The Operative (54 page)

Josh never took his stare off Skender, afraid of him now, the more so because of the way the man was looking at him. The explosions had scared Josh witless and his thoughts had been constantly of Stratton since Skender had said that he was coming. He wished that his godfather would soon appear and take him away from this nightmare. But the doubt grew steadily stronger that his hero was not going to save him now.

Vicky sat in her office, looking at a file on her desk but unable to concentrate. She’d been like this since Josh had been kidnapped and Stratton had left her standing in the street. She fought to
focus herself and started reading the page from the top again. After a couple of sentences Dorothy walked in and Vicky sighed heavily at this latest interruption.

‘I got something to take your mind off things,’ Dorothy said, a bandage around her head covering a wound she had received from Josh’s kidnappers.

‘So have I but I need some peace and quiet to do it,’ Vicky said, a little testy.

‘Excuse me for livin’,’ Dorothy said, turning around to leave.

‘Dorothy,’ Vicky called out, regretting her rudeness.

Dorothy stopped and looked at her, wearing a fake frown.

‘Sorry,’ Vicky said, but not entirely meaning it. ‘What is it?’

‘You’re forgiven,’ Dorothy said. ‘Some new building in Culver City is getting blown to hell by some crazy guy. He blew out all the windows and now he’s setting explosives off inside. Can’t beat the news for entertainment these days.’

‘Thank you,’ Vicky said, going back to her file. ‘I’ll catch it tonight. I’m sure they’ll repeat it.’

‘That the same file you’ve been reading since this morning?’

Vicky put down the file and looked at Dorothy who rolled her eyes and walked away. ‘Okay, okay, I’m going,’ she said.

Vicky picked the file up again but was now distracted by something that Dorothy had said. The word ‘explosion’ reminded her of Stratton and their last night together when the car blew up in the alley behind his apartment, and also of the FBI agent who had asked her several questions about Stratton and bomb-making.

She pushed it out of her mind and started to read the file once again. But it was now impossible. She put the file down, got up, walked around her desk and out of the office.

Dorothy and two other staff members were in the recreation room watching the television and Vicky stood in the doorway where she could see it. A banner across the bottom of the screen declared breaking news as a recent tape was replayed showing the
initial explosion that shattered most of the windows of the pyramid building. It then flicked back to the live scene from the roof of a building overlooking the square where a correspondent was standing in front of the camera, the building in the background.

‘Moments ago we heard another explosion, possibly two explosions together, this time inside the building itself. We’re told this is not the work of terrorists but of just one man who police think could actually be in the building. Police gave no details about the man, who he is or why he is doing this. The building here in Culver City belongs to Albanian billionaire Daut Skender. Why he is under attack remains a mystery.’

Vicky’s mind raced when she heard the word ‘Albanian’. Stratton had said something about Albanians being involved in Josh’s kid-napping and that he was going to face them. But surely this was a co incidence.

The next view of the building came from a media helicopter circling it. Vicky left the doorway and sat down on the couch beside Dorothy.

‘Told you it’d take your mind off things, didn’t I?’ Dorothy said.

Stratton arrived on the fourteenth floor, walking carefully up the stairs to reduce the noise of the glass underfoot. The building constantly creaked and groaned as supports complained about the added stress.

He stepped through the fire exit, checking the floor as he made his way into the central room, and went to the massive pillar. He had reconsidered the dangers of blowing the twelfth floor, the final explosion, because the upper floors might completely collapse. But another part of his mind urged him to keep to his plan and have confidence in his initial calculations that although the floors might sag they would hold together since the weight on the spars radiating from the pinnacle would be far less. Whatever happened structurally, the safest place to be was close to the
central pillar since it was the strongest part of the building and would not collapse.

Stratton opened his coat, checked the transmitter, then paused to reconsider once more. The purpose of this whole business was not suicide but to get Skender to release Josh: if Skender died so did the mission. Then Stratton reached the end of his deliberations. The component parts of him – planner, soldier, revengeful protector, self-destructive annihilator – fell into place. He pushed the button.

The explosion’s force powered up through the floor and slammed against his feet, rocking the building much more than before despite the charge being half the previous amount. Ceiling tiles fell around him and windows shattered as the frames surrounding the room buckled. The rumbling continued for several seconds, like an earthquake, as the outside corner supports of the pyramid bowed and the floors below weakened, the horizontal struts unable to hold them by themselves.

A loud cracking sound suddenly filled the air and the floor beneath Stratton’s feet sagged. A second later the ceiling gave up and followed it. Every glass wall and window shattered and doors crunched in their frames. For a moment Stratton believed he had gone an explosion too far.

He pushed himself back against the pillar with nothing else to cling to but hope. As he held himself in readiness, the groaning subsided and the floor did not drop any further.

Stratton could not afford to hang about a moment longer. He made his way down the sloping floor directly to the fire escape, only to find the door jammed in the buckled frame. He had to kick hard to make a gap wide enough to squeeze through. As he stepped onto the landing another shudder sent chunks of concrete cascading down the stairwell. He looked up in anticipation of another falling piece and saw a fleeting movement on the floor above.

Stratton pulled the pistol from his belt and held it, barrel up, in both hands next to his head. Hugging the wall, he made his way up.

As he reached the midway landing he held out the gun in front of him, waiting for a target, warning himself that if it was Skender he had to maim, not kill. Another tremor shook the building as a support strut below gave way. But the stairs held. Stratton took advantage of the diversion and moved up to the next landing.

A figure suddenly appeared above, looking down. It was one of Skender’s men and he saw the gun in Stratton’s hands. As the man pointed his own weapon at him Stratton fired a round through his head and kept his pistol on aim in case a second shot was required. But the man slumped over the banister rail, his gun falling past Stratton to clatter down into the dust-filled void.

Stratton moved quickly up to the landing to find the emergency door twisted in its frame and jammed solid. He carried on up to the next turn in the stairs, moving on towards the penthouse. The sound of movement above heightened his senses to maximum alertness.

The muzzle of a gun appeared and the man behind it fired several unaimed shots. The first hit the wall inches from Stratton while the others went wide.

Stratton moved up several more steps to change his location in case the shooter chanced another wild bullet. Then he heard the sound of someone scrambling over rubble. A foot came into view as the owner negotiated the obstacle. Stratton aimed quickly and fired a single shot into the heel. This was followed immediately by a howl of pain. Stratton leaped up the steps in time to see the man lying on the rubble. Disorientated though he was, on seeing Stratton he raised his gun. But Stratton fired first, sending a bullet smashing through the man’s eye. Stratton moved closer, ready to follow it up with another. But there was no need.

Stratton immediately saw why the man hadn’t been able to
escape. There was a large slab of jagged concrete jammed against the fire exit. Stratton put down his weapon and as he grabbed hold of the body to pull it aside the building groaned loudly. Something below snapped and a loud wrenching sound followed. The floor dropped several feet to lean down at an angle away from the central pillar. Stratton grabbed the banister rail to stop himself from falling into the void. As he regained his balance and pushed himself back onto the landing he saw that the slab had shifted from the fire-exit door.

Stratton picked up his pistol and took hold of the door. He was about to pull at it when he stopped himself, his senses warning him of the potential dangers: Skender and others could be waiting for him the other side. He needed to go ahead quickly, sure, but safely too. He put down his pistol again, grabbed the body and dragged it to the edge of the opening. Holding the dead man under the arms he pulled open the door and lowered the corpse’s head past the door frame. A shotgun blast instantly took the side of the head away. Stratton let the body drop as he once more picked up his weapon, hoping that whoever had fired the shot thought that the stiff was him.

Stratton was undecided about his next move when the building made up his mind for him. Supports ripping from their mountings caused a sudden massive jolt and the entire floor tilted, the outside wall of the stairwell crumbling away to reveal a view of the city. Stratton fell back and let go of his gun to grab the banister rail that had come free of its mounting for several yards. He hung over the centre well, a drop of fifty feet or so underneath him, bouncing up and down as if on the end of a wire. He swung his body, using the sprung tension of the rail to gain momentum, and managed to grab hold of an edge and pull himself back onto the crumbling staircase. The door had popped fully open and he clutched at the door frame, concerned that another jolt might make the entire floor collapse. With the stairs pretty much shattered
and descent that way no longer possible there was nothing for it but to get closer to the central pillar, which meant getting back inside. He tensed himself and sprang forward.

Stratton scrambled through the doorway and up the sloping floor without a shot being fired. He raced along the corridor. Its glass walls were gone, their jagged edges jutting down from the ceiling like lethal stalactites.

He twisted into a doorway, expecting a shot any second, and hugged the floor while he scanned the shattered room. The central pillar remained solid and upright but one or two of the outside corner supports must have given way because the floor slanted acutely. As he looked around his gaze fell on something a few feet in front of him. When it came into focus the implications hit him like a bolt of lightning. It was Josh’s camel. Stratton reached out a hand, picked the carved object from the debris and inspected it. The realisation that the boy had been somewhere in the building at the time Stratton had begun his attack and that Josh was possibly now dead filled him with horror.

Stratton pulled himself up and stepped out into the room, holding on to whatever he could to stop himself from sliding down. As he moved to where he could see the conference room, the wall along its entire length gone, a desk at the far side moved up the floor a couple of feet, apparently defying gravity, and was then heaved aside to reveal Skender who had been briefly trapped behind it. Skender got to his feet and then saw Stratton above him on the sloping floor.

The two men instantly knew that one of them was not going to survive the day – though considering the present precarious state of the building neither’s life was exactly guaranteed. Skender’s stare dropped to the ground in search of the shotgun he had lost during the tremor that had left him trapped by his desk but it was nowhere to be seen. Then he saw something else that might prove equally if not more useful. It was Josh, hanging on for dear
life outside the room where the wall had fallen away, his little hands gripping a piece of window frame, his feet on another section below.

Stratton followed Skender’s gaze and saw the small hands. He was immediately filled with dread but he did not have time to think about it.

Skender was only a couple of metres from Josh and now he took a step closer to him. Stratton was twice the distance away and got off his knees, ready to make a move.

Skender then saw something by his feet in the rubble and leaned down to pick it up. It was one of his decorative swords, and he pulled off the scabbard to expose a long, slender blade with a slight curve in it. Without further hesitation he made a leap towards Josh. At the same time Stratton released his grip and slid down the tilted floor. Skender arrived first just above where Josh was hanging on but was not prepared for Stratton who crashed into him while simultaneously grabbing the remaining piece of glass-wall framework to stop them both falling out of the room.

The men dropped onto their backs on the sloping floor and began punching and clawing at each other like wild beasts. Skender managed to raise the sword and bring it down close to Stratton’s skull but a savage blow from Stratton sent Skender reeling and he let go of the sword. But Skender was a powerful man and he showed no signs of his age as he spun round, gripped Stratton around the throat with both hands and began to strangle him with real ferocity.

Stratton immediately started to gag. He tried to push Skender back but his arms were not strong enough. As his vision blurred he dropped his hands to grip Skender’s, felt for both the Albanian’s little fingers and grabbed them, bending them back. No one can resist such a countermove unless they are prepared to have their fingers broken in their sockets. Skender let out a yelp as one of
his snapped at the joint. He released Stratton’s throat. Stratton slammed him back and to his surprise Skender rolled off the floor and out of sight.