Omega Dog (27 page)

Nobody said anything. Nobody even seemed to dare to breathe.

Venn said: ‘I asked,
do you understand?
’

At his side, Corcoran said, ‘Yes.’ His voice sounded hoarse.

The two nearest gunmen nodded.

‘Good,’ said Venn. ‘Then you’ll also understand that if you attempt to incapacitate me - to shoot me, or jump me, or whatever - there’s a high chance that I’ll jerk the crutch sideways, setting the bomb off. I might not. You might get lucky, and drop me before I can lean on the crutch. But you probably won’t.’

Again, there was silence, apart from the sounds of the city, the laughter, and the sirens, and the car horns. All of which seemed far away.

Venn had their attention now. He was center stage. The puppetmaster.

There was no other way he could pull this off.

‘All of you,’ he said. ‘Go back down the stairs and shut the door. Don’t even think about coming back with a surprise attack. Don’t even
dream
of it. I haven’t got a lot to lose. If I see you, I
will
detonate this bomb. Believe me. I’m dead serious.’

One of the men, who seemed to be in charge, said something Venn didn’t catch. Some sort of tactical code phrase.

Reluctantly, they began to back toward the stairs, their guns still leveled on Venn. He stared them down.

He and Corcoran watched the last man back through the door to the stairwell and close it. Corcoran turned to him. Close up, the guy’s face had the consistency of wax.

‘So,’ said Venn. ‘Now that we appear to be alone, I’ll honor my side of the deal. First, as to where Professor Lomax is... he’s somewhere you’ll never, ever find him now. Second, in regard to why you won’t kill me - the reason is that if I die, you die too. Immediately.’

‘What do you want?’ said Corcoran. Remarkably calmly, Venn thought, given the circumstances.

Venn said, ‘A confession.’

––––––––

B
eth stared up at the sky. From where she was, she couldn’t see anything of the roof of the building. Then again, it was eight floors up.

Professor Lomax was beside her in the car.

She’d asked him to stay behind in Maine. He’d ignored her.

Just as she’d ignored Venn, and his instruction to her and the Prof to lose themselves somewhere far away.

Distantly, she heard voices talking. One man’s dominated.

Venn?

Or were the voices even coming from up on the roof? This was the Village, before midnight. The streets were teeming. She might have been hearing a conversation from somewhere nearby. A bar, or through the open window of an apartment.

No. It was Venn’s voice. She knew it.

After Venn had left them, up in Maine, after they’d watched his stolen Mustang speed off into the distance, Beth had turned to the Prof.

‘We have to follow him.’

‘He’s told us not to.’

‘I’m part of this. More than you are. I can’t just let him go off and get killed.’

‘What could we possibly do?’ said Professor Lomax. ‘Look at us. He seems to know what he’s doing. We couldn’t make a difference.’

‘We’re going Prof,’ she said. ‘Or at least,
I’m
going. You can do your own thing.’

‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ he said sharply. ‘I’m not letting you go back into the lion’s den on your own.’

They took the BMW, Beth driving. She floored the accelerator whenever she dared, but even so she realized she didn’t have a prayer of keeping up with Venn.

Nonetheless, she knew where he was going. He’d told them he was going to use the roof of his apartment block for his crazy scheme.

And he’d also told her his address.

They’d arrived in the East Village at a quarter of eleven. Beth had immediately spotted the Mustang on the street outside Venn’s apartment. Illegally parked, on a yellow line.

Beth couldn’t help smiling at that.

There were no cops around. There was no sign of any activity.

She’d bought a phone on the way down, and had called Venn while he was driving. He’d noted the number of her new phone.

Now she was waiting on Venn’s call. That was part of their prearranged plan. The only difference was, Venn was expecting her to be hundreds of miles away when she took his call.

Not on the street directly below him.

Beth found a parking space on the street across from Venn’s apartment building, where at least she didn’t run the risk of being towed away. She propped the phone on the dash and sat behind the wheel.

Neither she nor the Prof spoke for a long time.

Then Professor Lomax said, ‘It isn’t hopeless, you know.’

Beth glanced at him. ‘But his odds are pretty long.’

‘I didn’t mean that,’ said the Prof. ‘Though I agree with you. I meant... the possibility of your developing cancer.’

Beth looked out the window again. ‘You said, a ninety per cent association.’

‘But we don’t yet know why the other ten per cent
didn’t
succumb. There might be some common factor that you share with them.’

Beth gave him a quick smile, to show him she appreciated his attempts to reassure her. Even if he wasn’t succeeding.

‘That’s something to worry about later, Prof,’ she said, giving his hand a squeeze. ‘Right now, it’s Venn who’s at the highest risk.’

They lapsed into silence once again.

Ten minutes later, the phone rang.

––––––––

‘Y
ou’re out of your mind,’ said Corcoran.

‘Spare me.’ Venn backed toward the wall running round the perimeter of the roof. It was a low wall, maybe four feet high. A foot or so across.

He dragged Corcoran along with him by their cuffed-together wrists, at the same time keeping the crutch jammed in between his ankle and the bomb strapped round it.

And he kept his eye on the door to the service stairs, in case the men down there decided to disregard his instructions and mount a sneak attack after all.

‘A confession,’ said Corcoran, gasping a little as Venn tugged harder on his wrist. They were at the wall now. Awkwardly, but as rapidly as he could, Venn hoisted his butt up onto the wall, hauled his legs up, and dragged the smaller man after him.

Venn looked down.

Eight floors wasn’t much, in a city like New York, with its dizzying skyscrapers. But when you were eight floors up and staring down a sheer drop, it looked plenty high.

Corcoran looked down too, involuntarily. He sucked in his breath and swayed a fraction.

Good
, thought Venn.
He’s scared of heights.
That would give him another psychological edge over Corcoran. It was why he’d climbed up onto the wall.

‘Yes,’ said Venn. ‘A confession. Full and frank. I know the story already. But I want it to come from you. A complete account of your involvement in the cover-up of the carcinogenic effects of C-77. In the murders of those innocent participants in the drug trial, and the attempted murders of Dr Beth Colby and Professor Leonard Lomax. And everything else you’ve done.’

Venn let go of the crutch for a moment to take out his phone. He transferred it to his other hand, the one cuffed to Corcoran’s, and held it up, lifting the man’s arm with the action.

‘Whenever you’re ready, Corcoran. Remember. A full confession. But don’t be too verbose.’

in the dim light from the surrounding city, Venn saw Corcoran’s face gleaming with sweat.

‘Venn,’ he said, his mouth sounding dry. He swallowed and tried again. ‘Venn, listen to me. You have to get us down from here. Quickly.’

‘Why?’

‘Because I’m not alone in this. I work with other people. And my...
associates
will have been told you’ve taken me captive, and will know what you’re up to. They’ll order us both killed immediately. They can’t afford to have me talk.’

‘Then you’d better hurry up, Corcoran, hadn’t you?’ For emphasis, Venn jerked his arm back. Corcoran gave a yelp as he was almost toppled off his feet, back over the edge.

‘Venn,
please!
They won’t hesitate. I guarantee it. They’ll shoot us both!’

Venn hit the speed dial button.

Beth’s voice came immediately. ‘Yes, Venn.’

‘Ready to record?’ he said.

‘Yes.’

To Corcoran he said, his voice low and urgent:
‘Start talking.’

‘Venn! You have to understand that we have to get away -’

Venn wrenched his arm backward again so that for a moment they both teetered crazily on the edge, over the eight-storey drop. Corcoran shrieked.

‘I’ll do it! I’ll talk!’

Venn held the phone to Corcoran’s face once again.

And Corcoran talked. His voice was remarkably clear and steady.

He admitted that he was part of a black ops division within the US Defense Department which had taken it upon itself to sponsor the development of the Zylurin agent, without the approval of Congress and indeed the President.

He named names within the Department, some of which Venn recognized, some of which he didn’t.

Corcoran admitted he’d ordered the killings of Aaron Rosenberg, Luisa Perez, Elizabeth Colby, and nine others. He confessed to hiring DeeDee Rosetti, the head of New York City’s biggest organized crime family, to arrange the murders, so as to keep Defense Department personnel out of the loop.

He admitted he’d framed Venn for the murder of the man in the bar on Bleecker Street in order to blackmail him into finding Professor Leonard Lomax, a key player in the Zylurin trials as well as in the earlier studies involving Compound 77, a component of Zylurin, and one which appeared to be associated with a significantly heightened risk of cancer, specifically leukemias. His intention was to kill Lomax once Venn had located him, by detonating a remote-controlled bomb disguised as an electronic tagging device and strapped round Venn’s ankle.

The admissions came pouring out of Corcoran like the ventings of a penitent sinner at a Catholic confessional. He spoke slowly at first, then faster and faster until his words were like an unstoppable torrent. Venn said nothing, just let the flow continue. Every now and again he checked the display on the phone to make sure the connection was still there.

Then the door opened at the top of the service stairs.

Cutting Corcoran off abruptly, Venn put the phone to his own face and said, ‘Beth. Did you get all that?’

‘Loud and clear. Is there-’

‘I got to go.’

He shut off the call.

Through the door, half a dozen men emerged. Venn recognized them all as members of the team who’d accompanied Corcoran onto the roof in the first place.

Like before, they carried an assortment of shotguns and rifles.

They advanced in a line, stopping twenty yards away.

‘I told you,’ called Venn. ‘Stay away. Or I’ll trigger this bomb and blow both myself and this murdering son of a bitch to hell.’

‘It’s no good,’ whispered Corcoran. His eyes were fixed on the men.

One of them took a step forward.

‘We have orders to terminate both of you,’ he said.

––––––––

‘I
’m sorry, Mr Corcoran,’ the man said.

It was difficult to read from his flat expression if he meant it.

‘There are only half of you here,’ said Corcoran.’Where are the others?’

‘They wouldn’t do it,’ said the man. ‘Refused to obey the order. But this is a matter of national security. It’s vital to the interests of the Defense Department, and the United States of America, that you not betray secrets.’

He raised his rifle. So did the two other riflemen.

The three guys with shotguns did likewise, ratcheting the slides with that unmistakeable
ch-chak
sound.

Venn considered the odds.

He was on a narrow wall, a ledge, overlooking an eight-storey drop. Handcuffed to another man, and with a bomb strapped round his leg which a simple jerk of his right arm would trigger.

And six combat-trained armed men were drawing a bead on him.

Nope. Venn didn’t rate his chances all that highly.

But his survival wasn’t all that important anymore.

He’d done what he’d promised. He’d successfully protected Beth, and Professor Lomax, and had prevented them from being killed.

He’d obtained a detailed confession from Corcoran, who was if not the ringleader of this whole affair then certainly one of its key personnel.

A confession which would blow the lid off the attempted cover-up of the carcinogenic effects of C-77. Which would open to national scrutiny the black ops division in the Pentagon which had engineered the cover-up.

Yes. All told, it had been a good day’s work.

Venn had never been much of a reader of poetry, but years earlier, back in high school, his class had been required to study a certain poem by the Welshman, Dylan Thomas. The verse had stuck with Venn over the years. Mainly for its opening line.

Do not go gentle into that good night.

The poem was a call to arms against passively accepting things, especially death. It was a rallying cry to do something,
anything
, no matter how crazy, in the face of impending doom.

The row of gunmen tensed, in that unmistakeable second before they squeezed down on their triggers.

At Venn’s side, Corcoran began to whimper and babble.

Venn looked back down over the sheer drop to the sidewalk below.

He looked back at the gunmen.

Pulled the crutch out from where it was jammed in between his ankle and the tag bomb.

And jumped into the night.

––––––––

A
n independent observer of what happened next, somebody who was somehow magically able to visualize the situation from every angle, would have seen the following:

Venn tumbling backward, his arm jerking the cuff chain taut and pulling Corcoran off balance and over the edge with him.

Corcoran’s look of utter horror and panic as he vainly tried to keep his footing and stay on the wall.

The six armed men letting loose with their weapons in almost perfect unison.

The deadly hail of shotgun buckshot fanning out to cover a broader area than at the point of origin.