Chapter 3 as it appeared
Part 1: From Dawn to Dusk
Authors: Ian, Gabby, Kulko, PCat
Warnings: Domestic Violence.
Malton +46
That fucking hurt, thought Kulko as a look of shock spread across his features. It had been a long time since he'd felt the sting of a bullet, but the sensation was hardly unfamiliar and, after a moment, brought a smile of nostalgia to his face. Reminds me of Fox Moldering... wonder how that son of a bitch is doing? Probably as miserable as we are. Kulko grabbed a pistol from the dashboard and fired off a couple of shots at the locomotive beside him, mostly to make himself feel better. The railroad ties beneath the tires of the F-150 didn't help matters, but the hijackings were standard operations by now. His men - if you could call them that - had things under control.
"I'm hit!" he roared, turning his head over his shoulder for just a moment. "Is everyone clear?"
The lanky teenager, Geoff, in the truck bed, wearing a DHPD T-shirt, pointed to the top of the cargo truck and banged on the roof twice in response. "They're all aboard! Let's get out of here."
Kulko pulled the pickup ahead of their target to regroup. These high-speed hijackings were always dicey, but the really hard part came at the distribution points. "Explain to me again how this works?" asked the newest recruit, Amy, sticking her head into the cab through the rear window as she ducked down out of the wind.
"Simple," Kulko growled, scratching at his matted beard. They'd been on the move for a few weeks, and showers had been few and far between. "We radio ahead to the team in Harrisburg. They start to spread the word among the locals - food is on the way. We stop the train early, open the doors, and let God sort it out. By the time the pigs try to take back control, they have a choice. People are streaming in from miles around to secure food for their families - so it's either open fire on the populace, or give up the goods."
"What do they usually do?" asked Amy, shouting over the road noise.
Kulko turned his head back to look her in the eyes. "Food ain't cheap, girl. They usually shoot."
The reunion had been a muted affair. Ian had managed to swing a dispensation on the restrictions against the number of people allowed to gather in one place but even so, few officers had risked showing up. Gabby sat on a bar stool and glowered into his Jack Daniels.
The door opened with a bang. Gabby looked up to see two thick-set men enter. They were clearly security of some kind. Several more spilled into the room. And then Global President, Simon Brankin, walked in, one arm round his wife and a pack of Press behind him. Gabby's heart sank.
Ian stood up and walked over to Simon. They shook hands and photos were taken. Gabby listened as Simon trotted out some pre-prepared speech about how the situation was still normal. Ian didn't look happy. Gabby guessed he hadn't planned on this little publicity stunt.
Simon and Kate took up position in a spare booth, Ian next to them. Various DHPD were invited over to speak, more photos were taken. Gabby consoled himself that he wasn't going to be invited to this particular party. Kate sat quietly next to Simon, her hands in the pockets of her jacket. She didn't seem to be speaking much. At one point she stood up and started to move round to sit next to Ian, but a word from Simon called her back. That, Gabe couldn't help thinking, was one short leash.
Danny was called over. Gabby remembered him saying earlier that he'd been asked onto the Presidential Security team, something about them needing a new pilot. Danny had not intended to accept but Gabby, thinking he detected Kate's hand in it, had urged him otherwise. As Gabby watched, Kate again made a move, this time to sit by Daniel. Once again Simon stopped her. When Danny stood up, Simon looked pleased. Presumably the former Musketeer had taken the job. There was another speech and Simon and Daniel shook hands while pictures were taken.
Fuck it! He wasn't going to let this little charade continue. He swaggered towards the booth, wondering if one of the security people would try to stop him.
"Kate! Ian!" he called as he approached, waving his arms. To his surprise, Kate actually looked up and smiled at him. No one was in the way yet, so he slid in beside her on the couch. Cameras flashed.
"Good Evening, Mr. Mallows," said Simon through a thin smile. "I was just saying how I was prepared to let bygones be bygones."
It looked like Gabe had picked his moment well. He glanced at Kate, but she was looking away from him towards Simon. However he could feel one of her hands scrabbling around at his hip. What the fuck was she doing?
"All water under the bridge," said Gabby generously, wondering how far he could push this. The safe course of action would be an abject apology. Then again, Gabe had never really been one for the safe course of action. Besides, Kate had just slipped something into his pocket and he wanted to know what it was - getting kicked out of the joint would be the quickest way to find somewhere quiet where he could take a look. "I fucked your wife, after all," Gabe continued recklessly. "Couldn't expect you to be happy about it."
Next to him, he felt Kate go rigid.
"What did you say?" Simon's voice was dangerously calm.
"You heard me," Gabby put an arm round Kate. He could feel that she was trembling. That wasn't so good. He should maybe back off a little, for her sake.
"Gabby!" Ian's voice was low and dangerous.
Kate remained silent.
"Fuck, I was kidding! Remember jokes, guys?" said Gabby and grinned falsely. "I'm interested it got such a reaction though. You always struck me as the jealous type, Simon."
"Get out of here, Mr. Mallows," said Simon. His voice was cold.
"Don't worry, I'm on my way. So long Ian, Kate." Gabby rose. He pecked Kate on the cheek though her face remained resolutely turned away. He held out a hand for Ian to shake but Ian just looked at it coldly. "Fair enough!" Gabby shrugged and sauntered for the exit, as nonchalantly as he could with half a dozen secret service agents glowering at him.
In the street, a small surprise awaited him. His beautiful Ferrari, a fiftieth birthday present, had been parked outside the bar. It was still there, with some new touches. Touches like shattered windows, slashed tyres, and keyed paintjobs. Gabby sighed. If the new king of the world was this petty, the world was going to go wrong, fast.
To whoever gets this
On this data stick you will find Simon's plans for invoking the emergency
powers. Look them up. They're pretty scary. They dissolve all
political parties in favour of a government of global unity until such
time as the crisis is deemed resolved. They impose de facto martial
law and support indefinite arrest without charge for the
duration. I've included a list of people slated for immediate arrest
as soon as the announcement is made. They need to be warned. I'd send
this out myself but I doubt it would get past the household filters.
Do Something.
PCat
One tiny detail in the grim masses of information brought a smile to Gabby's face. She had signed the note, not with the official-sounding Kate Brankin, but with the name that he had known her by, the name that would always be her real name to him. Cat.
The list was chilling. Both his own name and Ian's appeared on it, along with several hundred political heavyweights and outspoken public figures, which included most of the DHPD. Idly, Gabby wondered which name it was that had finally forced Cat's hand.
He picked up his phone.
"Hello, Ian? Yeah, how's things, man? OK, sorry about tonight but this is important, seriously. I'll be fast - I know you're still pissed at me, for everything, but listen - shit is going to go mental, very fucking soon. I won't say I told you so, but... shit, we're being fucking phone-tapped aren't we? Bugger. Well, you know those chats we've been having - I've received some information and I wanted you to see it before the press. It's sent, but it's covered in encryption and shit - the police have got my computer all fenced-off. Please take it seriously, Ian, don't let loyalty blind you. Take care of yourself, mate," Gabe said urgently and hung up.
He headed for the computer, limping slightly - he had been attacked by a "mugger" on the way home. He had many more friends to warn, and a whole world to alert. He sighed wistfully as he passed a group photo.
The DHPD, twenty years ago, before the world had gone to hell, taking so many of them with it. Sam, his arm around Vicky, smiling broadly at the camera - when they had still been married, before Sam had spoken out against Simon's policies. The Times had led the smear campaign - it had been one of those ferocious media firestorms - booze, hookers, sex and divorce, all within a fortnight. Andy and Ant, before they had vanished into Africa somewhere, sending out only the odd cryptic message from what had become de facto comms blackout zones. Pete, looking calm and relaxed. One of his last Greenpeace stunts had apparently gone horribly wrong. He had spent a month in hospital, and his team had all died. The inquiry blamed his carelessness. Pete had agreed. The lively Kiwi was never the same again. Kulko, before he had gone crazy and started blowing up convoys. Kate was still coming to the reunions then. She was next to Simon, who had grabbed the photo opportunity. But Gabby had snuck an arm around her shoulders. Marty Banks and Dr. Snow, now in Simon's Alcatraz, on some bullshit charge. As Gabe stared at the smiling faces, a reality he had once tried to show Kate came flashing back - everyone who had ever opposed Simon had suffered for it. Now, it seemed they were not going to be allowed to oppose him ever again.
"Fuck that shit," Gabe murmured, grabbing his old acoustic guitar as he headed for the computer. Not only did he have to warn his friends, he realised, but it was also time to start writing again. One last album, before he disappeared for good. A glorious middle finger to the Global President, filled with screaming guitars and crashing drums, as the old world tumbled around them, to be replaced by an everlasting tyranny.
It hadn't been as bad as she had feared. She'd always known a public appearance at a DHPD reunion was likely to end with Simon angry. But given what Gabby had said, she really hadn't expected to be moving without pain tomorrow.
He'd thrown her against the wall as soon as the front door closed and her head had banged back against something, but there'd been no blood and any bruising would be hidden by her hair.
"Fucking DHPD whore," he'd said, but the words had been followed up by kisses rather than blows.
He lay beside her in bed now, still whispering "I love you, Kate," and "I'm sorry". In a way she'd have preferred it if he had hit her. She'd betrayed him, to Gabby of all people, and no longer deserved anything better.
Ian stared in mounting horror at the files Gabby had sent to him. The plans for emergency government were well advanced. Well enough advanced to have gained a momentum of their own, in fact. He was already constructing a mental list of people to send them on to when Cat's comment about the household filters stopped him.
His portable computer was fully approved world government issue. That meant it ran the centralised monitoring software and all Gabe's decades' old fears came back to him. Cat would have known how good the detection might be, but he couldn't consult Cat. The fact she'd not felt able to email the files to him herself didn't bode well though.
He thumbed his mobile. "Hey, Hali! I need to run some technical ideas past someone. You wouldn't be anywhere near Beijing would you?"
"So, Kate? When you begged me to leave Mr. Mallows alone, did you know about his new album?" Simon hissed, brandishing an e-book reader.
"New album? No - I don't talk to him, you know that," Kate said, glancing down at the screen.
Flipping the bird?
Gabriel Mallows, AKA, The Bad Apple, has never shied away from controversy. In his time (he has been playing under the Bad Apple alias for almost forty years, a career rivalling the Rolling Stones in longevity), this seemingly young man has flown in the face of society's demands, be it for his extravagant fashion sense, his refusal to settle down, or his incredible talent for getting mired in scandals. Ten years ago, he famously kissed current First Lady, Kate Brankin, provoking a media firestorm of frightening ferocity. Rumours that the smear campaign was led by Mr. Brankin never subsided, despite his vehement denials. Only weeks after that controversy was re-ignited by a chance remark at a DHPD reunion, his latest album and possibly his last, is sure to cast an enormous shadow over all his other controversies.
Fuck the Man makes no attempt to hide its message underneath layers of symbolism and subtle hints. It is a pure rock'n'roll album, hearkening back to the bands that The Bad Apple seems to idolise, and its lyrics are no different. In fact, many large chains have refused to stock it, citing its "subversive nature" and explicit wording. The Guardian caught the immortal rock star (literally) at his London flat, for an exclusive interview.
JR: So, Gabriel, your flat's looking empty. Are you leaving London?
GM: Indeed I am. Certain ...pressures have made London unsafe for me, so I'm going away for a while.
JR: May I ask where?
GM: (laughs) If I'm leaving because I feel insecure in this country, would I really give away my location to an international broadsheet?
JR: You never know. So you feel insecure?
GM: Yeah - I don't think my stylist covered my bruises that well, did she?
JR: Bruises? So you've been attacked. By whom?
GM: I... would rather not elaborate on that.
JR: Why is that? You've never shied away from controversy - have you finally been broken?
GM: No, not at all. Does the album sound like the work of a broken man? I just think saying too much would jeopardise a lot of my friends.
JR: Perhaps Mrs. Brankin? Your relationship with the First Lady of the World has been quite the heated subject. Is it true you slept with her?
GM: Fuck me, that again? It was a tasteless joke, and in the end, a regrettable one.
JR: Why? Did it provoke the President's anger? Is that who's been beating you?
GM: Alright, Jackie, you're pushing me, I'm just trying to protect you. If you run this story, you will get prosecuted. The newspaper will be fined, possibly blacklisted. Your call.
JR: The truth must triumph, that's my job.
GM: Fine. Yes, Simon did send thugs after me. Multiple times in the last five years, and none of the visits have been pleasant. I've been harassed, persecuted, beaten, censored, spied on, arrested, like I'm some sort of fucking criminal. The world is moving towards a dictatorship, and no one is doing anything to stop it. Either that, or Mr. Wankin is crushing opposition before it starts. So I'm disappearing. Over the past few years, I've done a lot of work for the left, often in conjunction with your newspaper. That makes me an opposition leader. You've seen the accidents that all the opposition has suffered, and I bet I'm next. So I'm bailing.
JR: You're abandoning the left in its darkest hour?
GM: Yes.
JR: About the album. Was it intended as a defiant gesture to Mr. Brankin, or an incitation to revolt?
GM: I would rather not use those words, but yes. It's all of those things. There's actually a song called "Beat the Street" - the chorus goes something like (picks up guitar) You all know the day is dark/Politicians taking the power away/While the world looks on, the anger stays/So beat the street/Rise against/Fight the man, he's still weak/. So yeah, I suppose it's all of them. (a comms unit rings. The ringtone is Paradise City, a Guns N' Roses song from 1987 that he has covered multiple times.) Excuse me. You ready? Yup, just wrapping up here.
JR: What was that?
GM: Nothing, would rather it wasn't too big a deal. But I have to go now, sorry. Watch the media feeds tomorrow! There will be big news breaking!
JR: Thank you for your time, Mr. Mallows.
GM: Please, Jackie, call me Gabe.
Ever the womaniser, the eternally young rockstar tried to get my number as I left. In the interests of journalistic integrity, I won't reveal whether or not he succeeded.
"Danny, Sam, it's great to see you. Thanks for coming out so soon. Alright, I visited an arms dealer, but he didn't have much for me. We've got a handgun each, and about four spare clips between us. If the mansion security codes have been changed Danny, we're fucked. You still up for this?"
"You say Cat is in trouble?" Sam said quietly.
"Yes, worse than ever now that the cat's out of the bag," Gabe said firmly, loading a pistol.
"Then we're with you all the way, Gabby," Danny murmured, his eyes roving over Gabe's leather trousers and great-coat. "You will change, right?"
"Fuck off, of course I will. So you know the plan? Danny, you checked the President's itinerary right?"
"Indeed, that stupid wanker will be out for a few hours."
"Then let's fucking move. Danny, you've landed on their helipad, yeah?"
"Only last week. Assuming Brankin hasn't smelled a rat and my clearance is still good, there shouldn't be a problem."
Kate lay face down on the bed where Simon had left her. In a bit she was going to have to get up and start cleaning. Simon would expect the place to be pristine when he got back. But not quite yet; he had a rally this afternoon; it would be several hours before he returned.
She'd known that, sooner or later, Gabby would go public with the information she had given him. She'd had excuses prepared, reasons why she couldn't possibly be the source. She should have realised that it wouldn't really matter. Simon had gone pale as his press officer had delivered the news and a small muscle had started beating in his cheek which she recognised as a danger sign.
He'd ordered the man out of the house in a calm and measured voice. Kate's excuses had been rising to her lips even has he closed the distance between them and hit her across the face. "Always Gabriel fucking Mallows," he said. "You're not even a slut with taste."
It was years since he'd hit her anywhere that might show, a sign he had really lost control. The next blow snapped her head back to the other side. He stood panting slightly and Kate saw the realisation dawn in his eyes that she wouldn't be fit to be seen in public for several days now. Then his hands were in her hair pulling her up the stairs.
There was a First Aid kit under the bed. She really needed to get it out. A side benefit of the charity work was access to the latest medical supplies. There were bandages in there impregnated with painkillers and antiseptic and some adrenaline capsules. They should be enough to get her onto her feet and cleaning up, once she worked up the energy to reach them.
Dimly she became aware of sounds in the house below her. Shit! Simon was back and nothing was cleaned up. Kate whimpered, struggling through the pain for the First Aid kit. Maybe if he realised she was making a start it wouldn't be too bad. Moving to the edge of the bed was agony. There were footsteps on the stairs. Kate fought back the tears. Simon had never liked weeping women, though there had been a point earlier when she had wept and screamed and begged anyway, even though she knew it only angered him further.
"Stupid fucking whore," he had said. "Can't keep your mouth shut even when you're only getting what you deserve."
Which was a fair comment, really, given that she had leaked the information.
"Fucking hell!" said a voice. It seemed vaguely familiar, but it wasn't Simon's.
That meant there was someone else here. Kate's mind scrabbled for some excuse for her condition that would sound plausible.
"Gabby!" the voice was shouting, "we need medical supplies."
"Cat? Cat?" Legs moved into her vision and then a face appeared. It was Danny. What was he doing here?
"Cat? Are you conscious?"
"Yes," she whispered. "I..." she struggled for an excuse. "Intruder," she managed.
"Jesus Christ!" It was Gabby's voice from the doorway.
"She says there was an intruder."
"Like hell there was! You seen any sign of a break in, apart from us?"
How was she ever going to explain to Simon how Gabby came to be in her bedroom?
"Cat! Can you hear me." It was Gabby now, staring anxiously at her.
She nodded. It was her back that really hurt, where the lashes had fallen. Her head was OK, all things considered, though one eye felt a bit puffy.
"Right! I'm giving you pain-killers, then I'm bandaging you up and we're getting you out of here."
"I'll manage, with the pain killers. You should go. I've got to clean up."
"Like hell you have."
She felt a prick in her arm. Then the sensation of someone wrapping bandages around her body.
"I've got the stretcher." It was Sam's voice. "Holy fucking shit."
"I've done what I can," said Gabby. "Now we need to get her to some proper medical attention."
The world was receding but Kate was still worrying about how to explain this mess. "Intruder," she whispered.
"No sign of a struggle." Danny's voice was quiet.
"OK, we transfer her to the stretcher on three," said Gabby. "One, two, three."
Kate realised she was being lifted. She couldn't be gone when Simon got back, that would be a disaster. She started to struggle, then cried out as the pain broke through the softening effect of the pain killer.
"Quiet Cat," it was Gabby's voice. "It's going to be OK. I promise. We're here to rescue you."
"Some rescue," said Sam. His voice was full of disgust. Cat wasn't surprised. There wasn't a lot here that was worth rescuing. She must look a sight.
The stretcher was lifted with a jolt that sent more pain shooting through her body. In spite of herself, she cried out again. Now Gabby would be angry as well. She shut her mouth determined to make no more noise. The stretcher jolted again as they turned the corner at the top of the stairs but she managed not to make a sound. Her eyesight was getting hazy though. She closed her eyes against the glare of the light, riding out the sensations of pain and the jolting until she gradually floated away to somewhere else.
Gabe glanced at the other Musketeers, concern and terror breaking through the encouraging smile he had tried to fix on his face. He had always known there was abuse going on in Cat's marriage, but he had never thought it was this bad. One side of her face was caked with blood, and there were long bruises across her back, several of which were bleeding as well. The sheets had been stained red. The battered woman was now unconscious which, Gabe realised, was probably for the best. He did not regret spreading the information over the internet, but he had never wanted Cat to take the fall for it.
"Gabby, we need to get to that helicopter fast - I reckon Wankin will be back really soon," Sam urged. Daniel pulled out his gun and looked cautiously around the corner. Something flashed out and struck him in the face, knocking him backwards onto the floor. His gun went flying into the air.
"Don't move, whoever that is!" The voice chilled Gabby, and he thought he saw Cat twitch in her sleep. Simon was home.
"Set her down, Sam," Gabe murmured. "Don't want to drop her."
Simon rounded the corner, and kicked Daniel's gun even further away from him. The blond was carrying two pistols and his face was a mask of rage, unlike anything Gabe had ever seen before.
"Gabriel Mallows. What a fucking surprise. Back away from my wife, now, or I swear to God I'll shoot," he said quietly, his voice trembling slightly.
"Fuck you. You'll have to shoot me. I've let you have your way with Cat for way too fucking long - forty years you've been knocking her about, you son of a bitch. It ends now, one way or another, you cowardly fucking cunt," Gabe spat, stepping in front of Cat's body.
"Forty years? God, you're stupider than I thought - and that's hard, I tell you. If anyone's to blame for this, it's you. Your little stunts are responsible for Kate's suffering."
"Maybe they are. But at least I'm man enough to admit I played a part in it - something you have yet to do, I notice. Now get the fuck out of the way. Consider this your divorce."
"Divorce? really? Think you can get Kate to sign the papers or testify against me? I'll file against her on grounds of adultery and that leaves her open to prosecution under the new morality laws. Marriage is sacrosanct in the Empire of Earth. She's mine. Always has been, always will be."
"The Empire of Earth?" Sam snapped. "Not yet, asshole, you're still only President."
"You know what it takes to get granted emergency powers? An emergency. And this is perfect. A direct attack on my own person by a suspected terrorist grouping." Simon smiled cruelly, pulling out a phone. "It must be the precursor to a major outrage of some kind."
"Hello, General, events are moving faster than anticipated. I appear to be under attack in my own home. It's urgent that the world comes to realise the seriousness of the threat it's facing."
He hung up.
"Security will be on its way as we speak. I'm warning you young man. If Kulko and the DHPD are planning something, the world will not forgive. Ian will be discredited. As will you, boy."
"Fuck you, you psychotic bastard. Quit the speechifying, there are no cameras here. And I'm fifty years old, don't you dare pull the age card on me, you morally corrupt little shit," Gabe growled.
"What do you know about my morals, Mallows? What are you? A cross-dressing show-off, some playboy who plays loud music and fucks with other peoples lives. You're nothing, nothing. I've saved the world from destruction. I've implemented my vision for the world's glorious future. And guess who's going to win this little stand-off?"
"Me." Daniel said flatly, swinging his foot around. Simon was swept off his feet.
"Move!" Gabe screamed. Daniel picked up his gun and put a round into Simon's chest, but he knew it would not keep him down for long. Simon was an immortal, just like them. Sam and Gabby scooped up the stretcher and sprinted towards the front door, Daniel covering the rear. As they fled towards Gabe's chartered helicopter, there was a yell from the house.
"Fine, do what you like - you'll all be dead by morning!"
As Danny lifted the helicopter off the ground, headed for JFK airport, Gabe crouched over Cat, doing what he could for her wounds. Her eyes flickered open.
"Gabby, where's Simon? I heard his voice."
"You're far from him now, Kate, don't worry," Gabe murmured affectionately.
"But I didn't clean up... he'll be mad..." Cat's voice trailed away as she slipped back into unconsciousness. Gabe stroked a finger across her face. Sam laid a hand on his shoulder.
"Gabby, it's not your fault. That man's a headcase - don't blame yourself for what happened to Cat."
"But it is. If I hadn't provoked him, it would all have been okay."
"Don't be thick, Gabs, people like that always cause trouble. I know that all too well," Sam mumbled, gazing into the clouds.
"You never got back in contact with Vicky, did you?"
Sam shook his head numbly, and Gabe leant his head on the tall Musketeer's knee.
"I'm sorry, Sam."
Jim was three blocks from home when he started to get a bad feeling. It was the sort of feeling he associated with the imminent attack of a zombie horde - or more recently with a truck driver who couldn't care less about cyclists. He slowed down and widened his awareness to more than just which mad road user was going to try to kill him next.
In the corner of his eye was an electronics store. Media screens were displayed in all the windows streaming various feeds out onto the street. There were images of President Brankin standing outside his home, blood on his shirt and police officers milling around in the background. Some of the feeds were showing montages of stills of DHPD members, mostly from forty years ago as they left Malton. One channel even appeared to have got hold of the initial mug shots Necrotech had taken as they had filed out of the gates. The DHPD all looking tired, unwashed, and desperate. There seemed to be a particular emphasis on shots of Ian and Gabe. Then there were a number of family videos of the Brankin family. Jim's eyes drifted to the tag lines "President's wife kidnapped by DHPD".
Jim weighed up the odds then decided not to go home. He had a spare identity Hali had sent him stashed in a locker at Central Station. He'd been a bit perplexed when it had arrived with a vaguely worded warning to keep it to hand. Turning his cycle round, Jim headed in the opposite direction.
He was too late though. Jim passed a patrol car and saw one of the officers gesticulating. He cursed the recognition chips they'd installed in the official cycles. He upped his speed and turned down a narrow side street, only just wide enough for the car. He heard a siren start up. Glancing behind him he saw the vehicle squeezing between trash cans. Jim turned out into another main street, nipped between the crowd of pedestrians, caught a crossing just as the lights changed and then ducked down an alleyway.
The alleyway was technically a dead end, but Jim knew that crates had been piled high enough to reach over the gate and luckily they were still there. He slung the bike over his shoulder as he scrambled up and then pushed the top crate away behind him before struggling down the other side. There was the sound of car horns behind him. He guessed the cops had pulled out into the traffic and then parked up at the entrance. He heard running feet and someone shouting for him to stop. He got on the bicycle again and deliberately weaved from side to side. There was the ominous sound of a shot.
Out on the busy street he grabbed hold of the back of a lorry and waved to the cops as they staggered out of the alleyway. But he could hear more sirens now. When he thought he might be out of sight, he let go and carried on down a side street straight into the path of another patrol car. Instinctively he leapt with the bicycle, landed on the bonnet and then rode up the car, across the roof and down the other side. He couldn't help a whoop of triumph as he landed back on the road, nipped up a further alley and took a quick left and right into a small warren of back lanes.
He found himself in a narrow walkway behind a row of basement apartments. Half way down, he ditched the bicycle down a stair well which seemed to have more than the usual amount of junk at the bottom and then jumped for a fire escape. He caught the bottom rung and headed up for the rooftops. He lay still on the tiles and listened to the running feet below. There was shouting and a triumphant cry. Damn! They must have found the bike. Then there was the sound of people banging on doors. Jim breathed a sigh of relief. If they were going door to door it would take them a while to think of the roof tops.
He stood up carefully and quietly moved across the roofs, heading towards the station.
BD watched as Ant lit up another cigarette. He glanced at his watch. "This place is quiet as the grave. I don't believe there's going to be an attack."
Ant shrugged. "Simon said it was just a rumour."
"We've been staked out here for a freaking week!"
"Treat it as R&R. Beats being shot at by bloody guerillas."
"I like being shot at by guerillas. It reminds me I'm alive."
Ant tapped the security screens in front of them.
"What is it?" asked BD.
"Don't know. Something doesn't seem right."
BD stared at the screens. "Look normal to me. Want to go on a foot patrol? There's fuck all else to do."
"Sounds good."
They picked up their guns and made their way out of their improvised security hub into the heart of the Nairobi Stock Exchange. BD waved cheerfully at one of the official security cameras as they went past.
"Let's drop by their office," said Ant. "I'm running low on smokes, quite apart from anything else."
They headed for the central security office. BD knocked once and then pushed open the door.
Behind him he heard Ant suck in his breath.
"Well, looks like you were correct. All is not right," said BD. The two security officers were sprawled where they sat. One had been stabbed. It looked like the other had had his throat slit.
"Fuck!" muttered Ant. "Whoever did it must have known about our cameras too. We didn't see anyone leave or enter."
"They'll have hacked into the network. I knew we should have used wires."
"We'd never have got it past the local officials. They're proud of this building."
BD pulled one of the bodies out of its chair and looked at the `official' security screens. "These ones are wired. Looks like our intruders are in the basement."
Ant looked over his shoulder. "Fuck! Those are explosives."
"You're telling me. Come on!"
BD headed out of the room and towards the stairs.
"You're mad, BD. We don't know what timers they may be using. We'll get caught in the blast."
"We're supposed to be protecting this place. Let's do our job," roared Bulldog.
Ant sighed and followed his apparently suicidal friend down the stairs. They met the intruders halfway down coming up the other way.
BD let off a burst of automatic gunfire and shouted, "Drop your weapons.".
The first man dropped. The second ducked back round a corner but a voice carried up to them, sounding surprised.
"Bulldog! I'd know that voice a mile away. Cease fire!"
"Who's that?" called BD.
Stephen Kulko poked his head around the corner, his trademark beard freshly shaven to better facilitate international travel. "Kulko, Alpha Squad. What the hell are you doing here?"
"Protecting this place," BD said cautiously, keeping his firearm trained on the Alpha. "What about you? It's a bit far from your normal base of activities isn't it?"
"Blowing it up," Stephen laughed. "We linked up with some other folks who weren't so happy about the global state of affairs. This is the big-time, brother." Kulko stepped out from around the corner with a couple of ragtag youths in DHPD attire. They kept their weapons raised. "You must be the extra security we were warned about. Good thing we found you - I'd hate for you to get caught up in the blast."
"And you must be the terrorist attack Simon heard rumours about. Are you going to give yourselves up then?"
Kulko pulled back the slide on his handgun and chambered a fresh round. "What made you sell out, Bulldog? The cash? The freedom to run around Africa killing whoever you please? Or the fact that the de facto Emperor was fucking your sister?"
"Motherfucker... I'm bringing you in!" BD roared. Ant could barely hold him back.
Kulko snorted. "This is it, BD. There are multiple Nations' Rights groups operating around the city. Nairobi's going up in flames. Our instructions were to take out both security teams, but for nostalgia's sake I'll make an exception. You want to live to see the show, you should get out."
"Fuck! It's Kulko, BD. He's... he was one of us. He's had the decency to warn us," said Ant, "and we're screwed. If his information's good someone high up sold us out. We need to get out of here and warn Simon."
The standoff persisted for nearly a minute, Kulko's men looking nervously between the three actual DHPD officers. Kulko and BD were unwavering, staring down their barrels at each other. Reluctantly BD nodded. "OK, Kulk. We'll leave you be. We're getting out of here."
Kulko lowered his weapon, motioning for his companions to do the same, and they turned back in the other direction. "Think about what you're doing, BD. Think about what's right!"
Ant and Bulldog scrambled back up the stairs and out into the grandiose marbled hallway of the stock exchange. As they headed out and down the front steps there was a rumble of explosives behind them. Before them the Kenyan sky lit up red as other explosions went off across the city.
Ian flicked off the television with the remote and let out a deep sigh. The headlines, announcing Kate's kidnap by the DHPD, were already being broadcast all over the world. But there were also reports starting to come in of other terrorist atrocities. Ian had a bad feeling he had been out-maneuvered. If only he'd seen years ago what Simon was up to... he shook his head, knowing that the time for recriminations would come. Right now he had to get out of here.
The news of the kidnap was eclipsing the leak about Simon's plans. Gabe had been muttering for weeks that Kate was in trouble and had refused to heed Ian's assurances that she would be safe with Simon. Ian had tried to explain that, whatever Simon's other flaws, he was a loving husband and father. Moreover Ian had been worried that precisely this would happen if Gabe went for Kate. The news of Gabe's high profile actions would out-shine the more important political news. Ian sighed. At least he had managed to warn most of the relevant people on the list Cat had sent.
With his plan in the open, though, it was inevitable that Simon would be forced to use any excuse to declare himself an absolute ruler. And Gabe had just provided an excellent one. If the news was true about other atrocities then Ian had a bad feeling Simon had already set the wheels in motion to secure another excuse. Kate's kidnap was just the icing on the cake. Simon would start by rounding up the people on the list- and there was no doubt in Ian's mind that he'd be first, along with the other DHPD officers. Hali had been working overtime setting up false identities and laying the groundwork for an underground information network. Ian only hoped it would be enough.
Rising from his bed, Ian loosened his tie and wasted no time exiting the room. He rushed hurriedly down the flight of steps toward the front door. He barely spared a glance for the exquisite paintings framed on the wall or the tables on the landings filled with vases and pottery. His mansion in Los Angeles was filled with all the riches and splendour that any man could ever ask for. A bunch of useless junk, really. There were really only two posessions in the entire joint that Ian could care less for, and the reassuring bulge in his suit jacket reminded him that one safely rested with him right now.
Continuing down the stairs, Ian made his way through several doors until he reached the one leading down into the basement. Here was where his most prized possession was kept... and his secret getaway, should he ever have need of it, which this was clearly the case at the moment.
It was but a short walk from here out to his escape from the mansion. Perhaps he'd be able to make his way to freedom without any unwanted encounters, as he had anticipated. The footsteps that he suddenly heard behind him revealed otherwise. The tiniest of smiles touched his lips. Of course the moment he thought he'd get off scot-free was when he'd hear someone coming. He froze dead in his tracks.
It only took a moment for a voice to ring out. "Former Global President Ian Carlyle, you are under arrest for questioning in the attack on Global President Simon Brankin and the kidnapping of his wife Kate. Put your hands up in the air and turn around slowly."
Ian nodded, raising his hands up and turning to face the men. It was a squad of eight, military by the looks of it. They all had rifles trained precisely on the one-time global president. His eyes narrowed ever so slightly, measuring the men up.
The man who first called out stepped forward, clearly the leader of these men. "I'm going to come forward, take the gun out of your pocket, and then handcuff you. If you resist in even the slightest way, my men will shoot you, former world leader or not."
Again a smile played across Ian's lips. The fact that the guy was good enough to notice the ever so slight bulge showed that he was pretty good. Of course, though, in this case pretty good was going to be nowhere near good enough.
With a swift motion Ian whipped his handgun from his jacket, his hand panning rapidly past each each of the soldiers, letting loose a single shot into the shoulder of each of the men, dropping all of them in less than a second, before any could even twitch and pull the trigger of their rifles.
Before the first man had even thudded to the ground, Ian was already moving forward to the leader. He kneeled down in front of the man who wheezed, "...how? I have the best men there are to offer... and you took us all down without us getting a shot off..."
Ian looked at the man with a hard grimace. "When I was with the DHPD I was known as the best shot out of all of them. In the years since then I've practiced shooting every day to keep in top form. I was already shooting many years before you or any of your boys was even born and you're going to find the same with any of the DHPD that you try to apprehend. I can assure you that I am innocent, as are my compatriots, and I can only hope that you realize Simon's the bad guy before you yourself killed."
As he rose to his feet, he said one more thing darkly, "Oh, and I don't kill. If you'd come up against most of my friends, I don't think you'd be so lucky."
Ian moved away from the fallen soldiers, making his way to his beloved jet, an F22 Raptor that he'd had since before his time in Malton, and which had served him for over 40 years now. It was considered outdated by today's standards, but he trusted it more than any aircraft of the modern era. Climbing into the cockpit he performed all of the flight checks, opening up the hangar's hatch and taking off, blasting through his backyard into the sky.
Looking down at the ground he could already see more vehicles surrounding his house. Simon had sent no dearth of men to capture his former ally, but they wouldn't be catching him today. He made a quick phone call. On the first ring Simon picked up.
"Simon, you should never have betrayed us all like this. I give you my word that someday when your empire is brought down, I'll be at the front leading the charge. Goodbye, old friend."
Ian hung up the phone, concentrating solely now on the horizon ahead. Again he felt purpose in his life. He would bring down this tyrant no matter what it took. With a determined look on his face, the man flew off into the afternoon sky.
"Gabby," Danny's voice was serious, "you'd better hear this."
He turned up the radio. The announcer's voice was serious.
"Multiple simultaneous explosions went off in Sao Paulo, Nairobi, and the Three Gorges Dam. The death toll is unknown at present. The locations appear to have been chosen to cause the maximum damage economically and socially with police stations, banks and transport infrastructure destroyed. The Dam is known to have burst and widespread flooding ensued. It is feared that the rising economies will be knocked back for years to come.
"The DHPD kidnapped Kate Brankin mere hours before the atrocities and warned the President that they were about to launch a Reign of Terror in protest at the limited presidential term Simon Brankin had insisted go into the world constitution. A limited term which resulted in Ian Carlyle being forced from power only a year ago. A detailed manifesto claiming responsibility, signed by Ian Carlyle, was sent to all major news outlets moments after the explosions. Sources confirm that keywords sent with the text confirm the sender as the former global president. Mr. Carlyle is reported to have murdered an anti-terrorist squad sent to his house to question him. He subsequently disappeared and is assumed to be on the run, armed and dangerous."
Gabe dropped his head, images of the Avenida Paulista in flames burned against his eyes.