The Edge of Armageddon

CHAPTER TWENTY SIX

Inside Grand Central the last pieces of Marsh’s puzzle began to line up. Drake hadn’t realized before, but this was all part of someone’s master plan, someone they thought they’d already neutralized. An enemy they hadn’t counted on was time — and the way it was fast passing nullified their thinking.

With the station declared safe and inhabited mostly by cops, Drake and his crew had chance to scrutinize the fourth demand they’d finally found duct-taped to the underside of the café’s table. A series of numbers written in large type, it was impossible to figure out what they might be unless you managed to squint at the heading, which was typically written in the smallest font available.

Nuclear weapon activation codes.

Drake squinted in disbelief, again thrown off balance, and then blinked at Alicia. “Really? Why would he send us these?”

“Gamesmanship would be my guess. He’s enjoying this, Drake. On the other hand they could be fake.”

“Or acceleration codes,” Mai added.

“Or even,” Beau clouded the issue some more, “codes that might be used to start up a different kind of hidden weapon.”

Drake stared at the Frenchman for a moment, wondering where he’d developed such twisted thoughts, before calling Moore. “We have the new demand,” he said. “Except that instead, it appears to be a set of deactivation codes for the nuke.”

“Why?” Moore rattled. “What? That doesn’t make any sense. Is that what he told you?”

Drake realized how ridiculous it all sounded. “Sending now.” Let the suits sort it all out.

“Good. We’ll get them properly checked out.”

After Drake pocketed the cell, Alicia dusted herself off and took a long look around. “We got lucky here,” she said. “No casualties. And no follow up from Marsh, despite our lateness. So you think this was the last demand?”

“Not sure how it can be,” Mai said. “He told us that he wants money but hasn’t yet supplied a when and where.”

“So at least one more,” Drake said. “Maybe two. We should check weapons and load up again. Somehow, with all these mini-bombs going off around the city I think we’re far from finishing this yet.”

He wondered as to the purpose of the small bombs. Not to kill and not to maim. Yes, they instilled terror into society’s very soul, but in light of the nuke, Julian Marsh and the cells they were taking down he couldn’t help but think there might be a different agenda afoot. The sideshow bombs were distracting, aggravating. It was the few men on motorcycles hurling homemade firework bombs along Wall Street that were causing the most problems.

Alicia spied a kiosk tucked away in a far corner. “Sugar fix,” she said. “Anyone for a chocolate bar?”

“Get me two Snickers,” Drake sighed. “Since sixty-five grams was only for the nineties.”

Alicia shook her head. “You and your bloody chocolate bars.”

“What next?” Beau came over, the Frenchman easing the aches out of his body with a few stretches.

“Moore needs to step up his game,” Drake said. “Get proactive. I for one am not dancing to Marsh’s tune all day.”

“He’s stretched,” Mai reminded him. “Most of his agents and the cops are securing the streets.”

“I know,” Drake breathed. “I bloody well know.”

He also knew that there could be no better support for Moore than Hayden and Kinimaka, both with lines to the President, both having experienced most of what the world could throw their way. In this moment of relative calm he took stock, thought about their problem, and then found himself worrying about the other crew — Dahl’s team.

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.