2041 Sanctuary (Dark Descent) (66 page)

‘Not anymore it’s not.’ Taylor smiled in grim satisfaction and turned away to rummage in a large sack close by. Quickly tiring of searching through it, she upended it, sending its contents tumbling to the floor. Prodding at items with her foot she soon spied what she was looking for – her computer phone, FBI badge and service pistol. Scooping them up, she returned her sidearm to its holster and clipped her badge back onto her belt. Her phone had been smashed, she assumed to prevent any signal from being traced. Looking around she saw another phone on the floor next to the computer she’d all but destroyed earlier. Picking it up, she dialled her office. As she waited for an answer, the call redirecting to Washington, Samson mustered another word.

‘Wait—’

‘The time for waiting,
father
,’ she said, loading the last word with sneering contempt, ‘has gone.’

♦

Like a horde of angry hornets, the lights and sirens of emergency vehicles, helicopters and drones descended on a little-used industrial park located in south west Los Angeles. The area, once deserted, now throbbed with activity. LAPD, FBI, the National Guard, everyone was there, responding to a distress call they had all prayed for, but had never believed in a million years they’d receive.

In the back of an ambulance, Brett Taylor received treatment from a paramedic for her minor injuries. In the surrounding area, police officers set up a cordon to halt the huge contingent of media crews that had also caught wind of the latest development in what had turned into an international incident.

Despite her miraculous escape, Taylor still stewed over the words she’d heard spoken between her father and his companion. What secrets did they hold? Who were these hundreds of thousands of civilians in mortal danger and why was the old coot willing to die rather than tell her? It made no sense, no sense at all. There was something about that old man … she didn’t know what it was, but he had a way about him that spoke of power, a rare strength. He’d unnerved her, truth be told, and she wasn’t one to be easily spooked.

Knowing the riddle of this man wasn’t about to be solved anytime soon, her thoughts invariably switched to her father, or Major Samson as she’d once known him. Going by what she’d witnessed so far, the man hadn’t changed one iota in the fourteen years since she’d last had the displeasure of his company, that last time being her mother’s funeral. Why he’d tracked her down now, she had no clue, but if there was any reason, any reason at all why he’d taken it upon himself to tear apart her city, she was going to find out about it. That was before he paid for his crimes with his life.

‘You’re all done here,’ the medic told her, ‘try and rest that left arm if you can, it’ll speed up the recovery.’

Thanking him, Taylor got down from the ambulance, the sling on her arm instantly hindering her ability to function.
I can’t be doing with this
, she thought. Slipping her arm out, she attempted to remove the blue padded support that had been secured over her shoulder with Velcro pads.

‘Agent Taylor?’ a man said while she struggled to rid herself of the sling.

‘Not now,’ she said without looking round.

‘Do you need some help?’

‘Get lost, will you.’ Finally freeing herself, she turned. ‘I’ve just had a very bad … day. Sir, I—’ She gawked at the sight of the director of the FBI, Patrick Flynn, and behind him a collective of D.C. agents.

The balding FBI Director shook her hand. ‘Agent, it’s good to meet you. If I’m honest, I didn’t expect we’d find you alive, let alone apprehending the men who’d taken you hostage. Outstanding work.’

Taylor felt a rush of pride. ‘Thank you, sir.’

‘How did you do it? The report I’ve been given was a little sketchy on detail.’

‘Luck and cunning, sir – luck and cunning.’

The director smiled. ‘A healthy combination in any situation. What can you tell me about the terrorists?’

‘Err—’ She was unsure how to proceed. The last thing she wanted was her boss, or anyone else, finding out the mass murderer was her father.

The director looked at her expectantly while she fumbled for the words to put behind a lie. Fortunately for Taylor a timely distraction got her off the hook. Two huge, black, tandem-rotored helicopters descended from the heavens, extracting themselves from the multitude of aircraft, manned and otherwise, that populated the dark skies above. The dust and debris kicked up by the massive downdrafts obliged people to cover their faces with hastily raised arms and hands.

The manmade vortex subsided as the two craft touched down, their thunderous turbine engines cutting out on a command from their respective pilots. Taylor had been expecting to see
FBI
written in big, white letters on the side of the aerial beasts; instead she was surprised to see the familiar GMRC logo emblazoned in similar fashion.
What are they doing here?
she wondered.

The doors on the side of each craft slid back and men in black suits and the green dress uniform of serving officers in the U.S. Army jumped out.

Taylor watched with interest as they momentarily congregated and conferred before heading directly for her, the FBI director and his agents. At their head strode a tall, thin man, with greying hair and a pinched, angular face. Strangely, despite the darkness that continued day and night, the man still saw fit to wear a pair of dark sunglasses, as did some of those around him.
This ought to be good
, she thought, as they approached.

‘Ah, FBI Director Flynn,’ the man said, drawing to a halt in front of them, ‘it’s been a while, hasn’t it?’

Flynn’s demeanour had transformed to one of guarded hostility. ‘Intelligence Director Joiner. This is not a national security matter. I’m afraid you’ve had a wasted journey.’

‘I may be director of National Intelligence,’ Joiner said, his nasal voice and superior tone already getting under Taylor’s skin, ‘but I’m also, as I’m sure you’re aware, a member of the GMRC Directorate. It’s in that capacity that I’m here. I believe you have two of our personnel in your custody and we’re going to need you to hand them over –  immediately.’

‘You’ve got a snowball’s chance in hell of getting your hands on those two men,’ Flynn replied vehemently, ‘and if they’re GMRC, as you say, then it’s the GMRC we’ll look to when laying the blame for the deaths of nearly a hundred people, half of whom were my agents!’

‘I’m sorry,’ Joiner said, looking anything but, ‘I don’t think you comprehend the serious nature of the matter at hand. Those two men are in possession of valuable information, information way above your pay grade. Now if you don’t hand them over—’

‘Above my pay grade,’ Flynn scoffed, cutting Joiner off. ‘Who the hell do you think you are waltzing in here like King Canute? You do know the meteorite’s hit, or hadn’t you noticed? The GMRC’s job has been done; your purported power will be vanishing anytime soon. So why don’t you toddle off and deal with dust clouds and rotting vegetables and leave the important stuff to the big boys.’

Joiner stiffened at the belittling insult; raising a gloved hand, he flipped up his shades to reveal clear lenses beneath and a pair of dark gimlet-like eyes. ‘You forget yourself, Director,’ he said, his voice ice cool but laced with venom, ‘you can only dream of the power I wield. Nations bend to my will. I can have you replaced within the day; in fact I
will
have you replaced within the day – that is, unless you accept your error of judgement, which was no doubt induced by your limited intellect, and hand over our people.’

Taylor couldn’t quite believe what she was hearing, gripped by every word and movement as two of the most powerful men in the country squared up to one another. Such conversations went down in the annals of folklore; this one might top the tree and she had a ringside seat. Looking from one man to the other, she waited to see what would happen next.

The FBI director, momentarily stunned by the retort, rallied and moved forwards to meet the challenge delivered by Joiner like a slap to the face, his expression fierce. ‘Delusions of grandeur have always been your problem,’ Flynn said, ‘and if you think you can bulldoze your way through me with ill-conceived threats then it’s your intelligence that’s lacking. The GMRC doesn’t have the unilateral support it once had; word is on The Hill your precious council is losing political backing hand over fist and while you’re off playing God I’m in Washington. By the way, have you seen the President lately?’

Joiner sneered. ‘I’m well aware of your weekly tête-à-têtes with the commander-in-chief. If you think he can protect you, you’re sorely mistaken.’

‘I wonder what would happen,’ Flynn said, ‘if word got out that two mass murderers escaped justice due to an intervention by the GMRC, an intervention that was beyond their jurisdiction?’ The FBI director looked pointedly at the assembled media in the distance before turning back to Joiner. ‘Even worse, if it became known those two terrorists were actually in the employ of the GMRC itself? I imagine the civil unrest resulting from such a disclosure would pretty much destroy the tenuous hold the GMRC’s precious protocols have on this country’s citizens; an event that could even spark off revolts around the world. I wonder how long it would be after the story hit the headlines until the rest of the GMRC Directorate had you voted off the council? Twenty-four hours, maybe, that’s a day isn’t it? Even with your control of the media, the story would spread like wildfire. In fact,’ Flynn looked exultant, ‘I could guarantee it.’

Disconcertingly, instead of turning a livid shade of purple at having been outmanoeuvred, Joiner smiled in return, the effect sickly and, Taylor thought, quite repugnant. ‘GMRC Population Control Protocol, three nine five,’ Joiner said, ‘any person inciting civil unrest, or the threat thereof, will incur a fixed penalty of immediate incarceration.’ He turned to a black-suited man on his right. ‘Myers, arrest FBI Director Flynn, if you will.’

The man nodded, took a pair of handcuffs out of his pocket and advanced on Flynn.

Taylor found herself, as did the other FBI agents around her, automatically drawing her weapon and pointing it at the man who attempted to arrest the director. Joiner’s entourage responded, their own guns sliding out of their holsters with a whisper of metal on leather, and the click and clink of steel slides and triggers being brought to bear.

‘Gentlemen, please.’ One of the military officers stepped between the two factions, his hands raised. ‘Director,’ he continued, addressing Flynn, ‘you may know me, my name’s General Donovan, Chief of the National Guard Bureau. One of the men you have in custody is a Special Forces Colonel. I can assure you he will be court-martialled for his actions and sentenced appropriately for his crimes. However, he is a serving officer in our armed forces and as such needs to be disciplined under due process outside of civilian courts.’

Flynn tore his eyes away from Joiner. ‘General, I appreciate your position, but I will be pushing for a full civilian trial through the Attorney General’s office. Although since double jeopardy isn’t an issue between civilian and military courts, you’re more than welcome to conduct your own trial once civilian proceedings have been completed.’

General Donovan’s expression quickly altered as it dawned on him the FBI director wasn’t about to listen to reason.

‘Don’t concern yourself, General.’ Joiner gestured for his men to stand down. ‘There’s more than one way to skin a cat, isn’t that so, Director Flynn?’

The FBI director didn’t reply to the ominous comment, opting to just glare at his adversary with poorly disguised hatred.

A disturbance off to one side caught Taylor’s attention. Turning, she saw a team of FBI agents and LAPD officers emerging from the abandoned warehouse she’d been in less than half an hour before; accompanying them was Colonel Samson – her father.

♦

Professor Steiner twisted his left shoulder in discomfort as he was led up the steps from the dingy warehouse cellar. The restraints bit into his wrists painfully, pinning his arms behind his back. Tripping, he stumbled and fell. Unable to break his fall, he cracked his head against a wall, fracturing a lens in his glasses in the process.

‘Get up, you fuck.’ An LAPD officer dragged him back to his feet and shoved him forwards.

Reaching the top of the staircase, Steiner could see the large form of Colonel Samson a little way ahead of him, shackled in chains and a straitjacket, and guarded by a whole team of FBI agents. Blood trickled into the corner of Steiner’s eye as he waddled on, the chains around his own ankles making walking difficult.
I must have cut my head
, he thought in distraction as he made his way out into the open air.

When the strange procession appeared, lights shone down on it from every conceivable source, the cacophony of noise from those assembled predictably rambunctious. The onslaught of sound engulfed Steiner like a wave. Helicopters and drones hovered above while police cars and FBI vehicles seemed to occupy every square foot of tarmac in the immediate vicinity. The group walked into an open area where two familiar black GMRC helicopters sat perched on the tarmac, their long static rotor blades splayed down like finger thin petals weighed down at one end by invisible dewdrops.

Steiner looked around, wondering if anyone he knew might somehow be able to rescue him from this ongoing nightmare. His eye twitching slightly, the steady stream of blood pooling in one corner, he stopped dead in his tracks and stared into the face of the man who had created all his woes, Malcolm Joiner. Bold as brass and large as life, the intelligence director locked eyes with him from fifty yards away. Steiner’s blood boiled with a ferocity he’d never experienced before, his nemesis viewed through a veil of unadulterated rage and loathing.

‘Keep moving.’ A policeman prodded him in the back.

 Steiner shuffled forwards, refusing to break eye contact with Joiner, as if he could will the man’s death just by looking at him.

Eventually he had to concede defeat, and he turned away while his handcuffs were removed before being bundled into the back of a secure prisoner transport. Now standing in the back of an armoured truck, the reinforced metal doors slammed shut in Steiner’s face, the locks outside secured with a sickening finality. Looking out through the tiny slit that served as a window, he could see the intelligence director walking back to his helicopters, their great engines powering up in a reverberating roar. The truck shuddered and then moved off. Instead of taking a seat, Steiner remained standing, putting his forehead to the door and watching as Joiner disappeared into his flying limousine. Behind Steiner, police car after police car, sirens whooping and lights flashing, followed him out of the industrial park in a long, victorious motorcade. But Steiner didn’t have eyes for such things; his attention was focused on the first black helicopter to lift off from the ground, its great bulk rose into the sky, the GMRC logo on its side pronouncing its invincibility, like the man that rode within it. Higher and higher the craft flew and Steiner watched it all the way until, finally, it disappeared from sight.