The Edge of Armageddon

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.”

Hayden ran to the bars, fitting the key to the lock. Ramses supported himself and then started stamping down upon Price’s skull and shoulders, as if searching for vulnerabilities and enjoying himself in the process. Price had stopped screaming by now and could only emit low groans.

Hayden flung the door wide, backed up by the two guards. She attacked without ceremony, pistol whipping Ramses behind the ear and shoving him away from Robert Price. She then fell to her knees beside the whimpering man.

“You alive?” She certainly didn’t want to appear too concerned. Men like him saw concern as a weakness to be exploited.

“Does that hurt?” She pressed against Price’s ribs.

The squeal told her that “yes, it did”.

“All right, all right, quit the mewling. Turn over, and let me see you.”

Price struggled to roll over, but when he did Hayden winced at the mask of blood, broken teeth and shredded lips. She saw an ear leaking crimson and an eye swollen so badly it might never work again. Against her better wishes, she grimaced.

“Shit.”

She headed for Ramses. “Man, I don’t even have to ask if you’re crazy, do I? Only a madman would do the things you do. Reason? Motive? Goal? I doubt it even crossed your fucked up mind.”

She raised the Glock, not actually fully prepared to take the shot. The guards at her side covered Ramses in case he came at her.

“Shoot,” Ramses said. “Save yourself a world full of pain.”

“If this were your country, your house, you would kill me right now, wouldn’t you? You would finish all this.”

“No. Where is the pleasure in such a quick kill? First I would destroy your dignity by stripping you and binding your limbs. Then I would break your will by random method, whatever felt right at the time. Then I would devise a way to kill you and bring you back, again and again, finally relenting when, for the one-hundredth occasion, you have begged me to end your life.”

Hayden stared, seeing the truth of it in Ramses’ eyes and unable to prevent a shudder. Here was a figure who would think nothing of detonating a nuclear bomb in New York City. Her attention was so rapt upon Ramses, as was her guards’, that they didn’t react to the shambling steps and ragged breaths stealing up behind them.

Ramses eyes flickered. Hayden knew they’d been tricked. She turned, but not fast enough. Price might be the Secretary of Defense but he had also enjoyed a distinguished military career and now brought what he remembered of it to bear. He slammed both hands down onto one of the guard’s outstretched arms, sending his pistol rattling to the floor, and then buried a fist into the man’s gut, bending him double. As he did this he fell, gambling that Hayden and the other guard wouldn’t shoot him, wagering on his position in more ways than one, and fell onto the gun.

And under his armpit he fired, the bullet taking the dazed guard through one eye. Hayden pushed aside the emotion and turned her Glock onto Price, but Ramses charged her like a bull riding a tractor, the full force of his frame paralyzing, slamming her back off her heels. Ramses and Hayden staggered clear across the cell, leaving Price a clear shot at the second guard.

He took it, using the confusion to his favor. The second guard died before the echo of the bullet that killed him. His body struck the ground at Price’s feet, watched over by the Secretary’s one functioning eye. Hayden struggled out from under Ramses’ great bulk, still holding her Glock, wild-eyed, lining up Price in her sights.

“Why?”

“I’m happy to die,” Price said miserably. “I want to die.”

“To help save this piece of shit?” She clambered across the floor, kicking out.

“I have one more play left,” Ramses murmured.

Hayden felt the ground shaking beneath her, the basement walls juddering and discharging puffs of mortar. The very cell bars started to shake. Resetting her hands and knees she steadied herself and looked up and down, left and right. Hayden glared at the lights as they flickered again and again.

Now what? What the hell is this…

But she already knew.

The precinct was under ground assault.