Ethan Justice: Origins (Ethan Justice #1) (32 page)

“I can’t do that, Miss. There’s something in your home I need to find.”

“You what? I don’t think so, chum. You should shift before I call the police.”

He hadn’t time to drag the conversation out, and soon he would have to revert to action. He would try one more time.

“Please, Miss. This is a matter of life and death.”

“Yeah, it’ll be yours if you don’t leg it, pronto. I’ve got a souped-up Taser in the back which will fry your balls and burst your ticker.”

A bell rang in Johnson’s head.

“I don’t think so. Where would you get hold of a gizmo like that?”

“You American’s aren’t the only ones with the lethal toys, mate. My dad gets all sorts. It’s about all the old wanker’s good for, other than the rent on this place.”

“What’s your dad look like? Short, stocky, short straight hair, like mine?”

The woman pulled back a little from the door revealing the full features of her face. Johnson could instantly see the family resemblance beneath the ravages of neglect. “You know my dad?” she said.

“He’s about to wipe out half of Twickenham, you included, if I don’t stop him.”

“You’re Johnson?” she said, unlatching the security chain and opening the door fully. The hall of the flat was in far greater need of a coat of paint than the building’s stairwell. Beer cans, bottles and various items of underwear littered the bright pink carpet. She took no more care of her living environment than she did of herself.

“He mentioned me?”

“Yes. We had words and your name came up. He said...”

“I have to be quick,” interrupted Johnson. “Did he give you anything?”

His partner’s daughter looked offended at Johnson’s lack of interest. What was it she didn’t get about her father trying to wipe out half of Twickenham?

“Stop interrupting, and I’ll tell you.” She bent over and picked up a briefcase from her left and held it out to Johnson. “He said to give you this and tell you that you were already too late but...? Wait, no, that wasn’t it.” She closed one eye and twisted her head as she thought. Johnson leaned forward to take the small case, and his nostrils were assaulted by the smell of cigarette smoke. “If you’re dead, then you’re too late... No, that’s not it either... If you’re alive, then don’t be late... No, that’s not right.” She scratched her head and leaned against the door frame for support. “It’s all a bit fuzzy, but he definitely said to give you that.”

Johnson dropped to the floor and opened the briefcase. Inside, the weapon glinted at him. It was the latest prototype, the gun that Bradshaw had removed from the laboratory. He’d been right to follow his instinct. Wilson didn’t have a gun.

“Johnson!” shouted a man’s voice.

The agent swivelled around on one foot, pulling his Glock-17 from its holster and prepared to fire, but there were only dark walls and a window in front of him.

“Kinda jumpy aren’t you, Johnson?” Kate said.

“Johnson!” came the voice again and the agent instinctively brought his hand up to the earpiece, realising that it was Smith trying to contact him.

“Shut up, I need to listen.” Johnson attached the nuclear source to the barrel and trigger mechanism, and it clicked into place. The large handgun emitted a low hum and vibrated softly in his grip. He had held several prototypes before but never actually fired a fully charged version. The power emanating from the lead-lined, cold, steel casing was unimaginable.

“Wilson has gone nuts, you hear me? I’ve been trying to keep the watch pointed in his direction. He’s talking to Fisher out of earshot. We’re stuck on a bench next to platform four. You’d better hurry. He’s given Fisher the weapon. He’s coming, got to go...”

The earpiece went dead again. Then, Wilson’s voice: “I told you two, no talking. I’ll be with you in one minute.”

How could Fisher have the gun when Johnson held it in his hand? There was no time to reason, he needed to move.

“Is that my dad you’re listening to?” said Wilson’s daughter, jumping up and down. “Fuck me, he’s gone mental. Are you gonna blow his head off? Please blow his fucking head off.”

From his crouched position, Johnson set off back down the stairs like a sprinter at the sound of a starter pistol.

“Nice meeting you, Johnson. I’m Kate by the way,” she called after him.

Johnson adjusted the dials to narrow beam and medium level as he took each flight of stairs in two strides. The shrill voice continued, “He said if you’re still alive and you’re not too late then this should even the odds if you’ve got the guts to use it. Yes, that was it!” Then even louder, “Before you blow out his fucking brains, Johnson... Do you hear me? Before you shoot that piece of shit between the eyes, tell him that I’ve always fucking hated him,” screamed the voice from above Johnson.

No wonder he’s planning to take her out,
thought Johnson, flinging open the doors to the building and racing towards the station,
but what’s he got against the rest of Twickenham?
He made a mental note to himself to ask Doctor Meredith if she liked kids before he met up with her in person.

26: Monday 26th September, 12:40

Wilson bent down and forced John Smith’s ankle against the wrought iron leg of the bench and snapped on cold metal cuffs.

“These will keep you here so we can have a nice chat when Savannah leaves.”

John had the distinct feeling that he should have made his move before the cuffs came out, but what it might have been, he had no idea.

“So what’s your plan?” John asked the smiling agent, who wriggled himself between him and Savannah.

Wilson’s smile broadened as he regarded John. There was a look of peace in the man’s eyes, like he was in a different place, seeing different things from the rest of the world. “Now you’re chained, I suppose there’s no harm in it. I plan to be with God. What more can a man hope to achieve?”

Savannah remained quiet at John’s earlier request when Wilson had been talking to Fisher. But she could not hide the shock on her face. It was all she could do to stay on the bench.
Hang in there, Savannah.

So, except for Savannah, they were all sentenced to death. A wave of self-preservation washed over John. If their last ditch plan didn’t work, and it wasn’t likely to, he was staring death right in the face. He had come so far and survived, it seemed unfair to end up dying chained to a bench.

“Can I ask why I have to die? What did I ever do to you?”

The agent nibbled his top lip. “You’re no good for Savannah. She’s better off without you.”

“What if I promised not to see her again?”

Wilson laughed. He was certainly more cheerful since he’d lost his mind.

“Nice try, kid, but I don’t think so.”

“At least stop calling me kid. It’s my last request. All condemned men get a last request, right?”

“Sure,” Wilson said, grinning. The lunatic agent had become a regular Samaritan.

“What if I scream, by the way?” John asked. Every avenue seemed worth exploring.

“If you make one sound or gesture, I’ll put a bullet in Savannah’s head, and her blood will be on your hands.”

So it was down to the last ditch plan again. “You touch one hair on her head and I swear I’ll come after you.”

A wry smile spread across Wilson’s face. “We’re about to be blown sky high. The only direction we’re going is up, where I can be with my Julie and Kate just like the good old days.”

John had observed enough of the rogue agent’s behaviour around Savannah to doubt that his threats towards her carried much weight, but Wilson was deranged, and who could predict what he would do if the chips were down? John had risked Savannah’s life enough in the last few days, and he would not try to save his own by jeopardising hers. He felt pretty good about that thought. It was a shame he would die before the new John Smith had a chance to show what he was made of. Agent Johnson was their only hope now, and for all they knew, Wilson may already have killed him. If Johnson was dead or working with Wilson then all was lost.

“Is Johnson with you in all of this?” John asked.

Wilson sniggered. “Johnson? That fool’s stuck in traffic on the M25. If he’s early, he’ll be here in time to join us in the afterlife, otherwise he’ll be scraping you off the buildings half a mile away once the dust dies down. I’m betting on the former.”

The agent, who until this morning at Justice Investigations had seemed a decent sort, gave a thumbs up signal to Fisher who waited to the right of the inside of the station entrance. There he could presumably keep a lookout as well as pull the trigger on the gun that would obliterate anything in its locality.

It seemed that Fisher was too mixed up and in awe of Wilson to even consider his own thoughts, although it was a toss-up between the two crazies as to which one might cost the most lives. If Fisher made a run for it, with the weapon under his control, there was no way of knowing how many social workers he blamed for the predicament with his sister. John’s father had always maintained that four social workers’ lives only equated to one of anybody else’s, so he might consider Fisher’s retribution the less costly.

John’s eyes misted, and an all too familiar lump rose in his throat at the thought of not seeing his family one more time. They had been right about him, he knew that now. Wishing they could have witnessed the new and improved John, he wondered if they would cry at his funeral. He hoped so, just a little. He wiped his eyes before turning to Savannah, who forced a smile back at him. Her lovely eyes were sad and tired. Wilson looked on triumphantly. John winked at Savannah. She knew what to do.

“You’ll soon forget him, Savannah,” Wilson said, leaning back on the bench like he was in a comfy armchair. “From now on, there will be no more bad influences in your life. You can take control again. We’ll all be as dead as that useless father of yours.” He pointed to an exit on the far side of the station. “Now leave here while there’s still time.”

John coughed and rubbed his nose frantically, the signal he and Savannah had agreed upon in advance.

“What do you know about my father?” Savannah said, standing up and walking over to Wilson. “Who are you to judge my father?”

Wilson stood up.

That’s it Savannah, keep him distracted.
John was just about to reach out and take the gun from the front of the agent’s trousers when the big fool stepped out of reach. Damn it, it had been their final gambit. If it wasn’t for his ankle being joined to the bench, he could have leapt forward and made a grab for the gun, killed Wilson and then shot Fisher. It had never been a great plan.

“I just meant that you could put everything behind you,” Wilson said, caught off guard by Savannah’s outburst.

“He was weak, but he was no murderer which is more than I can say for you.” Savannah’s hands were on her hips, and her face contorted with an anger that flushed her face and flared her nostrils. If this was acting, it was the best John had seen.

John used the distraction to move his Earthguard issue Rolex closer to his mouth and whispered, “I’m about to be launched from this bench if you don’t move it, Johnson. Platform four, Twickenham Rail Station. It’s now or never.”

He knew it was hopeless, but unless Savannah could back Wilson up a little closer, he had no chance of reaching the exposed gun. He coughed loudly, a real throat clearer to attract her attention, but she was busy laying into Wilson.

“You’re about to murder thousands of innocent people. In what way does that qualify you to bad mouth my family?”

The agent’s lips flapped like a flag in a strong breeze, but only one word came out, “But... but... but?”

“But nothing.” Wilson took another half step back. One more of those and it might just be worth a shot. Just as John’s heart accelerated with the adrenaline rush that was hope, Wilson took a step to his left, taking him well out of his reach. John slapped his head with both hands.

It was over.

“One break, that’s all I was asking.” As the words left his lips, John felt the tightness on his ankle release and the cuffs fell away, clinking on the concrete floor below. There was no time for thinking. The plan was already ingrained, having been played over and over in his head. He pushed off from the secured bench with one foot and launched himself at Wilson. For the longest time John seemed airborne, no part of him close to the ground.

Wilson turned to see his attacker, the thick coat swinging open to reveal the pistol only a foot away. John’s hand opened to take hold of the pistol. As John’s fingers circled the grip of the gun, a huge fist came crashing down onto the back of his neck sending him face first onto the floor. John heard his nose break before the pain registered, but neither worried him as he double rolled to his left leaving a small pool of blood behind him. The plan had failed. He looked up at Wilson to see him draw his own gun from beneath his left armpit.

*

Savannah ran into Wilson at full pelt, like a rugby player hungry for the try line. Instead of sending him flying, the impact merely knocked him off balance. A look of disbelief and hurt appeared on his face. He began to shake his head as he pulled out Fisher’s gun from his trousers with his empty hand, flipping it around expertly so that the barrel pointed at him and the grip was extended towards Savannah.

“Is this what you want? This world is over for me anyway but if you’d prefer to do the honours?”

She snatched the gun before he had time to reconsider and brought her other hand up to hold the weapon steady.

“Drop the gun!” she screamed, looking around her to see that the few travellers in the station were fleeing for the exits. One woman shrieked, and she could hear the distant sound of sirens approaching.

Wilson stared into her eyes. Not an ounce of fear emanated from him.

“I said, drop the gun.”

“You’re all the same,” the agent said, moving towards Savannah as he spoke. “You say you want one thing, and yet when it’s put in reach, you want something else.”

“Don’t come any closer.” Savannah backed away as Wilson approached. “Drop the gun, or I’ll shoot you.”

Wilson stopped and turned towards John, who had started to rise.