The Chop Shop (7 page)

“We're here on
police business,” Michael said. “You're required by law to let us in, so stop
screwing us around. Your employer is expecting us.”

“What are you
going to do, arrest me? I'd like to see you try, you little cripple. Come on,
give it a go, see how many bones you have left when I'm through with you.”

Richard spat on
his boot. “Maybe if you laid off the steroids for a bit, you wouldn't be such a
complete wanker.”

“You see that
camera up there?” Michael said. “You don't have access to the storage drive,
and that make has audio recording capability as well. You're the bottom of the
pyramid, you lump of meat, and Eratech will ditch you the moment they think
you're a liability.”

“Fuck off, you
queer,” the contractor said. He flicked the safety off on his carbine. “Do you
want me to paint the ground with your insides?”

“Touch that
trigger and you're going to have some serious fucking problems,” Richard said.

The click of
heels on the concrete turned heads. She walked under an umbrella, red hair
pulled back in a severe knot, and she wore a beige business suit with skirt
that came down to the knees, where it was met by the top of her boots. “That's
enough. Let them through, and see your supervisor when your shift finishes.
He'll be expecting you.”

They passed
through the checkpoint and hurried after the woman. Smoke trailed from the
cigarette wedged tight between her two fingers. She took one last puff, tossed
the cigarette to the ground and stamped it out.

“I'm Angela
Stokes; we spoke on the phone. I apologise for the trouble at the checkpoint.
Some of our security teams are... overzealous in carrying out their orders.”

Dozens of
buildings made up the Eratech compound. They approached the largest, a
rectangular shaped office that stood five stories tall. She lowered the
umbrella, shook the rain out of it and showed them inside.

The lobby was
glass and blue marble polished to a shine, where water sprouted from a fountain
in the centre, and speakers embedded in the walls played tranquil noises. Wind
chimes jingled softly. A dozen security contractors stood guard by the marble
columns supporting the ceiling.

They wiped their
feet on an oversized entrance mat, but still left a trail of filthy footprints
in their wake.

“This is an
impressive building you have here,” Michael said.

She kept walking
without looking back. “Yes, it is. They spent a lot of money here. It's the
main company headquarters for all that's left of Europe. Mr Lanning, is it?”

“Michael Ward.
He's Lanning.”

“Those chumps at
the gate aren't exactly the best introduction on company premises,” Richard
said.

“Once again, I'm
sorry. We rely on them to ensure the safety of our facilities here and our
employees. They are trained to a very high standard, despite what you might think.
Try to understand that while we are in Upper London, and security is greatly
improved in comparison to your jurisdiction, there is still much crime and
danger about. Corporate espionage is a major problem, and we'd be foolish not
to be prepared for all eventualities.”

They stopped at
the lifts, and she swiped her security card and pressed the button.

“If we can put
that issue behind us, I'm hoping that you have somewhere private set aside for
us to talk, Ms Stokes,” Michael said.

“Please, call me
Angela,” she said, looking him in the eyes with an expression he couldn't quite
read. “And yes, you're quite right; certainly there are some serious issues
that need discussing, and I assure you we intend to cooperate fully with the
demands of the law. I'll help you however I can.”

The lift
arrived, and glass doors slid open. She gestured for them to step inside, and
then followed, hitting the button for the third floor. They found themselves in
a corridor surfaced with laminate flooring and pristine walls. The air was
clean and smelt of freshly manufactured plastic and cleaning fluids.

“This way,
please,” Angela said. She led them to her office, seating herself in the
leather chair and waiting for them to settle in the chairs opposite the other
side of her desk. “Let's get down to business.”

Her office
window looked out onto the plaza outside and the security checkpoint. Rain
drops streamed down the glass. Michael glanced down at the floor and saw
fragments of polystyrene and packing materials scattered across the carpet. She
tapped a button on her desk.

The world
outside faded, and the glass and walls changed to display a tropic rainforest
background. Lush green leaves dripped with water, as speakers played recorded
sounds of wild life and nature. Angela dialled down the volume.

“That's
impressive. I've never seen anything like it before,” Michael said.

“Perhaps where
you live. It is all the fashion right now. Very expensive. Anyway, I must tell
you that my time is very valuable and in short supply, and I'd rather not spend
it all on idle chatter, so if we may get to the point?”

Richard cleared
his throat. “Well, I'll go and just lay everything out for you. Some of this
I'm sure you're aware of already, but just to make sure we're on the same page
here, Jim Belton committed suicide yesterday. That would be Jim Belton, the Member
of Parliament.

“His home was
raided and everybody inside killed, including his wife and son. We believe it
to be the cause of his suicide.”

She drew one of
her hands inwards, placing it against her chest. “Yes, I'd heard about that.
It's tragic. People have been very concerned about security up here. There were
a lot of guards at his home, and if they couldn't stop the killers, then who
could? There is one thing I don't understand, though. Perhaps you could
enlighten me about it. The murders were committed up here, yet your company is
only contracted to provide policing for Lower London. They've already paid a
visit to us earlier today. This is not your jurisdiction, correct?”

“In some respects,
you are correct,” Michael said, “but technically he was still alive until he
struck a car parked in our station compound. I don't think you can get any more
in our jurisdiction than that. We also believe that the killer escaped down
into Lower London where he had additional help. You could say that both of our
forces have a legitimate interest in investigating this.”

Angela pressed
her lips together, leaning back in the chair as she folded her arms. “I see. At
the very least, I can share with you what information we gave the others. They
were quite inquisitive. We log everything, you understand, but beyond that
however, I'm not sure how I can help you. I mean, as tragic as this whole
affair is, it's not like this man worked for us. We had limited dealings with
him in his capacity as part of the government group overseeing defence and
security.”

Michael
exchanged a glance with Richard. “Of course, I understand. Anything you can
give us will be extremely helpful, and by no means are we trying to imply your
company's involvement in this matter; I hope you understand that. This was a
professional hit and such things are not cheap, so the most obvious link comes
from his business and government dealings.”

“That did cross
my mind. I should make a point of reminding you that Eratech operates above
board in every capacity. People may not like us or the profits which we
generate, but there are far, far worse companies operating in this city who
continue to escape action every day.”

She picked up
the telephone, dialled an internal number and asked for somebody to bring them
the paperwork.

“My
understanding of your position here is that you are a liaison of some sort with
external dealings. You communicate with other contractors, business affairs,
stuff like that, yes?”

“Correct.”

“Then you've met
with Jim Belton in the past?”

“Correct.”

“What was he
like? It does seem as though he had a lot of contact with your company. Look,
there's a new story in the press every week about somebody getting too cosy
with non-government groups, corruption, whatever. It's routine business. The
kicker here, though, is that he was cosy with several different companies. I'd
go so far as to say that it appears he was playing you all.”

Angela's
expression hardened. “Eratech makes many things. Some of those things are
defence products, and naturally, like any company, we wish for people to
understand the benefits of our products so that they might make an informed
purchase. Jim Belton was looped into the government's defence committees and had
a number of contacts. As you might understand, this made him a good candidate
to inform others of the benefits our products offer.

“There's nothing
unreasonable or surprising about that; it's a fact of life. Neither is there
anything surprising about the fact that other companies wished to align his
views with theirs. Business, Mr Ward. Nothing more, nothing less. Certainly it
is disappointing to find out, but it is not as though he has access to company
secrets or research.

“I'm helping as
much as I can here, but I really can't understand what else you expect from us.
I realise we all have our superiors to obey, but this is the end of the road.
Unless you have something concrete to discuss with me or some kind of evidence,
I'm afraid there is nothing more I can do for you. You'll get everything we
gave the other officers, but then you will need to leave.”

Michael placed a
business card on the desk. “Certainly. That's our station name and address. You
can reach me on that telephone number if there's any need, and please, if you
discover anything that may assist in our investigation, don't hesitate in
contacting me.”

They took
shelter in a doorway once they were out of the compound, and Richard turned to
him with something of a grimace. “That could have gone better. They could have
given us a plastic bag for this folder.”

Michael wiped
the rain off his face. “I think that was the point.”

“So the ink will
run? Eratech. Shouldn't be surprised when it comes to those arseholes.”

“We can get one
from a shop. I doubt there's anything in those papers that we don't already
know, but it can't hurt to have a look. I didn't want to push too much; Stokes
probably isn't high enough up the corporate chain to know any important
information, assuming Eratech even had a hand in this, and there's no point in
showing our hand this early.”

Puddles formed
in the concrete, rippling as rain drops struck the surface, and black clouds
lingered above. Michael listened to the gale winds.

“Well, Eratech
might be grade A arseholes, but I've got to hand it to them, they really know
how to put a place together. We need an office like that. That glass looked
very fine, and Stokes herself wasn't that bad either. Get a look at her legs?”

“I did, but it'd
all end in tears. She's a professional, married to the company in more ways
than one. I guess you didn't see her wedding ring. Probably married to some fat
cat executive.”

“Well, I'd
settle for the glass. Beats looking at that dump outside our office window.”

“Maybe. It's not
very realistic, though. The audio was missing sound effects.”

“Like what?”

“The natives
getting murdered at night by construction workers.”

Michael checked
his watch. Another crack of thunder drew his attention, and he stared up at the
sky, watching it shift and change shape. The darkness always endured, even when
there wasn't a concrete plate above his head.

“I already get
that one outside my bedroom window at night. I've got two thirty-five on my
watch. Let's get this over with.”

Michael shook
out the water collecting in the crevice of his sleeve. “We should have taken an
umbrella.”

“Fucking acid
rain.”

The compound
fencing was spiked with barbs and razor wire, and yellow signs had been screwed
to the fence at ten meter intervals, warning that the fence would be
electrified at random times both night and day. They finished their food and
dumped the remains in the bin.

“A gated
community within a gated city. These places don't look too shabby, though, I'll
give them that,” Richard said.

Michael pointed
to one of the doors. “Extra secure. Three locks and an electronic keypad.
Cameras, too. I would have thought they'd have security contractors.”

“Corporate
cost-cutting? Not that you'd need them with all this stuff. You can just lean
out the window and plug them if somebody turns up at your door unannounced. I
hope he's in; this is his work address as well as his home address,” Richard
said.

They approached
the front gate. Michael stared into the camera and rang the buzzer. The
intercom clicked to life thirty seconds later.

“Yes?”

“John Herrend?
I'm Detective Ward. Perhaps we can have a word?”

“I believe you
have already spoken to Miss Stokes earlier today, and I can't tell you anything
more than what she has discussed with you. I'm afraid you will have to look
elsewhere to continue your investigation.”

Michael frowned.
“We've danced this dance today already. You can either let us in so that we
might have a polite discussion, or we'll come back later with a fire team, and
they'll cut a hole through the fence and blow your door off its hinges. There
really shouldn't be any problem here. We're trying to eliminate your company
from our investigation, so unless you want to continue residing on our list of
suspects, I suggest you let us in.”

They waited a
moment until a green light flashed on the gate. The intercom made a buzzing
sound. They went inside and watched the gate close behind them, and he saw a
row of bicycles chained to the wall beneath a shelter. The rain had let up now,
leaving the ground pockmarked with puddles that rippled when the wind blew and
brought the smell of damp in its wake.

John Herrend
waited for them, hidden partially behind his front door. He looked like he was
in his mid-thirties, with wire-thin glasses and brown hair, and dressed in a
business suit minus the jacket.

Richard gestured
to the door. “May we?”

John moved
aside, shutting the door behind them as they entered. His flat had a minimalist
vibe about it, white walls punctuated with the odd subtle shade of colour.
Michael opted not to wipe his feet, and he left a trail of muddy footprints
across the laminate flooring.

Dimmed
circle-shaped lights in the ceiling lit the lounge. A roll-up television sheet
hung from the wall, wired into a set of speakers nearly as big as the table and
a multimedia player.

“I'm really not
sure what you expect from me, Detective. I work as an off-site contractor for
Eratech, not a proper employee. Any questions you have should be directed to
them,” John said, when they were all seated.

“We've already
spoken to Eratech. We're not interested in them, we're interested in you. How
about you start by explaining your work for us. Something simple, perhaps, like
how you go about lobbying for the company,” Michael said.

John stared at
the muddy footprints. His lips formed a thin, strained line. Wrinkles appeared
on his brow. “Certainly,” he said, in a monotone voice devoid of emotion.

“The job really
isn't as secret or cloak and dagger as you seem to imply. It's quite simple,
really; I make contact with them, arrange to meet at a convenient venue for
discussions and try to persuade them that it is better to buy or contract from
Eratech than one of the company's competitors.”

Richard sniffed
at the air. “And just like that, they change their minds?”

Michael smelt it
too.

“I've really got
to take a leak. Can I use your bathroom?” Richard said.

“Fine, be quick
about it. It's this way,” John said.

Michael let
himself into the study. A paper shredder was resting on the desk, mesh bin half
full. The bin next to it had been scorched by fire and now contained a pile of
ashes. Only a single sheet of paper remained, covered in scribbled phone
numbers and radio frequencies.

Footsteps from
behind. Michael turned around in time to see John lock the door with a key. His
eyes were dead. “What are you doing in here? You can't just search my flat
without a warrant like this.”

Michael reached
for his gun. He saw the clenched fist angling for his throat and scrambled
backwards, tumbling over a chair and crashing against a bookshelf. Ring binders
from the next shelf up rained down on his head and shoulders. He collapsed into
the corner.

John put a foot
into his stomach as he tried to rise. His head clipped the wall, another jolt
of pain stunning him like a hammer blow. John ripped the wire from his
computer's modem and looped it around Michael's throat, pulling on it as he
pinned him against the wall with his foot.

He felt a fiery
heat rising in his cheeks and the uncontrollable urge to convulse. Dribble
drained from the corners of his mouth. He kicked his feet about, banging on the
floor and knocking the table, but John wouldn't relent.

The door handle
turned. “Hey, open up. Mike, Mike? Open the door, for Christ's sake.”

Michael tried to
shout, but his words came out as a rasping noise. John bared his teeth, as he
tightened the cable even more. A round little hole appeared in the door,
scattering several splinters of wood and paint. A moment of silence passed.
Eleven more holes appeared in the door.

John fell to the
ground, and Michael ripped the cable off. He went down on his hands and knees,
wheezing.

“Mike, you okay?
Is he dead?”

He didn't say
anything, and a burning line remained in his throat. He rose several seconds
later and unlocked the door. John was still moving, but a puddle of blood
seeped across the laminate floor beneath him.

Michael grabbed
the front of his shirt and lifted him up an inch. “Start talking, or I'm going
to spill your guts.”

“I think he's
doing that anyway. Come on, you're not going to get anything out of him,”
Richard said.

John stopped
breathing, and Michael let the corpse drop.

“Who was he,
anyway? I saw him through the first hole I put in the door. He didn't even
flinch. A passive-aggressive, pasty-faced guy with glasses; I'd buy him as a
serial rapist, but that? That was pretty extreme.”

“Let's find
out,” Michael said, taking the paper from the desk. “We'll need to get Harris
to check these numbers out. They were the only thing he hadn't disposed of
yet.”

“Stinks like
hell in here. He must have been burning this stuff all day.”

Michael stopped
in the doorway and looked back at the corpse. “Hey, thanks. I mean it, I was
dead; he had me.”

Richard shrugged
with the slightest of smiles. “Don't worry about it. I know everyone is always
talking rubbish behind my back, but I get something right every now and then.
That was the first time I've ever killed anyone.”

“How do you
feel?”

“Excited, tense.
I used just work up briefings for the fire teams, and I never went out on
patrol. They needed somebody to work detective enquiries, but people with
combat experience on the streets were too valuable to be used on that stuff, so
they got me instead.”

They went into
the bedroom, ripping open drawers and cabinets, tossing piles of clothes onto
the floor. Richard drummed his fingers on something hard at the bottom of a
drawer. “I've got a briefcase.”

He flipped two
latches and opened it. “Check it out, he was a ninja.”

“What?”

“I'm not joking.
He has fucking ninja stars. Look,” Richard said. He held up a stainless steel
star with four razor points. “What's the point? Do they even teach people to
use these any more? You can't shoot through a door with a ninja star.”

“They're called
shuriken. Find anything else?”

Richard
pretended to throw the shuriken at the wall, and then hissed. The shuriken fell
from his grasp and embedded itself in the floor with a thump. “Ah, I cut my
finger.”

“I've got three
passports and two memory sticks hidden in a compartment here. What do you think
the odds are that he moonlights as something other than a lobbyist?”

Richard sucked
the blood from his finger. He grimaced. “I think this whole case just keeps on
getting dodgier. He covered himself pretty good, though. There's sod all in
here to go on. Those memory sticks are probably encrypted, and those phone
numbers and radio frequencies will be dead by now.”

“Harris'
problem, not ours. If he doesn't like it, he can give us a new case.”

“Here's hoping.”

Major Harris had
his glasses on, as he skimmed through several reports and dumped them in a wire
tray. He took the glasses off when he was finished and set them down in front
of him, before leaning back in his chair. “I just got off the phone; you two
have problems. Big problems.”

Michael
exchanged a glance with Richard. “What's happened?”

“It's what
hasn't happened that should be of concern. I got the report from police up top,
and they're telling me that everything you said never happened; somebody has
cleaned the whole scene up. John Herrend is reported as missing and nobody
knows where he is.”

“What the hell?
I shot him through a door multiple times. He bled all over the floor, and we
ransacked the place looking for information. It's a dump, there's evidence
everywhere. Are you trying to tell me somebody phoned up Quick Repair, had the
bloody door replaced, and then hired cleaners to bleach the floor, tidy the
flat and dispose of the body without anybody talking? Come on, sir. It's a load
of crap,” Richard said, picking at the plaster on his finger.

“I know,” Harris
said, nodding. “But nobody else is going to believe you. Were you followed?
They'd have to be on the ball pretty quick, as you weren't up there that long,
and that's if they didn't just bribe some of the police officers.”

Michael
shrugged. “Maybe. We weren't looking. Getting tailed by corporate surveillance
wasn't exactly first on our list of thoughts, sir, but it makes sense if they
cleaned up so quickly.”

“You know,”
Richard said, leaning forward in his chair and locking his fingers together.
“John Herrend said he was an external contractor for Eratech, not a full blown
employee. It makes sense for both him and the company, because they can keep
each other at arm’s reach. He obviously knew something. Maybe they were going
to take him out themselves after we left?”

Harris nodded
again. He took a packet of cigarettes out the breast pocket of his uniform,
branded with the cross of Saint George, and inserted one into the corner of his
mouth. “Certainly a possibility. A good one, even. I sent fire teams to
investigate the addresses we managed to pull from those phone numbers. A real
pain to track down. I'm going to phone down to ops and see what they've got.”

Michael sat
rigid as he watched, waited, and felt his stomach knot, as he listened to
Harris on the phone. His heartbeat became the sole focus of his attention,
pounding away inside his chest, as sweat formed in the crevices of his palms.
He saw the major's expression become severe.

Harris's eyes
narrowed. He muttered a single word into the receiver, then hung up. “One of
the teams isn't checking in: Stark's. Go with Corporal Hill's section, and find
out what's going on down there. There's another section near Hayes, and I'll
get them to back you up, but it might be a while. Go.”

“Shit,” Richard
said.

They ran for the
lifts. A voice on the loudspeaker ordered Hill's section to the armoury.
Richard slapped at the call button again and again as if it would somehow make
the lift go faster. Finally it arrived, and he hit the button for the ground
floor.

“These people
will have cleared out by the time we get there; they'll know more of us are
coming,” Michael said. “Don't bank on finding anybody left alive.”

Members of
Hill's unit were already preparing their infantry vehicle. Others pulled on
their body armour and equipment pouches, and they stacked spare cans of
ammunition and supplies in the back of the fighting vehicle.

Corporal Hill
pointed to the armoury. “Draw combat supplies from the armoury. Get yourselves
a vest, rifle and ammunition. One more thing, when we hit the place, you take
orders from me. I've had two hours of sleep, so don't give me any of that
higher rank detective bullshit. I've got command authority, and if you won't do
what I say, then stay the fuck out of my way.”

They went inside
armoury B. High-powered lights in the ceiling lit the interior with red, and
rows of metal racks and lockers held seemingly endless supplies of guns and
munitions. They plucked what they needed from storage and loaded up, exiting
just in time to see an old tank rumble past with a bulldozer attachment
lowered.

“We haven't got
room for you in the IFV; you'll have to follow us in your car. Buzz me on the
radio if you get into trouble,” Hill said. He ran to climb into the back of the
vehicle.

Richard looked
to Michael. “Do you ever get that really bad feeling in your gut when something
like this goes down?”

“All the time.”

They stopped at
the end of the road, several hundred meters away from the address. Corporal
Hill's section disembarked from the IFV. They stood by the sides of their
vehicle, exchanging glances with each other.

“Smoke. Maybe we
should have brought more tanks with us,” Richard said.

The pair of them
got out of the car and jogged after the others. Michael pushed his way through
their ranks and saw a police armoured personnel carrier on fire further down
the road. Two shapes that looked like bodies lay motionless not far from it.