Black Friday (21 page)

“No, sir. This guy says he's a cop, he's armed, and he's on the loose in there.”

Chapter 32

A
s a cop in Chicago, Jake Connelly had attended antiterrorism seminars and other training sessions along those lines, but he'd never been assigned to any of the units that dealt with such matters. Everyday street crime had been his focus. He had paid attention during the seminars, but he'd never expected to have to use any of it.

That was before that punk kid had gunned down Ray Napoli and tried to kill him, too.

The explosion a moment later, followed by waves of shooting and screaming, pretty well confirmed all Jake's suspicions. The two guys he'd been watching were up to something, all right . . . something as bad as it could be.

After the kid took off, as Jake stood up in the corridor, his hands and clothes sticky with Napoli's blood, he felt an unusual sensation: indecision. He didn't know what to do. When he was on the street, he'd never been bothered with that. His instincts had always told him the proper course of action.

Sometimes he had ignored those instincts out of sheer stubbornness, and mostly that hadn't worked out too well. So he'd learned to trust his gut.

Today his gut couldn't make up its mind whether he should charge out there into the mall with his gun blazing, or retreat deeper into the warren of service corridors.

If he chose to fight, he'd be one guy against who knew how many terrorists. He would almost certainly be killed, probably within minutes, but he could take some of the bastards with him and that might save some lives.

But if he played it safe—and God, how he hated the idea!—he could survive longer and maybe do more good in the long run.

What made up his mind in the end, though, was actually simple.

He couldn't throw his life away while she still needed him. He might not survive today either way—hell, he knew he probably wouldn't—but he had to do whatever gave him the best chance of living. If he made it out of here, he could return home and spend with Adele whatever time she had left.

He knew that if she were here, she would tell him not to worry about her, just to go ahead and do his duty however he saw fit. He knew that. She would say that he needed to help as many of those other people as he could. That was her way, to think about everybody else before herself.

Jake couldn't help it. He was going to be selfish for a change. He wanted to see her again, to hold her and stroke her hair and kiss her forehead and tell her how much he loved her. Sure, she knew that, but he wanted to say it again.

Clutching the .357, he faded back away from the opening into the mall, away from Napoli's body, until he reached the open door of the storage room where the kid in the security guard's uniform had come out.

Curious what the guy had been doing there, and figuring that he wouldn't be coming back any time soon with all that chaos going on out in the mall, Jake ducked into the room.

The light was still on, revealing stacks of crates and boxes, buckets and mops, big push brooms, and a floor-buffing machine. This room was used by the mall's custodial crew, Jake realized.

Some open, empty crates were scattered around. On a hunch, Jake reached into one, picked up a handful of packing material, and sniffed it.

Gun oil. Somebody had hidden the automatic weapons the terrorists were using in here. That told Jake this attack had been planned for a while, and that the bastards had an inside man.

That could be sorted out later, if anybody survived. Right now Jake was more interested in firepower. Maybe one or two of the machine pistols had been left unused. He started opening the other crates.

While he was doing that, he spotted a man's shoe sticking out from behind one of the stacks. With a bad feeling in his gut, he pushed that stack aside and saw the body of a security guard lying there. This guy was the real thing, Jake thought. The front of his uniform shirt had a small bloodstain on it, probably from a stab wound to the heart. Jake had seen corpses like that before.

The guard had found out what was going on, and the terrorists had killed him. Quite possibly, he had been the first one to die in the mall today.

Unfortunately, not the last, by far.

“Sorry, buddy,” Jake muttered. “I'll see what I can do about getting even with the sons of bitches.”

A moment later, he found two of the machine pistols like the one the kid had used to kill Napoli. Jake recognized them as Steyrs. He had never fired one before, but operating them wouldn't be difficult for him. He found a number of loaded magazines as well and stuffed as many of them into his pockets as he could.

Then, feeling a little better because he knew he could put up a hell of a fight, anyway, he ventured out again.

Around a corner, he found a door with no knob, just a place for a key. Acting on a hunch again, he returned quickly to the room where he had come across the dead guard and searched the man's pockets. He found a ring of keys, took them with him, and tried them until he came to one that opened the lock. Holding tight to the key, he pulled the door open and blocked it with his foot while he removed the key.

The door opened into a narrow corridor with cinder-block walls. Jake nodded. That was what he'd been hoping to find.

He stepped into the dimly lit passage and pulled the door closed behind him.

* * *

Jake spent the next hour wandering the network of tunnel-like corridors without encountering anyone. The American Way Mall was so big it would take all day to explore these shadowy, twisting passages.

No more explosions rocked the mall, but from time to time Jake heard shooting. The gunfire sounded distant, but he knew that was because the thick walls muffled it.

The shots meant more people were dying out there, and although the knowledge gnawed at Jake's guts, he resisted the temptation to go out and die in a blaze of glory. Throwing his life away wouldn't be glorious, he told himself. In fact, it would be damned stupid.

Finally, tucked away in a little alcove, he found what he'd been looking for: a ladder of sorts, iron rungs set into the wall that led up a shaft to the mall's upper level. When he tilted his head back to look up, he saw light at the top of the shaft. There was some sort of ventilation opening up there.

He didn't know if he could use that opening to get out of the mall, but he didn't really want to get out. He had been checking his phone every so often, but he couldn't get a signal in here. There was too much concrete and steel all around him. Up there, though, it might be a different story.

He tucked the machine pistols behind his belt and started to climb.

He hadn't gone very far before he realized that he was too old and fat for this crap. The workmen who clambered around in here were all younger and slimmer than he was. He stopped and hung on the ladder while he puffed and caught his breath.

Then he climbed again, past the landing on the mall's upper level and higher still until he reached a square opening on the side of the shaft covered with a heavy iron grate.

Jake got a good grip on the ladder with his left hand and used his right to take his phone out of his shirt pocket. When he held it up this time, a good strong five bars appeared on the display.

He used his thumb to press 911.

* * *

“You take it, Walt,” Zimmer said as the cop held out the phone. “You've got more experience at this sort of thing than any of us do.”

Graham took the phone and said, “This is Walt Graham. I'm an agent with the FBI.”

“Jake Connelly, Agent Graham. Formerly of the Chicago PD.”

“Jake,” Graham said. “I hear that you're inside the mall. Are you injured?”

“No, I've got a bunch of dried blood on me, but it's not mine.”

“It belonged to one of those terrorists, I hope.”

“I wish it did. I was with a guy named Ray Napoli, the head of security for the mall, when he was shot and killed by one of the bastards. That's what started the ball rolling in here.”

“I see. What's your location now?”

“I'm in a combination ventilation and service shaft near the top of the mall. Getting up here higher seemed the best way to get a phone signal.”

“What can you tell us about what's going on in there?”

“Not much, I'm afraid. I heard an explosion and a lot of shooting. There are bound to be quite a few casualties by now.”

“Yes, too many. You don't know where all the terrorists are located?”

“No, but I think I may have gotten a look at the guy who's in charge.” Quickly, Jake Connelly explained to Graham about the two men he had seen exchanging a signal just before the killing started. “The kid I saw came out of the storage room where they had their weapons hidden,” he went on. “He must have been passing them out to the others so they could scatter around the mall and wait for his go.”

“You didn't happen to get his name, did you?” Graham asked.

“No, all I can give you is a description. He's young, early twenties, dark hair, brown skin, Middle Eastern in appearance. He doesn't really
look
like a killer. He looks more like a college kid.”

“They don't all look like movie terrorists,” Graham said. “What else can you tell us, Mr. Connelly?”

“Not much. But I was thinking . . . They've got the entrances to the mall covered, don't they?”

“We're not getting in without a firefight,” Graham replied, his voice grim. “We've determined that already.”

“Maybe you need to come in from a different direction. I haven't found it yet, but there has to be some sort of access from the mall to the roof, otherwise they couldn't get to the heating and air-conditioning equipment up there to work on it. If you could land guys on top and have them work their way down, you might take those terrorist sons of bitches by surprise.”

Graham frowned. He was proud enough to think that they didn't need some retired cop coming up with their tactics, but on the other hand, he wasn't too proud to let that keep him from putting people's lives first.

Anyway, he was certain that he and Zimmer and Crimmens would have come up with the same idea. They just hadn't had time to get around to it yet, that was all.

“We'll discuss it out here, Mr. Connelly, but you may be onto something. In the meantime, can you get out and make it to safety?”

“Maybe, but I'm not going to. I'm staying here so I can lend a hand when it all hits the fan.”

“I could order you to escape if possible, you know.”

“And I could ignore that order, Agent Graham. What're you gonna do, arrest me?”

Graham had to chuckle at that. He said, “All right, Jake. I think under the circumstances we can call each other by our first names. I'm Walt.”

“Sounds good, Walt. I may not be able to stay in touch, but tell your guys that when they come busting in, they should keep their eyes open for a fat, gray-haired guy who looks like a flatfoot. That'll be me, so don't shoot.”

“I'll pass the word along,” Graham promised. “It's going to take a while to discuss all this, settle on a course of action, and then implement it.”

“Just don't take too long,” Jake Connelly said. “I don't know how much time the folks in here have left.”

Chapter 33

T
he other men in Tobey's squad—he couldn't help but think of them that way—were waiting with anxious expressions on their faces when he got back to them.

“I killed a couple of guards out there,” he reported. “Managed to do it without raising a ruckus, though, so the rest of them probably won't know anything about it for a while.”

“What did you do with the bodies?” Herb Dupont asked.

“Dragged them into the ladies' room.” Tobey grinned. “I figured their buddies wouldn't think to look for them in there and wouldn't want to, even if it did occur to them.”

“Good one,” Aaron said.

“Is the way out clear?” Dupont asked.

“Now, that I couldn't tell you,” Tobey replied. “I couldn't see the door to the parking lot from where I was. I wouldn't be surprised if the guy in charge of this bunch has men posted at all the entrances and exits to keep the authorities from getting in without a fight. But if you want to go and see for yourself, I won't stop you.”

Dupont shook his head and said, “No, I'd rather stay here and fight. Those bastards shot up my store. Somebody's got to pay for that.”

“And all the people they killed,” Lockhart added.

“That'll be up to somebody besides us,” Tobey said. “Let's just say I figure they'll wake up surprised, disappointed, and pretty hot under the collar when they realize they're not in their sick version of paradise after all.”

“Because the devil will be waiting for them,” Lockhart said. Tobey just nodded.

“What do we do now?” one of the other men asked.

“We see if we can find some more of them to kill without them catching on to what we're doing,” Tobey said.

* * *

Habib wasn't happy. He had men roaming through the mall to root out any of the Americans who were trying to hide, as well as to check in with the men guarding the hostages and make sure everything was all right. One of those patrols had returned with the news that two men were missing.

“Missing, you said?” Habib repeated. “Not dead?”

“No, Habib. They are gone from their post, and we could not find them.”

“Did you see any of the infidels in the area?”

The man who was making the report grinned, his lips drawing back from his teeth in a savage expression. He said, “Only dead ones, praise Allah.”

Habib nodded slowly. This was troubling news, but not completely unexpected. While he hoped that all of his men were as devoted to the cause of jihad as he was, it was possible that some of them were not as courageous. Perhaps the two who were missing had gone off to hide somewhere in hopes of living through this.

That would never happen. Everyone in the American Way Mall was going to die today. It was ordained in heaven.

“Pass the word to the guards that some of them are to reinforce the men at the entrances,” Habib decided. “The Americans have heard our demands. They will refuse to honor them, of course, although they may lie and say that they will. All the while, however, they will be plotting to attack us. Everyone stay in contact. When the attack comes, we will rush to meet it with all the strength of the Prophet in our arms.”

“Taking guards away from the hostages, I don't know—” the man began.

Habib didn't let him continue. He snapped, “The infidels are beaten down and too afraid to oppose us. They cower on the floor like animals and pray we will not kill them.” Habib shrugged. “They're wrong, but for now their false hope is useful to us. It keeps them cowed.”

The man nodded and hurried off to relay the order. Habib felt the skin on the back of his neck crawl. He had hoped to prolong the Americans' ordeal until the holy hour of sunset, but that might not be possible. Despite his confidence, those two missing men worried him.

Were they just the start of trouble he hadn't expected?

Perhaps he might need to move up his plan and start the killing early.

* * *

All the Americans had been herded down the staircases at each end of the mall so the upper level was now empty except for a few guards roaming along the walkway overlooking the vast central area on the ground floor.

The children's play area was not far from the center of the mall, and it was now packed with hostages sitting shoulder to shoulder. A few of the prisoners talked in low voices, some whimpered in fear, but most sat in stunned silence, unable to believe that their day of festive shopping had turned out this way.

The bodies lying everywhere just made things worse. Loved ones of the dead sobbed uncontrollably.

Guards strutted around, machine pistols in their hands, sneers on their faces.

This scene was repeated in the food court, in the entrance areas at the north and south ends of the mall, and in one of the department stores that anchored the complex. The prisoners were spread out that way to keep them from acting in concert. Together, they would have had overwhelming numbers on their side. Separated, terrified, they still outnumbered their captors by seven or eight to one, but the automatic weapons, along with the fear they generated, evened the odds.

Jake Connelly figured that out from the half-hour of reconnaissance he did, slipping out of the service corridors at different locations on the upper level and discovering that it was mostly deserted. He kept an eye out for the roving guards and steered clear of them, and so far nobody had spotted him.

He was about as far from a ninja as anybody could get, though, and he knew it. He wasn't going to push his luck too much.

He hoped that FBI guy had taken him seriously about sending men in from above. That was the best chance they had of turning the tables on the terrorists and getting some of the hostages out of here alive.

Whoever had put this attack together wasn't a pro, Jake mused as he crouched behind the counter in a vitamin and health food store. The leader of the terrorists hadn't taken everything into account. If it was that kid he had seen earlier, then Jake wasn't surprised. The guy was too young to be anything but an amateur.

Problem was, even an amateur terrorist was way too deadly.

He heard footsteps outside and knew the patrol was approaching. Jake drifted into the store's back room, where he had left the door to the service corridor propped open. He went into it and eased the door closed behind him.

He wasn't doing any good here on the upper level, he told himself. When the authorities struck back, as they were bound to do, the action would be down there on the ground floor. That was where he needed to be, he decided. That way when things started to pop, he could get out there and give the good guys a hand.

He headed for the ladder and ventilation shaft he had found earlier.

It took him a while to find it, since he had gotten a little turned around in this rat's nest. But when he came across it, he tucked his guns away again, took hold of the iron rungs, and started down.

His feet had just touched the concrete floor on the ground level when he heard a faint noise behind him. He started to turn as he reached for the guns at his waist, but then he froze as he felt a hard ring of metal jab against the back of his neck.

That was the muzzle of a gun, he knew, and he realized he was only a few ounces of pressure on a trigger away from dying.

* * *

Irina appeared to know every inch of these service corridors, Jamie thought, and that was good. You always needed a trustworthy guide when you were operating behind enemy lines.

Today, this entire mall had become enemy territory.

They needed guns, too, and in talking it over with Irina, Jamie's hunch had been confirmed. There was a large sporting goods store attached to the mall as one of the anchor businesses, and it carried a supply of guns and ammunition.

“Do they have any guns like that?” Kaitlyn had asked as they were talking about it. She gestured toward the machine pistol in Jamie's hands. The girl was more composed now, although her eyes were still red from crying and from time to time she wiped the back of her hand across her nose.

“I doubt it,” Jamie said. “You can't just go into a store and buy a fully automatic weapon like this. There are rules against that.”

“Those terrorist guys have them,” Kaitlyn protested.

“Terrorists tend not to follow rules, except for the ones that tell them to kill anybody who doesn't believe exactly the same way they do.”

“
You've
got one of those guns.”

“I don't follow the rules all the time, either,” Jamie said. “Anyway, I didn't buy this Steyr. I took it off one of the bad guys, remember?”

“And I used it to save your life. Remember that? I'd sure like to get my hands on one again.”

“We'll see,” Jamie said, although she hoped they wouldn't run into any more of the terrorists until after they reached the sporting goods store and armed themselves better. After that, if they had a chance to grab a couple of the machine pistols for Kaitlyn and Irina, it wouldn't be a bad idea.

Irina knew how to lead them to their destination, but to get there they would have to cross a couple of the hallways that were open to the mall.

“There could be guards,” the young woman from Chechnya warned. “And even if there are not, all it takes is one terrorist walking by to look down the hall and spot us.”

“We'll have to take that chance,” Jamie said. “We can't fight them with just one gun.” She paused. “Unless, of course, you and Kaitlyn would rather find a place to hunker down and wait, instead of engaging them again. That would be the smartest thing to do.”

And she wouldn't hold it against them if they decided to do that. Neither of those young women was in the business of waging war the way she was.

Or at least, the way she had been. Technically, she was a civilian now, just like they were.

“No, we fight,” Irina said.

“Hell, yeah,” Kaitlyn added. “For the sake of my mom and everybody else those bastards have killed.”

Jamie said, “Your mother wouldn't want you talking like that.”

“How do you know? You never even met her.”

“I just know, all right?”

“So it's all right to want to kill those men, but not to curse?”

“Don't ask for logic at a time like this,” Jamie said. “Come on. Let's go.”

She cracked open the narrow door that Irina pointed out and peered up the hallway toward the mall. It appeared to be empty. The mall was to the left, some restrooms back to the right, according to Irina. Jamie couldn't see those doors from where she was, so she had to risk opening the door even farther. She peered around it.

The restroom doors were closed. No one was in sight.

She turned her head, nodded to the other two, then stepped out, holding the Steyr level with both hands. Irina and Kaitlyn hurried out behind her and darted across the hall to another of the narrow service doors. Irina thrust her key into the lock and twisted it. She pulled the door open and ducked inside. Kaitlyn was right behind her.

Jamie was about to enter, as well, when she caught a flicker of movement from the corner of her right eye, toward the restrooms. When she turned her head, she saw one of the terrorists stepping out of the men's room as he zipped up his fly. His machine pistol was tucked under his right arm.

He saw her at the same instant. His eyes opened wider in surprise. He moved his arm and let the machine pistol drop into his grip.

Jamie had no choice. She pressed her Steyr's trigger and fought the gun's tendency to rise as she laced a string of slugs into the man's chest.

The bullets drove him back against the restroom door, which swung open under the impact. He dropped the machine pistol just outside the door as he fell into the restroom.

Jamie glanced toward the mall. No one was there yet, but somebody was bound to have heard the shots and would come to check them out. But she might have a few seconds . . .

Irina was peering anxiously out the service door, holding it ready to close. Jamie said, “Be right back,” and raced along the hallway to the man she had just killed. She scooped up the Steyr he had dropped, used her foot to shove his legs inside the restroom, and pulled the door closed. Anybody who came looking for him would have to go down the hallway and open the door to find him.

She ran back to the service door and ducked through it. Irina closed it behind her. Jamie handed the Steyr to the young woman.

“Hey, no fair!” Kaitlyn said.

“You get the next one,” Jamie promised, although a part of her hoped it wouldn't come to that. She had a feeling that Vanessa Hamilton wouldn't want her daughter turning into a killer, no matter what the circumstances.

Sometimes circumstances forced people to do things they never would have done otherwise, though.

They continued making their way toward the sporting goods store, according to Irina. They weren't far from it when Jamie heard something up ahead and motioned for the others to stop. She cocked her head a little to the side, tightened her grip on the Steyr, and listened intently.

It was an odd, regularly spaced sound, sort of like footsteps but not exactly. Jamie heard what sounded like a grunt of effort. It came from around a corner in the shadowy corridor. At least it was only one man, she decided, although she still couldn't figure out what he was doing.

Then it came to her. He was climbing up or down a ladder. Since the sounds weren't fading, she decided he was climbing down.

Toward them.

Had to be one of the terrorists, she thought. They had finally realized this network of passages was back here behind the scenes in the mall, and he was exploring it, looking for people who had hidden themselves away from the massacre.