The Serpent's Kiss

62

Jill pulled her car to the curb of Monroe Street. A Detroit cop, looking grim, hurried over to her. “You’ll need to leave the area,” he growled.

Jill held up her ID. “Where can I put the car?”

The cop squinted at her ID, then gestured around the corner. “Somewhere over there. This is a major cluster-fuck.”

Jill nodded and did a U-turn, double-parking on Brush Street. The streets of Greektown were mobbed with people, cars, fire trucks and ambulances. She looked over at Derek. “Can you walk?”

“I’ll try.”

He opened the door, but found that he couldn’t put his full weight on his leg. He shook his head. “No.”

“Hang on.”

Jill raced off, reappearing a few minutes later with a pair of crutches. Derek raised his eyebrows. “Where the hell did you find these?”

“Ambulance.”

“Ah.” It took him a moment to get his balance, and he found that he really only needed one, but after a bit of adjustment he was able to keep up with Jill. They pushed themselves through the crowds, moving from Detroit cop to Detroit cop, getting directions to where Agent Matt Gray was talking into a walkie-talkie. He turned when they appeared. He looked at Jill, then turned to Derek.

“What happened to you?”

Derek ignored him. “Were we in time?”

Gray cocked his head. “In time for what, Stillwater?”

“Did we warn them in time?”

“That was you, huh?”

“I made the call,” Jill said. “We found a scenario—”

”This is all very interesting, Jill,” Gray said. “I’m sure we’ll need to get everything in writing. But right now I don’t want to hear it.”

Derek moved past Gray, hobbling with the crutch, but Gray snapped, “Where the hell are you going, Stillwater?”

“Were we in time? Did we get them out in time? How many died?” He couldn’t keep his anger under control any longer. He moved toward Gray as if to attack, a ludicrous idea, balanced on crutches.

Gray smirked. “Go ahead, Stillwater. Try it again. I’ll beat you with your own crutch.”

Derek grimaced. “You’ve screwed this up from the beginning, Gray. The second attack should never have taken place.”

“Sure. And your involvement’s been a big help. Just like the U.S. Immuno debacle. Saved a lot of lives there, didn’t you? How’s that helicopter pilot? Able to walk yet?”

Derek lunged at Gray, who stepped aside and kicked the crutch out from under him. Derek flailed and slammed to the pavement.

“C’mon, Stillwater,” Gray said, standing over him. “Get up so I can kick your ass.”

“Enough!” Jill jumped between them, helping Derek to his feet.

“Oh, are you on his side, Jill?”

Jill, not looking at her boss, said, “That looked real good, Matt. Turn and smile at the cameras. I bet you’ll make the national news for that one.”

Gray paled. He didn’t turn to look at the TV cameras, which were indeed focused in their direction, but his posture went rigid. His Adam’s apple bobbed so hard it looked as if he were trying to swallow a live cat. He held a hand out to Derek. “Hey, no bad feelings. We’re even now.”

Derek glared at him. “Were we too late? Did we get them out?” His voice was low, harsh, as if being squeezed through a tiny hole.

“Yeah,” said Gray, suddenly conciliatory for the cameras. “You two were in time, all right. Nobody died here, Stillwater. There was no gas attack. The only people hurt here were three old ladies who wouldn’t leave their slot machines and got knocked down by the crowd rushing for the doors.”

Jill pressed her hand to her forehead. “Matt—”

Gray shrugged. “I’m sure you two have a good story, but the fact is, there was no gas attack here.”

“Is the HMRU here?”

“Sure, Stillwater. They’re going over the place inch by inch. I was just talking to Fitzgerald. So far, nothing.”

Derek stared at the long, low building. It felt so wrong. What… what happened? It made sense. The scenario…

He moved toward the front doors.

“Derek!”

He ignored Jill, heading forward. He was stopped by one of the HMRU agents, who was wearing a contamination suit, the hood dangling down his back, a radio in his hand.

“Hey, Derek.” It was Andrew Calloway, the lanky FBI agent who he had teamed with at the Boulevard Café. He looked exhausted, face pale, red hair damp, shoulders slumped. “You look like shit. What happened to the leg?”

“No gas?”

“Nope,” Calloway said. “And I’m glad, man. This has been a rough day. What have you been doing?”

Derek swung back to Calloway. “Chasing down leads. I’ve been in two explosions set by this guy. He likes to booby-trap things.” He described the collection of terrorism scenarios they had found.

Calloway scratched his head and sighed. “Derek, I don’t know what the fuck to say. Maybe he chickened out. Maybe somebody dumped money into that account. You know, paid the ransom.”

“Who?”

Calloway shrugged. “Beats me.”

Derek studied the doors. “I’m going in.”

“I’ll help you with your suit. Come on, we’re set up—”

”Screw the suit,” Derek said. “I’m going in.” He shuffled toward the doors.