Gone Bad (14 page)

Think, goddamn it, think.

The memory of the ex-president pleading for his life, sobbing, and begging Cain for forgiveness, cut into him like a knife.

Reznick’s earpiece crackled into life.

“Jon, where the hell are you?”

Reznick pressed his mouth to his cuff. “Fourth floor. Ex-president about to be killed.” He leaned over and cracked the door. He sensed Cain was close to the stairwells. He craned his neck through the door and looked right. Twenty yards down the corridor Cain was laughing as he dragged the handcuffed ex-president through a fire-escape door.

Fuck
.

“Be advised,” Reznick whispered, “Cain heading to the stairs on the north side of the fourth floor. Handcuffed to ex-President Adamson.”

The earpiece crackled. “Jon?” The voice of Meyerstein. “Jon, Assistant Director Meyerstein. We copy that. You have full authorization to do what you see fit. I repeat,
full authorization
. SWAT are headed up the stairs on the north side. They’re on the second floor.”

Reznick made a mental calculation. “They’ve got that covered. I’m headed up.”

He ran down the corridor and through the doors. Higher up the stairs came the sound of footsteps, panting and sobbing.

Reznick bounded up the stairs two at a time. “He’s on five! But I think he’s headed higher.”

The earpiece static whistled in his ear. “Repeat, take down Cain!”

Reznick headed higher. Senses switched on. Dark thoughts crowded his head. He pushed them aside. He was back in the zone. The seconds were counting down.

FORTY-FOUR

Hunter Cain was breathing hard as he dragged the handcuffed ex-president to a fire-exit door on the sixth floor. He pulled the handle. Locked. “Fuck.” He shot off the lock and pushed it open. Harsh sunlight flooded in. He headed out on to the roof of the complex. Views of Fisher Island. Biscayne Bay and the skyscrapers of downtown Miami in the distance. “Wow, now this is nice, huh?”

The target was sobbing hard. “Please … I have no idea who you are, or what your grievances are.”

Cain grabbed the target by the hair and dragged him to the edge of the roof terrace. He looked down and saw cop cars and dazzling lights down below. “Bit of a crowd already.”

“Please, I beg you. I have a wife, children. Grandchildren.”

“You know what I have? Nothing. I have no wife. No family. No anything. Do you think that’s fair? Well, do you?”

Ex-President Adamson bowed his head, as if resigned to his fate. “Please … son, I’m begging you …”

“I ain’t your son, you fuck. You corrupt fuck. You think you represent me? You think you represent America? The
real
America? Well, listen to me.
I’m
the real fucking America.” Cain took off his tie with his free hand and ripped open his shirt, partially exposing the Semtex vest strapped to his tattooed torso. He flicked a switch on the front, connected to a cellphone and battery inside the vest, and a red light flashed on.

The ex-president glanced round and saw what Cain had strapped to his body. He closed his eyes and began to pray.

Cain pressed the gun to his head. “Praying ain’t gonna save you. Praying ain’t saved no one. You ever seen anyone blown up by a suicide vest, Mr President? No, I don’t suppose you have.” He pulled the cellphone out of his pocket, pressed a button and began to film himself and his victim. “This is gonna go viral like you wouldn’t believe, bro.” He began to laugh, cackling maniacally. “This is a great day to die, ain’t it?”

FORTY-FIVE

The sound of laughing seeped through the partially open rooftop door. Jon Reznick peered out and saw the dire situation. He pulled back from the door. He looked up and squinted as the fierce sunlight streamed through a skylight above. His mind raced.

“Meyerstein, are you there?” he whispered into his cuff.

“Yeah, Jon. SWAT are fanning out.”

“Please be aware, Cain is handcuffed to the ex-president and wearing a suicide vest.”

“Goddamn.”

“I need bolt cutters.”

“Hold the line, Jon.” A few moments later. “Jon … bolt cutters with Team B.”

“What?”

“Long story.”

“We haven’t got time. Almost certainly already set on a timer.”

“Jon, full authorization to do the necessary. Right now.”

“Got it.”

Reznick saw piles of tables and conference chairs in the corner. He pulled out a table and put a chair on top. He clambered up and reached for the steel frame of the skylight. Then he pulled himself up and peeked over the edge. He was located ten yards diagonally behind Cain. He needed to shoot from a particular angle, or Cain would inadvertently pull his captor over the edge.

He hoisted himself up onto the roof terrace. Cain’s wild ranting was in the ex-president’s face.

Reznick aimed at Cain. He needed to be sure. Suddenly Cain spun round, the look of a cornered animal in his eyes. In that second, memories flooded back through Reznick’s head. This was the man he had fought with. He stared at his friend for a split second.

Time seemed to stop. He felt the cold metal of the trigger. Pulled it twice. Two bullets ripped into the forehead. Blood erupted from the wounds.

Cain slumped to the ground and fell backward. His limp body began to drag Adamson towards the edge.

Reznick ran across the roof terrace and grabbed the ex-president by the arms, pulling him back to solid ground. He looked down at Cain, saw blood spilling from his mouth. He turned to face Adamson. “Sir, I need you to focus and do exactly as I say.”

The ex-president just nodded.

“Firstly, do not move.”

Reznick reached under his jeans and pulled out a knife strapped to his calf. He bent over and cut Cain’s shirt off him. The Semtex suicide belt was fully exposed.

Reznick said, “See what I’m talking about?”

Adamson nodded.

Reznick checked the suicide belt and saw the primitive trigger-switch that activated the belt. He tried to turn it off but it stayed on red. It was clearly battery-operated. “Fuck!” It could explode at any time.

He cut off the belt and threw it over the edge, onto a grassy area down below. “Meyerstein, suicide belt cut off and located in the parkland area below. Do you copy?”

“We copy that, Jon. Good work.”

“He was going to manually detonate it.”

Reznick saw that the ex-president was wearing a tiepin, still attached to his tie. He reached out. “Mind if I take this?”

“Go right ahead.”

Reznick unclipped it and began to rub it on the stone at the edge of the roof till it became thin and sharp. He inserted it into the tiny hole in the handcuff lock and began to delicately jimmy it. He pressed his ear up against the cold cuffs as he listened to each turn. Eventually he felt the required point of the internal locking mechanism, and turned the tiepin sharply. A click, and the handcuffs were prized open. He extricated Adamson’s chafed wrist from the handcuffs and escorted him back through the doors, where two SWAT guys had arrived at the scene. “They’ll take you away from here, sir.”

The ex-president looked long and hard at Reznick. “Who are you?”

“Sir, forget about me. We need to get you to a secure location.” Reznick cocked his head at the two SWAT guys. “Get him out of here!”

Reznick turned and headed back onto the roof. A chopper with a SWAT team was overhead now, a sniper aiming down. The downdraft was making the operation difficult. He rifled in Cain’s pockets and found a picture of Hunter as a boy, with his mother and father at the beach.

He turned over Cain’s body, blood still oozing out of the two bullet wounds. Reznick stared down at the corpse of his old Delta buddy. He looked down below and saw a cordon was already set up.

A SWAT guy walked up. “We got it from here, Jon.”

Reznick stared down at Cain again. He thought back to Fallujah. He thought back to the crazy, tough-as-nails warrior he knew. Then he thought of Cain’s terrified girlfriend, assassinated on Cain’s orders.

He sensed someone was watching him. He turned and saw Meyerstein walking towards him. She surveyed the scene.

“What a mess!”

Reznick nodded.

“But it could’ve been worse. A lot worse.”

Reznick stared down at Cain.

“You okay?” she said, looking at him.

“We got blindsided on this.”

“This was an elaborate, complex, operation,” she said. “It must have been months, maybe years, in the making. And for what?”

“It was also a failure on our part. Lives have been lost. We didn’t join up the dots.” He shook his head. “What a fuck-up.”

Meyerstein’s earpiece crackled into life. She nodded. “Completely deactivated?” She paused. “Get it to Quantico labs for testing. We need to know where this batch was sourced from. Get back to me asap.” She looked at Reznick again, walked to Cain’s body and peered over the edge of the multistorey. Forensics were already photographing the discarded suicide belt. “Semtex?”

“Someone got hold of it. Ex-KGB are known to have access to stocks.”

Meyerstein nodded. “What do you think Cain was going to do with Adamson?”

Reznick pointed to the cellphone on the ground. “Film him being killed for posterity.”

“Chrissake!”

Reznick blew out his cheeks. “Are we done here?”

Meyerstein nodded. “You’re done here. I’ve got a month of reports waiting for me. We’ll need to investigate – who was pulling the strings? And there’s a distinct possibility I might be kicked out of the FBI.”

Reznick flashed a wry smile. “That ain’t gonna happen.”

“Why you so sure?”

“The FBI are many things, but stupid ain’t one of them. You’ll get a rap on the knuckles, and be told not to fraternize with guys like me.”

“Yeah, if I’m lucky.”

Reznick said nothing.

“Where you headed?” she asked, looking him in the eyes.

“Might go back to New York and finish that drink of mine.”

“And after that?”

“Been offered an interesting job out in the Middle East.”

“You gonna take it?”

“We’ll see.”

Meyerstein smiled.

“What about you?” he asked.

Meyerstein curled some hair behind her ear. “What about me?”

“Business as usual?”

“Well, firstly, I’ll have to head straight back to DC and have a chat with the director.”

“And then?”

“And then I’ll go home, and shut the door, and see my kids.”

Reznick said nothing.

“Will you be available in the future?” she said, her eyes fixed on him again.

“Why?”

“I need to know. In case the director asks.”

Reznick sighed. He stared out at the water in the distance. “Tell him I’ll think about it.”

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ABOUT THE AUTHOR

J.B. Turner has been a journalist whose articles have appeared in UK newspapers including the
Daily Mail
, the
Daily Telegraph
, the
Scotsman
, the
Daily Express 
and the
Herald
. He worked as a freelance journalist for several years before he began work on his first novel. JB Turner is married and has two young children

Check out his website at
www.jbturnerauthor.com

Follow him on Twitter
@jbturnerauthor

• PROLOGUE
  
• ONE
  
• TWO
  
• THREE
  
• FOUR
  
• FIVE
  
• SIX
  
• SEVEN
  
• EIGHT
  
• NINE
  
• TEN
  
• ELEVEN
  
• TWELVE
  
• THIRTEEN
  
• FOURTEEN
  
• FIFTEEN
  
• SIXTEEN
  
• SEVENTEEN
  
• EIGHTEEN
  
• NINETEEN
  
• TWENTY
  
• TWENTY-ONE
  
• TWENTY-TWO
  
• TWENTY-THREE
  
• TWENTY-FOUR
  
• TWENTY-FIVE
  
• TWENTY-SIX
  
• TWENTY-SEVEN
  
• TWENTY-EIGHT
  
• TWENTY-NINE
  
• THIRTY
  
• THIRTY-ONE
  
• THIRTY-TWO
  
• THIRTY-THREE
  
• THIRTY-FOUR
  
• THIRTY-FIVE
  
• THIRTY-SIX
  
• THIRTY-SEVEN
  
• THIRTY-EIGHT
  
• THIRTY-NINE
  
• FORTY
  
• FORTY-ONE
  
• FORTY-TWO
  
• FORTY-THREE
  
• FORTY-FOUR
  
• FORTY-FIVE
  
• ABOUT THE AUTHOR