The Innocent: The New Ryan Lock Novel (28 page)

He stepped back from the overhang and took ten steps toward the access door. He dug out a key and opened the padlock he had placed there prior to the security sweep of the stadium.

Slipping inside, he moved swiftly along the narrow metal walkway, and lay down. A hundred and fifty feet below, people were still taking their seats. At the far end of the stadium a photo-montage of the dead was thrown up onto a screen. In front of it was a podium from which the speakers would address the crowd.

Half a dozen cops stood at various points inside the auditorium, thumbs hooked into their belts, their eyes scanning the crowd for Daniel Svenson. Daniel studied each of them in turn. He was glad they were there. They gave people reassurance but, in reality, they might as well have been cardboard cut-outs for all the good they would do when it came time for the real show to start.

Their faces shadowed by Harrisburg basketball hoodies, Ty and Malik walked out of the players’ entrance tunnel as the crowd took their seats. Ty hit the answer icon on his cell as Lock’s name flashed on the display.

‘We’re about to hit start,’ said Ty.

‘Any problems?’ asked Lock.

‘All good so far. You?’

‘We just got here. Should know in five minutes,’ said Lock.

Lock braked slowly as the lumbering Chevy reached the bottom of the track leading to the cabin where Weston Reeves had almost killed Ty. He switched off the engine and glanced across at Kelly Svenson, who was next to him in the passenger seat, her hands cuffed behind her back. ‘We’ll walk from here.’

He got out, came round, opened her door and helped her out. Ty had already brought Lock up to speed on the security measures Daniel Svenson had put in place at his house. Lock hadn’t survived this long to get blown sky high by a jerry-rigged IED in Minnesota. He pushed Kelly in front of him, using his left hand to guide her forward. With his right hand he drew his gun.

As they stepped onto the track, Lock let her walk ahead. He waited until she was twenty yards clear, then followed her. He wasn’t exactly proud that he was using Kelly as a human mine detector, but the situation was as it was.

It took them five minutes to reach the cabin. He closed in behind her as they got within a hundred yards of it.

‘Okay, call for him,’ Lock told her.

She stayed silent.

Lock jabbed his gun into the small of her back.

‘Daniel?’

A moment passed. Lock jabbed her again, a little harder this time.

‘Daniel! It’s Kelly. Come on out.’

There was no answer from the cabin. Lock decided to try another tactic. ‘Daniel,’ he shouted, raising his SIG and pressing it against Kelly’s temple. ‘I have your sister here, and if you don’t come out in the next ten seconds, I’m going to blow her head off.’

A bank of television cameras, photographers and reporters hunkered down in front of the stage as Minnesota’s governor, Andrew Becker, strode purposefully toward the lectern. It took a moment for the crowd to settle as the stadium lights faded until only the stage was lit. They had already been softened by speeches and prayers, and a long, carefully crafted apology from Laird that had danced between contrition and admitting legal liability. But Becker’s speech was the big gamble. It had been his brother, Aubrey, who had visited this chaos on Harrisburg, and the stench clung to him. Now he planned to do what any modern career politician would do under the circumstances: make himself out to be the real victim.

The governor’s hands clasped the podium as he surveyed the crowd. He cleared his throat. The silence was close to complete. He took out a silk handkerchief from the top pocket of his suit and dabbed his eyes.

‘My advisors told me not to come tonight,’ he lied. ‘But I figured I owed it to everyone here, and the people of this great state who have placed so much trust in me, to be here to honor all of those affected by this horrific—’

He felt something hit his chest. There was a burst of flashes from the photographers. He looked down to see orange paint spattered all over his suit. Confused, he looked around for the source, but the auditorium was dark beyond the podium. He could hear a couple of police radios crackle nearby. The others on the stage looked at each other.

It’s only paint, he thought. Someone had obviously thrown a paint pellet at him. He tried to wipe it off the tips of his fingers. It wouldn’t budge. He decided to continue. If he skulked away now, that would make the news. It was better to go on.

He held up his hands. ‘I understand that people are upset.’

This time he heard the dull thud of the Airsoft gun as another paint pellet sailed through the darkness and hit Chancellor Laird in the same spot, slap-bang on his heart. The governor looked around as Laird’s wife darted in front of her husband, fussing over the mess the paintball had made of his suit.

The governor was confused and angry at the interruption. ‘Folks, can we remember that this is a memorial service for the victims?’

The same sound echoed through the stadium as another paintball slammed against the chest of one of the trustees who was seated next to the governor’s wife. ‘Security? Can we have the lights—’ said the governor, as the crowd’s murmurs grew louder and the paintballs kept coming, the next one slamming into one of the campus cops stationed next to the stage.

The lights came on full blast. People in the crowd squinted. The cops were busy scanning the crowd for the source of the disturbance. The photographers were on their feet, rushing the stage for a better angle of the governor and his paint-spattered suit.

Then, as quickly as they had come on, the lights went out. The entire stadium was plunged into total darkness. A young woman screamed. Murmurs gave way to the sounds of panic. People began to move, heading for the exit but stumbling over each other in the dark.

The only thing visible were the spatters of paint. They glowed with a fierce luminosity, marking out each of the four people who had been hit by the pellets.

A second later there was a loud bang and a blinding light as a flash-bang grenade was tossed into the middle of the crowd. More people screamed and scrambled from their seats. The sound of a single gunshot rang out. The orange paint adorning the governor’s suit gave way to blood as a single round slammed into his heart, killing him instantly.

Lock watched Kelly Svenson close her eyes as he began the countdown from five. Daniel had until then to step out of the cabin and give himself up.

‘Five.’ He allowed a second to pass. His heart was thumping. Kelly took a long, slow breath.

‘Four.’ Another second elapsed.

Lock moved his finger to the trigger, and counted off three. ‘Last chance,’ he shouted toward the cabin.

Tears were rolling down Kelly’s cheeks. ‘Two!’ he said.

He started to tighten the trigger. Kelly screwed her eyes tighter still. He could feel her body tense. She bit her lip. Slowly he eased the pressure so that the barrel of the SIG was no longer pressed against her skin.

‘One!’

At the last second, he snapped the gun down and to his right, and shot into the ground. The sound echoed back toward them. Kelly was sobbing now.

‘He’s not here, is he, Kelly?’ he said to her.

She shook her head.

He reached up and swiped the tears from her eyes with his thumb. ‘Look at me.’

She opened her eyes.

‘You would have let me kill you? For what?’ said Lock.

Her voice fell to a whisper. ‘I made him a promise.’

Lock raised his SIG again. ‘Did you pinky-swear when you made it?’ he said. ‘Listen to me, this shit’s real. People are going to die. Playtime is over. I don’t have time to reason with you, or tell you how sorry I am that this happened to you and your brother. We’re past that, and I’m not going to let more innocent people die because of Aubrey Becker and what he did. So, you’re going to stop yanking my chain, and tell me where Daniel is before anyone else gets hurt.’

‘And if I don’t?’

‘Oh,’ said Lock, ‘you will.’

She stared at him, defiant. ‘No, you won’t. You wouldn’t shoot a woman. Especially not one who’s handcuffed.’

‘You think?’ said Lock, aiming the SIG at Kelly’s right foot and pulling the trigger. Kelly shrieked in pain. Nothing in the cabin stirred. She fell backwards. Lock let her. She writhed around on the ground, screaming, barely able to breathe. Lock stood over her, and aimed the gun at her left knee. ‘I’m going to keep shooting until either you’re dead or you tell me.’

She started to speak only to be stunned back into silence as a series of explosions boomed their way toward them from the valley below. Lock whipped round to see a plume of black smoke rising from the stadium.

A mother clutching a toddler stumbled and fell as people forced their way toward the exits. Together Malik and Ty fought their way through the crowd, picking people up and tossing them out of the way. Malik reached the woman first, and hauled her back to her feet as Ty grabbed the howling little girl she’d been holding. Ahead, a dense mass of bodies was pressed up against a door as more people piled in, adding to the mêlée.

Malik glanced at Tyrone as they found a pocket of space and reunited mother and child. ‘Exits have been locked.’

‘How do we get them open?’ Ty asked.

Malik shrugged in frustration. ‘Hell if I know. Everything here’s centrally controlled. Lights, doors, everything.’

‘Then where’s the control?’ said Ty, grabbing a young college girl who was about to go under the feet of the panicked crowd.

‘Follow me,’ Malik said, as another shot rang out, this one tearing a hole in the floor, narrowly missing Chancellor Laird who was crawling on hands and knees across the court, an orange dot in the darkness, marked for death by the paintball gun that Daniel Svenson had used to select his targets.

They eased their way through the crowds, and found a pocket of space near half court. Glancing behind him, Malik could see a couple of men, their bodies pressed against one of the exit doors. They weren’t moving. They only remained upright because of the mass of people behind them. They were almost certainly dead.

Ty bent over, hands on his knees, catching his breath as another shot was fired from high above. It caught one of the college cops in the neck, spinning him round as blood spurted from him, soaking the ground next to him. ‘What about them?’ Ty asked Malik, with a nod toward the dignitaries fleeing the stage as another shot rang out.

Malik’s eyes narrowed as his gaze fell on Laird. ‘Fuck ’em,’ he said. ‘We need to get those doors open.’

Malik started toward the locker room, Ty following. Clear of the crowd, they broke into a run as more bullets tore through the stadium and the screams of panic were overlaid with sobbing and pleas for help from those dying in the crush.

High in the gantry, Daniel Svenson steadied his breathing, and searched through his scope for a fresh dash of orange paint. The killing was easy. He was inside. No wind to contend with. Clearly defined targets. It didn’t get much better. By his count he had only a couple of cops and Laird left to kill.

As for everyone else’s fate, that was up to them. If they kept calm and looked out for each other, they’d be fine. If they behaved like animals, they would die. It was as good a test of human nature as any. They had come here to show that they cared for someone other than themselves. If that was true, they would live. The paint had been his signal to them that they would be spared. Yet they hadn’t grasped it. That was on them.

Malik racked his brain for the location of the control panel. He must have passed it a thousand times. He was sure it was next to the locker rooms, but he couldn’t see it. He stood in the corridor and scoured the walls. It was grey, about two feet by three, and mounted about five feet from the floor.

‘You sure it’s here?’ Ty asked.

‘I think so. I don't know.’

He remembered. A few months back there had been some work done and it had been moved so that it was next to the alarm control.

He ran twenty yards to the office. It was locked. He hefted a foot to kick down the door. It didn’t give. Pain shot all the way up his leg.

‘In here?’ Ty asked.

Malik nodded.

Ty pushed him back, and took a kick at the door. This time it flew open. They pushed their way inside. The elderly caretaker was behind his desk. He’d been bound with duct tape and rope. Malik stepped past him and opened the cabinet that held the control panel. All but two of the switches that controlled the exits were flipped to ‘lock’, which would only ever happen after midnight when the stadium was closed to the public.

Malik started flipping switches to the open position as Ty ripped the strip of silver duct tape from the caretaker’s mouth. The man gasped for air.

Ty turned back to Malik as he flipped the last switch. ‘How’d I get up into the gantry?’

‘The steps are back here,’ said Malik.

Ty followed him through a door at the back of the office and into a narrow corridor. At the far end a set of metal steps snaked their way up into the stadium roof.

The Chevy lurched to a halt outside the stadium. For a moment Lock stared through the windshield at the chaotic scene that greeted him. People were laid out on the ground, motionless: men, women, young, old. Few of them were moving. Others wandered among the dead, looking for lost relatives or friends, sobbing, with the blank mask of shock people wore when they’d been caught up in something horrific.

Lock glanced back to Kelly Svenson. A makeshift tourniquet, tied tight around her ankle, had staunched much of the bleeding. ‘There’s your promise to your brother,’ Lock said. ‘Couple of dead kids in the mix. You must be so proud.’

The color had drained from her face. ‘He’s only going to harm the people who covered up.’

Lock opened his door and started to get out. ‘It ever occur to you that people lie?’ He slammed it and left her sitting there. He started toward the building. Close to the main entrance, Dennis Lee was establishing a command post. Levon Hill and the other feebs were with him.