Memoria (33 page)

He
paused.
"
The problem was, Memoria had a plan of
its
own.
A
nd most likely, your secret agreement was part of it.
They only made it in order to lull you
into a false sense of security while Memoria was getting their Vaccination up and running. You must have a mole or two nosing about. Memoria
's
people have studied you well, each of you.
"

Silence fell. Frank held his breath watching the others.
Nicholas Floyd stared in front of him, drooped and crestfallen.
The news of the agreement between
Gautier
and the government seemed to have shaken him to the bone.
Lionel
Batford
, one hand still under the table, squinted at his cell phone,
tapp
ing
a number in.

The gray-haired Steel Lady seemed to have aged another ten years in the past half-hour.
Her hands shook.
T
he flame in her eyes had faded
.

"Frank, with your permission?"
Max
looked up at him. "I've got something else to say."

"If you wish."

"You should have told us about the secret agreement
when you met us
yesterday
. We'll leave it for the moment. But before we see the tape and learn more about the Vaccination project, there's something else I need to know.
Have any of you
—
of the camp leaders or their entourage
—
have any of you ever heard of
mind locks and mnemocapsules? Were they mentioned
at all
during those talks yesterday at Memoria?
Have you heard the
se
name
s before?"

Gautier
raised her sunken face at him and shook her head. There was nothing left of
the
Steel Lady in her.

"Put your phone away, Lionel," she
gnarled. "Nicholas, go find out what
's
tak
ing
the engineers so long."

The phone beeped acknowledging a text reception.
A gun shot resounded from under the table.
Ma
ggie cried out.
Blood trickled out of
Gautier's
open mouth onto her chin. She tumbled off the chair
clasping the wound in her stomach.
The coa
ch jumped up.

Lionel Batford
did the same, the gun in his hand trained at Floyd.
Before Floyd could move,
Batford shot him twice
.

Max
rushed to the girl to shield her from the shots. A bullet hit his chest
. Frank lunged forward and slammed the chair on Batford's hand
holding
the gun.
Batford cried out and dropped
the weapon
. Frank buried his fist in the man's
face
, and Batford
collapsed on the floor.

Frank picked up his gun and ran past the table to the door.
It swung
open, people bursting
in.

"He did it!" W
iping the blood over his face,
Batford
crawled to the wall. "He shot us! He's got a gun!"

Several people
grabbed Frank's shoulders forcing him down. He
knee-kicked one of them. The attacker
yelp
ed and released his grip.
Another one tried
to take the gun away. Frank jabb
ed his left elbow into the man's ch
e
st
and received a
hearty
hook to his jaw in return
. The blow made his head
reel
,
letting out hundreds of s
tar
s before his darkening stare. He growled
as he
struck out at
the attacker's ribs, all the while feeling someone trying to wriggle the gun out of his hand.
Finally, he managed to get up, throwing the attacker down onto the floor.

The gun lay
under his feet
. Frank's right arm didn't obey,
its
hand burning in agony,
its forearm stiff as if it had
been fitted with
a steel
rod
. Familiar sensation: many years ago, this had been the kind of injury that
had
got him
out of
the ring for good.
A couple of fingers broken, probably
—
not that it mattered any more. He kicked the gun under the
table, avoided somebody's lunge and
parried another one's left hook to
his
jaw
, simultaneously kicking
somebody
behind his back.

"Frank!" Maggie screamed.

He was too busy to answer. H
e couldn't even turn
to take a look. H
e had to get to the door and lock it
, whatever it took. Then he'
d
deal with
these people
, and then
—
he didn't know what would happen then. He didn't care.
He clenched his teeth and kept fighting. This was what he'd learned from his coach, now bleeding to death somewhere under the table.

He finally realized he'd been fighting three people in total: the three young men
in the gray pickup truck
who'd brought them
t
here
from
O
prah
's
house.
The driver wasn't with them
—
he must have stayed with the truck. One of the three writhed on the floor
clutching
at his stomach
after Frank's knee kick to his solar
plexus
. Another one didn't move at all
, unconscious after the hook
to his jaw
. The third one leaned against the table edge trying to get up. Frank stepped
forward and
punched
the man
in the temple kno
c
king him out
.

"Behind you!" Maggie screamed.

Too late. A chair
crushed against Frank's back and disintegrated. Frank collapsed o
n top of
his injured arm, yelped with pain and tried to kick the attacking Batford's leg.
The man stepped aside
,
two loose chair legs
still
in his hands
, and took a swing at Frank
.
A chair leg hit Frank's throat,
stopping him
breath
ing
.

Bat
ford grasped the other chair leg with both hands
and raised it over his head aiming its sharp splintery end
at
Frank's chest.

A gunshot
shook
the
room.
Batford doubled
up
. His eyes, full of surprise,
froze
on Frank's face
. He
dropped the chair leg and
started to turn around. A dark spot
grew on his back. He stepped to the door, teetered and collapsed.
On the other side of the room, something
heavy
c
langed against the floor.

Frank turned his head. Maggie stood by the opposite wall. She covered her mouth with both hands,
staring at the dead B
a
t
ford. The gun lay
at
her feet.

From behind the door
came shouting and
the
stomping of many feet
. As he scrambled
upright
, Frank tried to speak to Maggie but could only manage a croak.
The pain in his larynx made him hiss; he swallowed, grabbed a
chair and dragged it to the entrance
.

He
barred the door with it and tried it
. A chair was no barrier for one or two fit men
, but all Frank wanted was
to play for time
.

He looked back.
A recovered
Maggie
leaned over the coach under the wide window. Tears flooded her face. She was whispering something that sounded like a prayer.

Frank ran up to them and knelt next to his coach looking into his eyes. The man was dying.
Max
couldn't see his student
, but he moved his bloodied lips
trying to say something. But nothing came out.

"Frank," Maggie called. "Frank, do something. Please."

Frank bent down to his face.

"Sir? It's me, Frank Shelby. We don't have much time."

The door shattered, fol
lowed by loud demands to open it.

"You can hear me, can't you?" Frank went on. "I know you can.
Maggie and I are all right. You wanted to tell us something. I knew you did when you asked the leaders about the mind lock. I knew you'd sussed it out
...
"

"Pe
...
ople," the coach uttered, very softly, and started to rattle. He grabbed Frank's shoulder and squeezed his eyes shut.
When he opened them again, he breathed out, "People!"

His head
dropped to one side
. He
died.

A
droning
sound added to the
thumping at the door.
Window panes rattled
. Frank turned
and faced a black
helicopter hovering over the lawn
, the orange
flower of
Memoria on its side
. M
ore armed men
sat
inside.

Frank grabbed Maggie's hand. The window
s
shattered. Tear gas grenades filled the room with their rancid smoke and
acrid
stench.
Frank's
eyes watered.
B
lack
masked
figures
slid down ropes and
appeared
in the w
i
ndows amid the b
r
e
aking
of
glass.
One of them raised a strange-looking rifle loaded with four red things that looked like bowling pins.

The shot sounded like a balloon bursting
. Frank stepped out, shielding Maggie,
when he realized that the four pin-like things weren't the
threat. They flew apart unfolding a net between them.
Strong nylon cord hit Frank's face. It entrapped their shoulders and legs and
clung to the screaming Maggie. Rifle butts sent both onto the floor. The shooter jumped off the window sill, moved the rifle
behind his back and pulled his cord out of the window. Kneeling next to them, he
looped the
end
of the cord around their feet, drew it tight, clasped a safety hook to it and pulled the cord.

Frank wasn't prepared for being jerked out. His head hit the window sill, and he found himself hanging feet up over the lawn
. Over his ear, Maggie screamed, petrified.
The drone of the choppers
filled his other ear. One of the helicopters h
overed over the lawn, the other
above the Keating Hall
. He and Maggie
were
being
pulled up into it.
Max
's last
word echoed in Frank's head.
Blood
rushed
to his face
, pulsating in his agonizing temples. The lawn swam before his eyes. Frank collapsed.

T
he day was nearly over but Bud Jessup stayed put at the former Yankee stadium
with the rest of
his
police squad. He hoped for some news from his man in the camp, but he didn't answer the captain's calls and
code
messages
.

From his seat,
Jessup
turned to the young radio operator at his station in the corner of the HQ room. The staff duty officer next to him caught his glance and shook his head.
The camp frequencies were silent.
One
would thi
nk all migrants had left the Bro
nx. However, the satellite picture
that detected personal bracelet signals
showed otherwise.
Apparently, the migrants had switched off their cell phones and gathered in Fordham.