Chicago Assault (11 page)

“Oh?”

“Yes. And I'm beginning to resent your—”

At that very moment, a police car idled around the block on patrol. Just before its lights swept across them, Hawker grabbed Megan by the shoulders and pulled her roughly to him. He held her in a long, soft kiss until the car had passed by. For a moment—a brief, brief moment—the kiss became real as Megan began to react, her lips growing hot and moist.

When he released her, she exhaled deeply. “My, oh, my,” she said.

“I was about to say pretend we were lovers.”

“The demonstration was adequate.”

“I think you could be a pretty good kisser, if you'd just let yourself go for a moment. Honestly, Megan, you're so tight most of the time, a blacksmith couldn't drive a pin up your ass with a hammer.”

“Is that sort of talk really necessary?” she said primly as they walked on.

“I just don't understand you, that's all.”

Her voice became even and businesslike. “You don't have to understand me, James. And I don't have to understand you. All we have to do is find a way to destroy Bas Gan Sagart.”

“Ah. I keep forgetting. You're a soldier.”

“That is correct.”

“In that case,
soldier
, get behind me. And keep that weapon lower.”

She obeyed without comment.

They made their way straight to banks of the Des Plaines River, then followed it west to the factory.

The riverbanks were littered with trash and abandoned junk. There was an acid stink to the water. Beyond the darkness of the river was the eerie glow of downtown Chicago; a sulphur yellow glow, like fire through a fog.

The grounds of the factory were encircled by a chain-link fence topped with barbed wire. One corner of the fence had been beaten halfway down by neighborhood kids, and Hawker helped Megan over it.

He pressed his hand against her ear and whispered, “They might have a guard out. Or a dog. Be ready.”

She nodded and followed him toward the back of the building.

Hawker tested a massive set of double doors, probably built so the factory could take on ore from river barges.

They were locked, as were the two other back doors.

“We could blow the locks,” Megan suggested in a whisper.

“Blow the locks? Why don't we just call them and tell them we're coming? No, we'll have to crawl through a window.”

The windows were about seven feet off the ground. Hawker searched until he found one almost completely broken out. He took off his sweater and wrapped it around his hands, then jumped up and pulled himself through. He dropped down onto the cement floor of the factory's interior. When he was sure there were no guards around, he opened a side door for Megan.

Hawker took out a small Tekna pocket flashlight and twisted the cap until the bulb flared on. “You stay just behind my right shoulder,” Hawker whispered. “Keep your weapon ready.”

She nodded and walked after him through the darkness.

Most of the machinery had been removed from the factory, so it was like walking through some massive, deserted gymnasium—except for the stink of foundry dust.

There seemed to be no signs of recent occupation, and Hawker began to wonder if it really was the rallying place for the terrorist army of Bas Gan Sagart.

Maybe Megan was wrong.

He decided to have a thorough look around before saying anything to her. After all, she hadn't been wrong yet.

Hawker made his way across the center of the steel mill. The small flashlight panned back and forth, showing inoperative machinery. Some of the machinery was covered with tarps.

In the far corner of the room were the dim shapes of more tarps. But something about the shapes was different. Hawker lifted a chunk of canvas and searched underneath with his light.

Car tires. He lifted the tarp higher and saw the side of a white van—the same kind of van they had destroyed.

Megan's sharp intake of breath told him that she, too, had made the association.

There were three more vans beneath tarps.

Hawker checked the doors. They were locked.

“They must meet upstairs,” Hawker whispered.

She nodded. “There was a wee, dim light on as we went past.”

“I know. Keep your weapon ready.”

Along the west wall was a heavy freight elevator. Hawker followed the edge of the wall until he found a set of steel stairs.

He lifted his Uzi submachine gun and slowly made his way up the steps.

At the top of the stairs was a steel fire door. Hawker knew that if it was locked, their mission would have been in vain. He would have to be satisfied with bugging the ground floor—and, from the looks of things, that wouldn't produce much.

Carefully, he lifted the big lever that sealed the door. It caught, then gave way.

Hawker exhaled with relief as he swung the door open just wide enough for them to get through.

The second floor comprised a wide hall that seemed to open into three main rooms. A weak light showed through the doorway of the room on the north side of the building.

Hawker held up his hand. Megan stopped behind him as they both strained to listen.

From the room came the blurred rumble of men's voices. There was the occasional gust of soft laughter, followed by an increase in voice volume. Only then could Hawker hear well enough to understand what they were saying.

Two words stood out above all others.

It was a name. A name that made Hawker's hand grow tight on the submachine gun.

Jimmy O'Neil
.

Apparently, they found his horrible death humorous. The name was followed by more laughter.

Death by fire, Hawker thought grimly. He vowed then and there that many of them now laughing would live just long enough to experience the horror of such a death.

The other two massive rooms were dark. With Megan following him, Hawker made his way into each of them.

The first room appeared to be a combination office and kitchen. There were desks, a stove, two long tables, and some chairs.

There were telephones on each desk. Hawker didn't expect their numbers to be printed on the dials, and they weren't.

He unscrewed the transmitter cap off each phone as Megan held the light. Using a tiny screwdriver, Hawker connected the red, green, and yellow wires to the candy-colored listening devices he had brought.

He replaced the transmitter caps and put the phones back as he had found them.

From his pocket he took three single-sensory transmitters. They were the size of a quarter, nearly flat. He stripped the adhesive open at the base of the bugs and put one beneath each desk, and the third beneath the table where they ate.

Finally, he tested the file cabinet doors.

As he expected, they were locked.

Hawker made a motion for the woman to follow and peered out into the hall. He could still hear the faint conversation from the lighted room.

They slid down the hall and ducked into the next opening.

The second room was a type of dormitory. Hawker guessed it had been the worker's shower room when the factory was still in operation.

Bunks lined two walls. Only a couple of them were made. More blankets were stacked in the corner.

Hawker took two more of the single-sensory bugs. He hid one beneath the water closet of the toilet. He had just placed the other beneath a table in the middle of the room when Megan suddenly grabbed his shoulder.

“Listen!” she whispered.

At first, he didn't know what she was talking about. But then he heard them, too.

Footsteps.

Footsteps coming their way.

Both of them moved quickly across the room and pressed themselves against the wall beside the door. Hawker could feel the barrel of the Uzi, cold against his cheek.

The footsteps came progressively closer. The man was humming to himself. A quick, Latin tune.

Hawker hoped the man would walk right on past them into the lounge area. He hoped their good luck would continue to hold.

It didn't.

twelve

Still humming, the man came into the dormitory and flicked the switch on the wall.

When the lights came on, he was standing face-to-face with Hawker. Hawker saw his face contort with shock and surprise. It was a thin, feral face: black greasy hair; sly, mean eyes; skin pocked with acne.

The man jumped back to yell. Hawker reached to grab him, but before he did, Megan brought the knife edge of her right hand down on the back of the man's neck.

It didn't knock him out. But it shocked him just long enough for Hawker to spin him around in a hammerlock and clap his hand over the man's mouth.

Hawker's voice was a harsh whisper as he spoke into the man's ear. “Make so much as a sound and I'll rip your goddamn arm off and shove it down your throat. Got it?”

The man nodded quickly.

“Good. Just walk and keep quiet. We're getting out of here, and you're going with us.”

He motioned for Megan to lead the way.

Hawker kept the man's arm pressed tight against the middle of his back. He seemed resigned to the fact that he had no chance of escape. It soon became obvious that that's exactly what he'd wanted Hawker to think.

Halfway to the steps, just as they passed the freight elevator shaft, the man suddenly dropped to his knees, spinning down and under, freeing himself from the hammerlock.

Surprised, Hawker stumbled over him and almost fell. The man put all his weight behind an uppercut that hit Hawker flush in the scrotum. Hawker wheezed and buckled to the floor, feeling the pain move through him like red heat. Sweat beaded on his forehead.

Somehow, a knife materialized in the man's hand. Hawker managed to roll away just as the man dove at him. The blade of the knife clanked hard against the steel floor.

Using her submachine gun like a club, Megan swung down at the man's face. He smacked the weapon out of her hands and grabbed her by the blouse, trying to jerk her down onto the blade of the knife.

Her shirt ripped open as buttons scattered across the floor. It freed her of the man's grip—and saved her life.

It also gave Hawker just enough time to fight his way to his feet.

He kicked the knife out of the man's hand, then clubbed his jaw closed with a sizzling right. The man
whoofed
with pain as he slid backward across the floor.

Hawker was immediately on him. He dragged him to his feet. The man hit him twice in the temple with a weak right hand. Hawker ignored it. He buried a left into the man's stomach, then knocked his throat crooked with a smashing right fist.

The man backpedaled toward the second-floor wall. But he never hit.

For a microsecond, Hawker couldn't figure it out. The man seemed to disappear before his eyes.

But then he heard the gagging scream, and he knew.

The elevator shaft. He had fallen down the elevator shaft.

“Let's get out of here,” Hawker whispered hoarsely.

There were shouts behind them as they ran down the stairs. Hawker led the way, gun poised coolly in his right hand.

“If we can just get outside, we've got it made,” Hawker yelled to Megan. “The only thing between us and the car is a door.”

Hawker learned all too quickly how wrong he was.

As they got to the base of the stairs and headed through the cavernous darkness of the factory, the front doors of the building opened with an electronic hum. A moment later, a van came wheeling through.

The headlights of the van swept the building's interior, catching Hawker and Megan in midstride. The van immediately jolted to a halt, and men spilled out. From the corner of his eye, Hawker could see more men coming after them, down the steps.

“Take cover!” he yelled to Megan. “We're going to have to make a fighting retreat.”

As they dove behind a gigantic steel press, Hawker noticed absently that the woman's blouse was still open. In the stark white light of the van, her breasts appeared marblelike; full and firm beneath the sharp cones of her nipples.

Gunfire began to ricochet around them. Hawker dropped to his belly, and the Uzi rattled like a spinning chain, hot in his hands.

Two men coming from the second floor grabbed at their ruined faces and fell over the railing to the cement below. A man who had been standing behind the door of the van suddenly dropped to the ground, writhing in agony. Hawker realized that Megan had been firing, too.

Hawker yelled “Hey!” to get her attention, then made a leap-frog motion with his hand toward the back of the factory. “And we've got to make it quick—before they realize what we're doing. You'll go first.”

She nodded. “Just say when.”

Hawker rolled out, spraying the men with automatic weapon fire. When he had them pinned down, he yelled, “Now!”

Immediately, Megan sprinted toward the rear of the factory. When she had found cover, Hawker punched in his only fresh clip for the Uzi and ducked away from the curtain of fire which screamed through the mill.

Most of the fire was coming from behind the van. But the Bas Gan Sagart men were beginning to spread out, trying to circle them. Hawker knew he had to waste a bunch of them at once, if they were to have any hope of escape.

He could see Megan's face from where he sat crouched behind the steel press. Her expression was grim but calm. She gave him a questioning look. When Hawker had readied himself, he nodded. Immediately, she began spraying the van with 9mm slugs. When the Bas Gan Sagart men ducked, Hawker stood to his full height and pulled the pin of an incendiary grenade. He gave it a full two-count before he hurled it overhand at the van.

There was a minisecond of silence between the rapid-fire volleys of Megan's Uzi. The moment was punctuated by a scream of fear as the grenade rolled under the van, and the men on the other side saw it.

Then there was a deafening explosion, and a brief corona of smoke and light billowed above the fresh stink of burned flesh.

Two men came tumbling out from behind the van. Their clothes burned on them in a bright white blaze. Their screams were terrible to hear.