The Inner Circle (54 page)

“Would some laptops help too?”
 

“They certainly wouldn’t hurt.”
 

A backpack lay on the floor by one of the techs. I grabbed it, started to dump out the papers inside, figured maybe those might be important, and stuffed three laptops into the bag. It was a crapshoot, really. And time was wasting, so I had to hope there was something here.
 

I headed back out of the room. I paused just long enough to give Seung one final look. I again wanted to do something for him but had no idea what to do. I gave him a moment of silence, then stepped out of the room just as the alarm stopped.
 

“Kid?” I whispered.
 

“Don’t think it means anything. The alarm is probably only programmed to run for so many minutes.”
 

Despite the alarm’s sudden silence, the strobes kept flickering. The emergency lights maintained their dull glow. The hallway was completely quiet, which would help me in case any black masks were still alive.
 

I started to head back down the hallway. I took only five steps before I stopped.
 

A faint groaning. Coming back down the hallway from one of the rooms I hadn’t checked.
 

The weight of the backpack told me to keep going, but I turned and went back down the hallway. I came to the door, reached for the knob, but paused. Listened again to the groaning coming from inside.
 

I turned the knob and pushed the door open. The hinges creaked quietly. Just like the previous room, it was almost completely dark except for the faint emergency lights and the strobes. But still it was enough light to see him.
 

They had laid out one of those clear plastic tarps. That was where his crumpled and abused body lay. It hadn’t been Clark who had done this to him—I didn’t think he had had the extra time—but maybe one of his protégés. The tools that had been used—the pliers and knives and saws—lay on the floor, along with various body parts that had been cut off or snapped off or tugged off. Fingernails, fingers, toes, an ear.
 

Ian Prescott was still alive, but just barely. The cast had been cut off, so that his healing leg could be broken again. He had been stripped of his jeans, his socks, his shirt, and just lay there in his white briefs which were now stained golden and brown with urine and shit. The floor around him was already drying with his blood, which had seeped from the wounds on his feet, his legs, his stomach and chest and arms and even head. What they hadn’t cut off, they had stabbed, or sliced, or somehow marked with a very sharp and precise knife.
 

He saw me—or at least his eyes shifted up to me—and his lips parted slightly. Earlier, when he had grinned at me, he’d had all of his teeth. Now he was missing at least half of them.
 

Ian stopped groaning and went completely silent. He took a gargled breath, tried to speak, but only produced a pathetic grunt. What may have been an attempt to say my name.
 

“I told you you were an idiot, didn’t I?”
 

He just stared back at me.
 

“You could have trusted us. We were family. We would have done whatever it took to take care of each other.”
 

Ian said nothing. His eyes, however, spoke volumes.
 

In my ear, the Kid said, “Is that Ian?”
 

“Yes.”
 

“They fuck him up?”
 

“Yes.”
 

“What does he want?”
 

“To kill him, I think. Is that what you want, Ian?”
 

Those eyes just stared back at me. Begging. Pleading.
 

“Goodbye, Ian.”
 

I stepped back out of the room and closed the door. I did it slow enough this time that the hinges didn’t make a sound.

77

The lobby had become packed with bodies, both living and dead. Most of those in the Inner Circle still alive were trying to push their way past everyone else. Many had taken off their masks, their faces wet and eyes red from the tear gas. Others still kept their masks on, wanting to protect their identities. None of them seemed to know where to go, only that they didn’t want to stay stationary for too long. Some realized they could escape to the street through the destruction the armored truck had caused when it crashed through the front doors.
 

A few were spilling out onto the sidewalk when I came barreling down the stairs.
 

Ronny and Maya were already in the truck. Carver was loaded in the back.
 

I pushed past bodies without much thought. They were simply in the way. I kept my focus on the truck. I was halfway to it when behind me someone shouted my name.
 

I turned, raising my gun.
 

Coming my way was Mason and Chin. They weren’t alone. Mason was carrying his wife. Chin was carrying Mason’s son.
 

I hurried back, fighting through the crowd, trying to make room for them. Mason’s eyes were red, though it clearly wasn’t because of the tear gas. His face was stone. He glared at me, and for an instant I thought it was because he knew I had been there when the cloth bags came off his wife’s and son’s heads, that I could have done more.
 

“He’s dead,” Mason said to me.
 

“Who?”
 

“My son. They fucking killed him.
They fucking killed him!
”
 

He still had the Uzi in one hand, and emphasized this last point by letting off several rounds into the crowd. Many of the bodies screamed or cried out. A few fell down, either struck by the bullets or out of common sense.
 

I asked, “Your wife?”
 

Mason looked down at what was left of her in his arms. “I think she’ll survive. Ben, there are others in that room. Some of them are still alive.”
 

Chin said, “We do not have time to save them all. Bae is ready to blow this place at any moment.”
 

I looked at him. “What the fuck are you talking about?”
 

“Seung and I brought explosives. We set them up around the building. Bae is going to set them off as soon as we are out.”
 

“Seung is dead.”
 

Chin looked stricken. “Where?”
 

“The third floor.”
 

We were fighting through the crowd, toward the armored truck. Because the alarm had stopped, I could hear the engine rumbling. I could also hear Maya, calling my name. She was out of the truck now, waving at us to hurry.
 

“Let’s go,” I shouted, pushing Mason and Chin on. We were only twenty yards away from the truck. Not too far in the greater scheme of things, but when hundreds of hysterical people are surrounding you, it can feel like a mile.
 

Maya called my name again. She was pushing through the crowd, trying to meet us. She saw the woman in Mason’s arms and the child in Chin’s arms and her mouth fell open.
 

“Mason’s wife and son,” I said.
 

Maya nodded distantly, staring at their crumpled bodies. “Are they ... are they still—”
 

“We need to get them loaded and get the fuck out of here.”
 

We reached the truck seconds later. A few members of the Inner Circle got in our way and I shoved them aside. A few tripped over their own feet, fell to the floor, causing several others to fall. Maya got the side door open for Mason and Chin and started helping them put in the bodies. I turned back and went to the front of the truck, watching the crowd, searching for any black masks in the sea of white masks. I figured by now any of Caesar’s people would have lost their masks, but you could never be so sure.
 

Behind me, Maya called my name again.
 

I turned, started toward her, but stopped when I saw her face. She was looking past me, her eyes going wide. She opened her mouth, meaning to shout something, but instead stepped forward. Pushed me aside. I fell into more bodies but managed to catch my balance and turn back around. It was only then that I heard the echo of a single gunshot. My ears were already echoing from the earlier gunfire, but this gunshot was different. Like it had been spliced from tonight’s chaotic soundtrack and given its very own track.
 

I blinked and the next thing I knew Maya was falling to her knees. Dropping her gun. Reaching for her throat.
 

Blood poured through her fingers.
 

I raised my gun, searching the crowd, seeing only the white masks ... until I spotted the white mask standing across the lobby. This white mask was holding a gun, aimed right at me. I ducked before it fired again, then popped back up, returned fire. A few bodies got caught in the crossfire.
 

The gunman tore off its mask, confirming what I already knew.
 

Clark.
 

He went to fire again but nothing happened. His gun was empty. He swore and bolted for the street.
 

I tracked him, firing off three more rounds, one of them striking him in the shoulder. He fell back against some bodies, maintained his balance, and disappeared onto the sidewalk.
 

It all happened much too quickly. Only seconds, really. Ronny got out of the truck, but by then Clark had already hurried past him. Maya was on the ground, her hands still to her throat, holding in the blood. Mason shouted my name, came up behind me. Ronny pushed his way past bodies to reach us. I heard the Kid in my ear, shouting something.
 

For a moment, I wasn’t sure what to do.
 

Then, quite suddenly, I shouted to Mason and Ronny, “Get her loaded up and get the fuck out of here. Tell Chin to have Bae blow this fucking place as soon as possible.”
 

I didn’t wait for them to respond. I turned and hurried past the truck and rubble into the street.

78

I spotted Clark almost immediately. He was headed east, toward Times Square, already a block away.
 

I raised my gun, lined up the shot. I was about to pull the trigger when I thought better of it. Several members of the Inner Circle had managed to flee the Fillmore and were spread out in the street and on the sidewalks. I didn’t care at all if any of them fell victim to a stray bullet, but farther up the block a crowd of civilians had formed. Too much chance of the bullet striking one of them. Too many innocent people had already died tonight. I didn’t want to add any more to the list.
 

I started running. I was still only in my socks, and the concrete was cold, but that didn’t slow me. As I ran, I called Drew’s name. There was a moment or two of silence, and then his voice came from the tiny transmitter in my ear.
 

“What’s up?”
 

“Do you see me?”
 

“Yeah.”
 

“Do you see the guy I’m chasing?”
 

“Yeah.”
 

“Take him out.”
 

There was more silence, as Drew lined up the shot from his rooftop perch. I could even picture him there, his eye to the scope, Beverly next to him.
 

Then I said, “Wait, don’t take him out.”
 

“Say again?”
 

“Take out one of his legs instead. Slow him down.”
 

Clark was already halfway up the next block. He had torn through the crowd of civilians on the corner seconds earlier, and they, having learned their lesson, gave me a wide berth. I ran straight past them, pausing only momentarily for the traffic, before sprinting across the street and continuing down the sidewalk. Two blocks up, the lights of Times Square beckoned.
 

Clark was still running at full speed. Without my shoes, and the fact my body still felt like shit, there was no way I was going to catch up with him.
 

“Goddamn it, Drew, slow him down!”
 

I couldn’t hear the bullet—not on a New York City street with sirens in the distance and traffic zooming by and blood pounding in my ears—but I knew it had made its mark.
 

Farther up the block, Clark had immediately taken a fall. It almost looked as if he’d tripped over something that hadn’t been there an instant before. He fell, grabbing at his leg. He started to get up, fell again, then glanced back and saw me coming. He grimaced as he climbed to his feet and started running with a limp.
 

The brief fear I saw in his eyes alone was enough to give me a second wind. I pushed on even harder, keeping him in my sights.
 

Clark had just reached the corner into Times Square, looking left and right again before continuing out into traffic.
 

I made it there seconds later. Clark had reached the middle island between Seventh and Eighth Avenues, was taking a few steps forward but a heavy swarm of traffic passed at once, forcing him to stay where he was. He glanced over his shoulder, saw me coming.
 

He raised his gun at me. He knew it was empty, just as I knew, but he didn’t seem to care.
 

The leg Drew had shot him in was his left.
 

I shot him in the right.
 

He dropped the empty gun, fell to the ground.
 

I tossed my gun aside and reached into my pocket as I approached. I withdrew the switchblade, flicked it open. I knelt on top of him and drove the blade into his stomach.
 

“Don’t worry about it, baby.”