The Bergamese Sect (25 page)

‘
John, my office is bugged, we have to get out!’

‘
Wait a minute,’ Petersen replied, concerned.

He stood over the terminal, his worried face watching a stream of codes flash past. Sitting hurriedly, he typed several things on the keyboard.

‘
C’mon,’ said Walsh. ‘What are you doing?’

‘
Wait! There’s something funny going on here.’

‘
What is it?’ Walsh asked.

Petersen continued to stare at the screen. ‘Jesus, it’s all disappearing!’

‘
What?’

‘
The entire file system’s being deleted,’ Petersen screamed. ‘What the hell…?’ He turned to Walsh. ‘Someone’s overridden all the access restrictions. They’re deleting everything.’

Walsh watched as a small window on Petersen’s screen blinked in red. It threw up messages only Petersen could understand but the look on the agent’s face said it all. The system was being wiped out.

‘
Sewell!’ Walsh exclaimed.

The tall agent stood suddenly and ran across the huge room. Walsh followed. They burst into a side room full of racks of electronic equipment, the air cold and dry from the noisy air conditioning units on the ceiling. In a corner sat a box the size of a refrigerator, a myriad of diodes flickering in green, yellow and red on its face. Connecting it to a panel on the wall was a rope of fibres six inches thick. Petersen grabbed handfuls of the fibres and yanked them from the panel, the delicate pin sockets snapping off and showering the floor.

‘
What are you doing?’

‘
Disconnecting us from the rest of the world,’ Petersen said. ‘It’s all I can do!’

They rushed back to Petersen’s console. The agent slumped into the chair, began typing furiously again. ‘Okay, I’ve stopped the file deletions, but over half the file system’s gone.’

‘
We have backups, surely?’ asked Walsh.

‘
Yeah, but it’s a big job to reinstate everything. I guess Sewell wants to incapacitate us for a while. It’s a few days inconvenience at most.’

‘
We don’t have a few days.’

Petersen looked at his superior, his face suddenly appearing gaunt, his eyes tired and worried.

‘
Here, take this.’ He reached for the magnetic tape that had been downloading files on Sewell. ‘It’s incomplete, but you might find it useful.’

Walsh tucked it in his jacket pocket.

Petersen returned to his screen and began keying again. ‘Hell,’ he said, ‘they weren’t just deleting everything. They were copying all our files over the network.’

As Petersen finished the words, a distant rumble shook the room. It was deep, penetrating. It was followed by a faint but unnerving tinkling noise, as if a truck had veered off the road and smashed through the building’s foyer.

‘
What was that?’ said Walsh.

Petersen didn’t look up. ‘Don’t know.’

Another rumble shook the building, this time louder, closer. It wasn’t a rumble of machinery; it was a noise of destruction – explosive destruction.

‘
C’mon,’ Walsh urged. ‘We’ve got to get out of here.’

Petersen suddenly stopped what he was doing, now alert to possible danger. The two men stood and rushed out of the operations room into the corridor. They stopped as another explosion resounded through the bones of the Masheder building. It was now threateningly close.

‘
We’re under attack,’ shouted Walsh.

A door opened down the corridor and two men stepped out. They were NSA agents busy at their surveillance in one of the terminal rooms. They noticed the Assistant Director and Petersen, stood like statues at the far end of the corridor.

‘
What’s going on?’ one shouted.

But before Walsh could answer, the elevator beyond the two men pinged and the aluminium door slid slowly open.

Out jumped three men in combat gear – helmets with microphones, night-vision goggles gleaming in the bright light. Instantly, one of them dropped to his knee, aimed his automatic weapon and fired two rounds. The NSA men jolted noisily with the impact and collapsed.

‘
Quick,’ Walsh shouted, ‘this way!’ He ducked through the door to his office.

Petersen dived after him as a burst of automatic weapon fire whizzed through the air. He kicked the door shut and crammed the back of a chair under the handle. Petersen’s face was white. He reached into his jacket and pulled out a gun, released the safety catch. ‘Now what? There’s no way out,’ he said.

‘
Yes there is. This way.’

Walsh led them into the
en suite
bathroom. In the corner stood a shower cubicle with a frosted glass screen. Walsh opened it and knelt down, grabbed a hidden handle in the floor and wrenched open a small trap door. Inside, a ladder led down a narrow shaft.

‘
Just in case,’ Walsh said, looking at Petersen with a frightened expression.

He swung his legs into the gaping hole and eased himself down. Grabbing the rungs, he began the descent hurriedly. He looked up and saw Petersen’s slim torso starting after him.

There were several loud crashes from the room above. Another burst of gunfire. Walsh heard voices. ‘Quickly,’ he called up to Petersen.

They’d gone only thirty feet when a shadow swept down the shaft. Then a clang echoed through the narrow channel and Walsh heard a man cry out. ‘Here!’

‘
Watch out,’ Walsh screamed.

Several shots fired, deafening in the confined metallic space. Petersen grunted as a bullet hit him in the chest. His grip was lost and Walsh shielded his head as the agent’s heavy body tumbled toward him. But Petersen’s foot caught in the ladder and his bloody body jolted to a halt, spinning around, inverted. A gun flew past Walsh’s face, spinning, ricocheting from side to side down the shaft. A moment later, it clattered on the floor a hundred feet below.

Petersen’s upper body was hanging over Walsh’s shoulders, and for a brief second Walsh stared into the agent’s eyes. They were wet, staring. Whatever it was that made them living eyes was slipping away. A demonic groan escaped Petersen’s throat as his consciousness winked out of existence.

Another shot sounded and Petersen’s limp corpse shuddered with the impact of the bullet. Walsh pushed up on the body, cowering below it, as further shots flew into Petersen with sickening thuds.

Then the shooting stopped. Walsh peered out from under Petersen’s body. Above he could see only the bathroom ceiling; he could hear only distant, mumbling voices. Pulling his feet away from the rungs, he slid cautiously down the metal poles and crashed onto the floor six storeys below.

―
§ ―

The underground parking lot was brightly lit, but huge shadows from the concrete columns criss-crossed the grey floor. Walsh could see at most five cars, one his own, another Petersen’s. There was absolute silence, the place deserted.

Jogging over to his car, he felt in his pocket for the keys. He pulled them out and bent down, reaching for the lock.

A shuffle sounded, close by. Walsh jerked upright and span round. A figure began to emerge from behind a column, staying within its dark shadow. Walsh raised his hand toward his jacket but a voice suddenly echoed off the concrete.

‘
Don’t,’ it said.

Walsh froze.

‘
Remain still and keep your hands where I can see them,’ the voice ordered.

The figure stepped out of the shadow. It was Sewell. There was hatred in his eyes. In his hand shone a pistol, trained on Walsh’s chest. ‘Hello, Larry,’ he said coldly.

‘
Bob, nice of you to drop in.’

Sewell smiled sardonically. ‘Going somewhere?’

‘
It doesn’t look like it.’

Sewell approached. His expensive shoes clicked on the concrete as he stepped to within a few feet of the car. The gun continued to stare at Walsh.

‘
It’s a pity that tomorrow the world will learn of another act of terrorism in our backyard.’

‘
An attack on a secret government installation? It doesn’t sound very plausible to me.’

‘
Plausible? Was 9/11 plausible?’

‘
And I assume I was killed in the attack.’

‘
Yes, you and a few others. Shame, really. Of course, that’ll be the official line. For those who need to know, the truth will be more revealing. Assistant Director of the NSA, collaborating with subversives. An entire federal intelligence agency compromised. It was the only action we could take.’

‘
It’s a neat plan. But you forget one thing. My men are now tracking Sebastian’s contact.’

‘
Lewis? He’ll be eliminated pretty soon, don’t worry. And his partner. They’re probably dead already.’ Sewell wiped the damp edge of his moustache.

‘
Whatever it is you’re up to, Bob, it’ll come back to haunt you,’ said Walsh. ‘You can’t dupe the entire federal program.’

‘
You don’t think so? I’ve been doing it for years, Larry, believe me.’

‘
Why don’t you want to find Sebastian?’

‘
Oh but I do, Larry. I just don’t want
you
to find him.’

‘
Why? You know how important this is.’

Sewell gave another smile, annoying in its severity. ‘Larry, this is far more important than you could ever imagine,’ he sneered. ‘That’s precisely why I’ve had to get involved.’

‘
Why are you protecting him?’

Sewell looked surprised. The smile vanished. ‘Protecting him? I’m not protecting him, Larry. Whatever gave you that impression? No, I’m after him, just like you, but for very different reasons.’

‘
What reasons?

‘
You couldn’t possibly understand. And I don’t have time to educate you.’

‘
Is it money? Power?’

Sewell laughed. ‘Not all of us are swayed by such temptations,’ he said.

‘
What then?’

Sewell’s posture relaxed slightly, though the gun remained steady. ‘We’ve known each other a long time, Larry, haven’t we? You know, I’ve always admired your ideals. It’s funny, but we actually want the same thing, you and I. We both want to protect people.’

Walsh sneered. ‘Really?’ he said.

‘
Sure. What I’m doing is defending mankind from an unimaginable catastrophe.’

‘
By jeopardising this mission? By killing my men?’

Sewell shook his head. ‘You’re naïve, Larry. Simple men must suffer, even die, to protect the supreme good. It’s the way things are. It’s a shame you never learnt that.’

Walsh straightened up, looked down his nose at Sewell. ‘Tell me what Sebastian knows,’ he said.

Sewell thrust his arm out, adjusted his grip on the pistol. ‘I’m sorry, Larry,’ he said, ‘but this one’s just too big for you. I’d ask you to walk away, but I’m afraid I can’t. Now, step away from the car.’

Walsh felt a gush of adrenaline in his stomach. It was now or never, the moment of truth. He ducked to the side and span away from the car. Sewell’s pistol opened up, two or three rounds shattering the windows.

But it was enough time. Walsh lunged at his attacker, his full weight and speed behind a clenched fist. The blow was heavy, a sound of breaking bone filling his ears. Sewell fell, the gun skidding from his grasp, and Walsh was on him. He raised the man’s head and thrust it onto the hard ground, again and again.

The struggling stopped. The man was unconscious, a thin trickle of blood seeping over the concrete.

Suddenly, the exit doors burst open and several men ran into the parking lot. Brilliant beams of light flicked through the dusty air as they waved their weapons, searching for targets. Turning quickly, Walsh dived for the car, throwing himself through the broken windscreen.

The deafening spit of automatic weapons echoed through the basement. Bullets were ricocheting everywhere, breaking chunks of masonry from the columns in white clouds, some clanking through the metal of the car.

Walsh ducked beneath the steering column, pushed the key in the ignition and fired the engine up. Slamming the gearshift into reverse, he pushed his hand on the gas pedal and tugged the wheel to one side.

The car shot out of the parking space, the front fender crashing off a concrete column. Walsh raised his head slightly to judge the exit ramp, pushed into first gear and pressed again, screeching the tyres in plumes of acrid white smoke. The vehicle jumped violently as it ran over the arm of Sewell’s limp body and sped across the concrete.

The attackers ran after him, firing round after round into the car’s rear. But Walsh’s judgement was good. He flew blind up the exit ramp, crashing from wall to wall, and emerged into the early morning light of Virginia Avenue.

Chapter 15

The trucker slammed the plastic mug on the counter, splashing the steaming coffee over the red Formica. ‘I ordered coffee,’ he shouted, ‘what the hell’s this?’ He wiped the brown dribble from his mouth.

A diminutive girl of Inuit appearance was staring at him across the bar, her eyes wide and wet, close to tears. A faint quiver was tickling her bottom lip as she nervously brushed the loose strands of jet-black hair over her scalp. She blinked uncomfortably.

‘
This tastes like piss!’ the trucker shouted. He leant toward the girl, his massive bulk warping the counter. ‘Get some more and this time make sure it tastes like coffee!’

The waitress stood motionless, the tears now welling up and running down her red, flustered cheeks. She scurried off, barely holding back the sobs.

The trucker swung round on his stool and faced the diner’s occupants. They all turned away, suddenly engrossed in deliberate conversations or transfixed by their burgers and fries. ‘Goddam ass end of nowhere!’ he shouted.

He started tapping a knife on the counter, moving his antagonistic gaze from person to person, dwelling longer and more perversely on the younger women.