaintenance Sched.

S)ecurityB)uilding Services

Access Control amp; AccountingPA/Music

VicCam MonitoringElevator Sched/Control

LockdownCommon Area Lighting

AlarmsEnergy Star

C)ommunicationsE)mergency Services

PhonePublic Safety

DataAutoAlert

RadioHelipad

PagingPower Backup

He selected the "Security" sub-menu. The DOJ in Washington was housed in a "smart" building, and everybody in the Justice Department had a "smart card" which they inserted in a slot when they entered. He chose "Access Control amp; Accounting," which showed the names and times of everyone entering and exiting the building, as well as certain high-security areas. Lockwood had entered the building at eight A. M. It was now quarter to nine. The Rat exited the security access log and chose "Emergency Services" from the main menu. A sub-menu appeared, and he chose "Public Safety." Up onto the screen came a list of sub-headings:

Police F)Ire

Medical

S)eismic

He selected the "Fire" option, then scanned the map of the fire suppression systems of the DOJ Building on Constitution Avenue. Most of the old buildings had CO2 or water sprinkler fire systems, but The Rat had found something interesting when he'd gone hunting in the system yesterday. On the bottom floor of the building, he had discovered a room labeled "Paper Files." It took up half the sub-basement, and it was where correspondence and memos that had not been transferred onto diskettes were stored. The room had become the center of his plan.

The hearing was in a small conference room on the ninth floor of the Department of Justice Administration Building. It was beautifully decorated: deep-green carpet, silk wallpaper, hunting prints in lacquered frames. The nine o'clock hearing started ten minutes late.

Laurence Heath had walked over from Customs two blocks away, and now sat at the oak conference table next to Bob Tilly and across from Vic Kulack. They were all waiting for the U. S. Prosecutor, a narrow-shouldered man named Carter Van Lendt.

"This guy really dropped the basket," Kulack said to fill the empty air as Heath's gaze fell on him. "He thinks he can just do whatever he pleases. I've got a file on him two inches thick. Damn thing looks like the Georgetown phonebook."

"Why don't we wait for Van Lendt?" Heath said without emotion.

Then the door opened and DOJ Prosecutor Carter Van Lendt entered the room, carrying some brown manila files. "Hi. Sorry I'm late. Had to clean up a mess on a case in pre-trial." He sat down and dropped his armload of folders on the conference table. He hunted for the one that said "Lockwood" on the tab. Then he looked up and smiled thinly. "Lockwood and Alex Hixon are in the next room. Wanna bring 'em in and get started?" Van Lendt said, as he put a tape recorder in the center of the conference table.

"I've got something I wanna say first," Kulack said, and they all turned to him.

"Is this for the record, Vic?" Van Lendt asked, reaching to turn on the tape recorder.

"No, hang on a minute, not yet. Before we start, I just want you to know where I'm coming from." He looked at them for a theatrical moment. "It's no secret I want this guy cashiered, and it's no secret I want him to do some hard time. John Lockwood operates outside the purview of this agency. He treats the agency guidelines like they're shit-"

"Okay, I think we got the gist of it, Vic," Heath said, agitated. "This is supposed to be a hearing where both sides are present. Let's stop loading the deck and get Lockwood in and do it for real."

Kulack plowed ahead. "I'm just saying, you let a guy like this break rules, run roughshod over agency policy, and then call him a hero, you can't expect the new guys coming up to think we stand for anything. Lockwood is supposed to be some kinda Customs legend. But I think he's a fucking disaster. I just want you to know I'm looking to max him out."

"Are you through now?" Heath growled. "Can we get Lockwood in and do this for the record?"

"Sure."

The Rat selected the "VidCam monitoring" option from the "Security" menu. The selection of cameras was now on the lower left quadrant of the screen. This was one of the new breed of buildings which routed video images around its network for video-conferencing. The security system used the network too for monitoring all the security cameras. The system had cameras everywhere, even in the elevators. The Rat punched them up, one at a time, scanning shot after shot of corridors full of agents carrying armloads of folders here and there. He watched elevators crammed with people coming to work. He wasn't sure where Lockwood was, so he kept surfing the sixty or so shots, looking.

For his plan to work, he needed to know exactly where Lockwood was. He hunkered over his screen, sweat dripping off his rib cage and between his feet. Then he punched up the ninth-floor hall. A door opened. Lockwood and another man stepped out. He watched in fascination as the two men walked down the hall.. "

The conference room door opened and Lockwood stepped into the room with his Federal Law Enforcement Attorney, Alex Hixon. Hixon was a precise man of forty with short, rapidly receding brown hair and wire-rimmed glasses. He moved to the head of the table and sat, Lockwood taking the chair beside him. They all exchanged looks and nods, but no salutations.

"Okay," Heath finally said, "this is a Justice Department internal review. Your agency, John, gives you the benefit of this preliminary hearing before any charges are brought against you. It's your chance to give your side of it with the U. S. Prosecutor present. In the event that the A. G.'s office, after this hearing, decides to pursue an indictment, then the rest of your IA hearing will be suspended and the tape of this meeting sealed and held as confidential agency material. It can't be subpoenaed. The criminal proceeding then takes precedence. The reason we do it this way is so that the results of this hearing, which are not conducted in accordance with your Constitutional rights, cannot be used against you in court." He finished, took a deep breath. "You all know this, but I'm required to say it for the record."

"Fine with me," Lockwood said.

Kulack leaned forward in his chair. "The list of charges against you is extensive," he said. "I'm going to take them chronologically and not in order of their magnitude: First, it is our contention that you and Harvey Knox in the Los Angeles DOJ office conspired to go outside Federal guidelines to write a fraudulent Special Circumstances Release for the purpose of getting Malavida Chacone out of the Federal penitentiary in Lompoc."

They all turned from Kulack to Lockwood.

"Harvey Knox was not in any way involved. I dropped by his office on Saturday afternoon, April thirteenth. I went through his desk while he was downstairs. I got one of those SCR forms out and forged his name to it. So I don't want him taking the heat for it. That was me."

"So you're admitting you're guilty of illegally releasing a prner without proper authorization?" Heath said, his eyebrows climbing his forehead.

"Yes, sir. I thought he could help me with a case. I crossed the line. I'm sorry."

"May I ask, why the fuck…?" Heath growled, his disappointment filling the room.

"Because, sir, I was trying to penetrate a remailer computer in Oslo, Norway, which I believed was a chat line for sexual psychopaths."

Kulack cut in, "Okay, so we've established that you illegally released Chacone from prn and took him to Florida, where he became critically injured due to your actions." The IA silk was grinning slightly.

"Actually, Vic old buddy, I took him to my wife's house in Studio City, California. He used her phone, at my direction, to penetrate the Pennet computer in Oslo. I fucked up because the UnSub back-tracked the line, and my wife, Claire, was murdered as a result." The bitterness in Lockwood's voice was tangible. The room grew still.

"Go on," Heath said. "Take us through it chronologically."

And Lockwood did. He told it all, not leaving out any detail: He told them about the chat room, Candice Wilcox's murder and mutilation in Atlanta, The Rat's clever use of the computer to change the timetable of the murder, Malavida's escape, Lockwood's return to Washington and handing his badge in, Karen Dawson's discovery of Leslie Bowers's murder and mutilation, finding Leonard Land's house, the explosion and the cybernetic attack on Malavida in the hospital, Lockwood's assault on the Miami cop so Karen could pull the tubes out of Malavida's arm, and the shootout with Dade County SWAT at the Ramada Inn. Each incident by itself was arguably defensible. But when they were all strung together in one telling, even Lockwood had to concede, it seemed like reckless behavior at best. In his memory, he heard DOJ psychiatrist Dr. Smythe: "John, are you acting in this destructive manner because you want to punish yourself for your thoughtless actions against your loved ones?" It was hard to believe that he had to come this far to finally begin to buy into that idea.

"I think we should suspend this hearing," Kulack said, the grin growing. "I think Mr. Van Lendt will want to ask the Federal Grand Jury for an indictment."

Van Lendt closed his notebook. "Seal the recording and save it until I see if the A. G. wants to seek an indictment for Felonious Malfeasance of Duty."

"You guys don't have all that much, the way I see it," Alex Hixon finally said. He had said nothing till now, but he had been making notes through the entire meeting. Now he looked at them. "According to everybody, John gave Director Heath his badge back in the hall at Customs a week ago, making the charge of Malfeasance of Duty a complete 'so what.' "

"He was suspended, not fired," Kulack said, "then he went all over the place saying he was on the job… calling himself a Customs agent…"

"We can all go get depositions from the people you say he said that to, and argue semantics forever. Way I see it, he canceled his employment with U. S. Customs by verbal agreement when he handed back his badge, making all of the Customs Service rule-book violations beyond the scope. As a private citizen he doesn't have to report to his supervr, doesn't have to take orders from Director Heath regarding what to do. As an American citizen, he could certainly ask a few questions after his wife was murdered. I believe there were four other agents standing at the elevator when Lockwood resigned and handed back his badge." He turned to Heath. "Is that right, Larry?"

Heath nodded his head.

"So I'd urge you guys to leave that one in your briefcase," Hixon said. "As far as getting Malavida out of jail is concerned, it is, at worst, a Class B felony. The way I see it, we cop to that and get some kind of suspended sentence. The other stuff is just ratshit, and you all know it. This looks to me like a personal vendetta by an IA investigator who's made more bogus charges than a credit card thief, and I intend to put that fact in evidence."

There was a deafening silence which lasted for almost thirty seconds. Kulack finally broke it. "I'm not withdrawing the complaint. In the meantime, he spends the night in jail."

The meeting ended and they all stood.

On his way out, Laurence Heath approached Lockwood. "If it means anything, John, I'm sorry. You were one of the best. You had good stuff."

They all left the room together and moved to the elevators. Bob Tilly went up the hall to the bathroom while Kulack pushed the Down button and they waited.

The Rat had shut off the five other elevators in the DOJ Administration Building. Once he had figured out the system, it had been amazingly simple. Under "Emergency Services," he had accessed "Public Safety." Contained in its sub-menu was a seismic activity sensor which shut down the elevators during any seismic event. Once the main computer received a seismic alarm, it automatically told the elevators to perform their pre-set emergency duties, which were to return to the lobby, their "Emergency Home Floor," and shut down.

The Rat had first put the sixth elevator on "Maintenance Setting." This effectively cut elevator six out of the system so it would continue to operate, but strictly by its own call buttons, at least for the time being. Then he had sent the system a phony seismic alarm which had deactivated five of the six elevators. The sixth elevator opened on nine and took in Lockwood, Laurence Heath, Vic Kulak, Carter Van Lendt, and Alex Hixon.

The Rat watched on his high-resolution monitor as elevator six passed the lobby level. Heath started to pound on the lobby button, but The Rat had reset the elevator's "Emergency Home Floor" from "Lobby Level" to "Sub-basement," then brought it back on-line. The seismic alarm, overriding the button system, caused it to go directly to the sub-basement. As soon as the door opened, The Rat shut the elevator off, leaving it stuck there and locked open. Then he shut down the ventilation system in the sub-basement. The five men walked into the file room that The Rat had selected the day before.

"The Wind Minstrel is coming," The Rat whispered in awe.

In the file room, Laurence Heath moved around looking for a fire door. He found one, but it had an electric lock and wouldn't open. He looked for a phone. There wasn't one.

"I've never been down here. Gotta be a way out," he said.

Lockwood picked up the emergency phone in the elevator and tried to dial out. He couldn't get a dial tone. "Is all this stuff on one central computer?" Lockwood asked, his heart rate beginning to climb.

"Yeah, this is a 'smart' building. They retooled it a few years ago. Systems are all on the main computer on the first floor," Carter Van Lendt said.

"Shit." Lockwood had already begun to suspect the worst. He looked up, saw a security camera, and wondered if The Rat was watching them. "Anybody got a cellphone?"

"Why?" Kulack said. "Let's just go find the fire stairs on the other side."

"They're gonna be locked. Gimme a cell."

Hixon popped open his briefcase and handed his to Lockwood. Lockwood dialed the DOJ building's switchboard.

"Department of Justice, one moment please," the operator said and immediately put him on hold. His heart was racing and he made a conscious effort to calm down. There was not much down here. How could The Rat attack them with a room full of files? Take it easy, he told himself.

"Whatta you doing? This is nuts," Kulack said, reaching for the phone.

Lockwood yanked the phone out of his reach. "What's down here?" he asked Van Lendt.

"Files."

"Not the files. What kinda systems?"

And then they heard a Klaxon horn from above and all of them looked up. Immediately a siren started to sound from the other end of the sub-basement.

"What the fuck is that?" Lockwood asked.

"I think it's the halon system. All the paper file rooms got 'em last year," Van Lendt answered.

"Halon? Doesn't that shit eat oxygen?" Lockwood said, as the switchboard finally took him off hold.

Then over the screaming Klaxon they heard vibrating coming from the vents above them. They looked up. A white gas was flowing from vents in the ceiling and cascading down off the file cabinets like dry ice vapor. It started to swirl and pool on the floor.

"Department of Justice," the operator chirped in his ear.

"This is a medical emergency. I'm with Customs DOAO Laurence Heath. We're trapped in the basement of this building. The door's jammed! He's had a heart attack! Get down here fast! Break the door and bring oxygen!"

"I'm sorry, sir… what?"

"Do what I said. Now! He's dying."

Lockwood had instantly decided not to try to explain to her what was really happening. He had read only one report on halon gas and it had stuck in his mind. A system in Denver had accidentally gone off and killed several people in less than three minutes. If the heavy fog-like substance continued to pour into the room, within minutes there would be no breathable air left in the sub-basement. Already Lockwood felt a shortness of breath… a ringing in his ears.

"Hold your breath," he said, "don't breathe this shit. If it gets in you, you're gonna lose oxygen."

They were all backing away from the halon, which was rolling toward them, flowing freely from the ceiling. The cloud of gas was expanding as it flowed into the elevator, where they had retreated. It began to fill the box. Even the air above them was dissipating. It began to climb rapidly in the enclosed space.

On the monitor The Rat watched the suffocation of Lockwood and the four strangers with rapt interest. He was rocking back and forth, his huge body causing the wooden chair to creak loudly.

He watched as the first death occurred. The narrow-shouldered man dropped his armload of folders and fell to his knees. He reached up and grabbed at his shirt collar, ripping at his tie. His mouth was open, his teeth protruding. The Rat remembered the cats he had strangled as a boy… They also died with their mouths wide open, their tongues curled and out. Then the narrow-shouldered man was clawing at his neck. Lockwood reached out to pull him up, but before he could get to him, the man fell sideways into the white fog. The Rat could barely see him in the mist. The man bucked once in a final convulsion, swirling the cloud of gas, then fell beneath its deadly blanket.

In the elevator, Lockwood was holding his breath. His lungs were aching, his nose and throat burning. The halon was now all around them. He tried to reach up and punch the top out of the elevator ceiling but, when he hit it, it rang solidly, sending a bolt of pain down his arm.

Heath was beginning to gag and foam at the mouth. "Can't breathe," he gasped. Then his barrel chest heaved five times as he sucked in huge lungfuls of nothing. He grabbed at his chest and, with his mouth wide open, fell forward on his face.

Kulack went down seconds later. Both of them disappeared under the heavy blanket of white gas. Lockwood and his lawyer, Alex, were the last ones standing. Both holding their breath, looking across and through the sea of halon with bulging eyes. Finally, Alex couldn't hold his breath any longer and took one gulp of the deadly lifeless atmosphere. He looked at Lockwood for a moment and then, in panic, took another gulp, and another. He convulsed while still standing. His wire glasses fell off his face. His brain was dying. He started to lose consciousness… falling slowly to one knee. He reached out to Lockwood, who grabbed his wrist to hold him upright. The gas was now chin high and the oxygen around them was dissipating. Then Hixon fell backwards, slipping from Lockwood's grasp, dropping from sight.

Lockwood could hear pounding somewhere in the basement. He slowly let out all of his breath. His lungs were empty. His reflexes were screaming at him to breathe, while his iron will was forcing him not to. He couldn't hold his breath any longer. He was seconds from death when his hand brushed against his side coat pocket and he felt something. His allergy inhaler! He yanked it out and jammed it against his nose, then took one life-sustaining inhalation, sucking the little plastic vaporizer empty. He almost choked on its pungent fragrance, but he had quarter-filled his lungs with the aerosol mist. Then, seconds later, he began to lose consciousness. Falling forward, he grabbed the elevator rail, his chin just above the deadly fog.

As Lockwood floated into the tunnel of death, he thought he saw the fire door at the far end of the building fly open. He thought he saw Heather rushing toward him, carrying an oxygen bottle, but she was too far away to save him. "Daddy, Daddy, don't leave me," she cried, but it was too late.

Lockwood fell forward into the deadly mist.

The Rat shut off his computer and went up on the deck of the barge. He climbed down the ladder into the water. He rolled in the shallows next to the rustling hull, to cool his blazing skin. The salt water stung him, bringing tears to his eyes. He could bear the pain no longer. Finally, he rolled up on his knees. He raised his hands over his head.

"The Wind Minstrel is coming," he screamed at the heavens, "and He is God!"

A flock of herons broke from the treetops and wheeled in crazy circles above him.