True Conviction (10 page)

I look at her. “He’ll talk to me.”

Her jaw tightens and she bites her bottom lip, thinking. She knows better than to doubt me, but I think she’s just worrying about how this whole thing will play out.

We turn a corner and she forgets her concerns as quickly as she thought of them.

“We’re here,” she says, pulling up across the street. She points to a building opposite. “That’s the place.”

It’s a generic two story building with a yard to its left that has six vans parked in it. The sign across the building above the main entrance says: EXPRESS COURIER SERVICES. There’s lots of activity, which is to be expected, I guess.

“What’s this guy’s name?” I ask.

“Marcus Jones,” she replies.

“Right, come on then,” I say, opening the door and climbing out.

“You’re insane,” she mutters as she follows me.

We cross the street and walk in through the main entrance. Inside is a small lobby with a worn, blue carpet underfoot. A couple of seats are on the left, and there’s a large plant on the right looking long overdue for some water.

Manning the front desk is a short, portly man with dark hair and a large moustache—both mottled with flecks of gray. His stomach is disproportionately large compared to the rest of his body, hanging low over his belt. I reckon it’s been close to a decade since he last saw his own feet while standing.

“Can I help you folks?” he asks, in a thick, southern accent.

“I hope so,” I say, stepping forward. “I’m looking for Marcus, if he’s around?”

“Jonesy? He’s out on a job at the moment. Due back soon though. Can I ask why you want to see him? Bit irregular for folks to come in and ask for a specific driver.”

“Oh, we’re old friends. We’re passing through town and wanted to say hello is all.”

“Well now, ain’t that somethin’?” He gestures to the chairs behind us. “You folks take a seat,” he says. “Let me get you a drink while you wait. You know, Jones is a quiet sort-a fella—keeps himself to himself. He’ll be glad to see some old acquaintances, I’m sure.”

I look at Clara and smile. She rolls her eyes at me and walks over to the chairs.

“We’re alright for drinks, thanks,” I say. “But we appreciate being allowed to wait. I promise we won’t take up much of his time.”

He laughs again. “No problem. You’re nice folks, you know that?”

“That’s kind of you to say, thank you,” says Clara behind me.

I smile and sit down next to her.

“You make things look really easy,” she says quietly.

“I know,” I say. “Thanks.”

“It’s really annoying.”

“I know that, too. But you love it.”

We both smile.

Ten minutes pass before we get lucky. The door opens and a man walks in. Clara taps my leg with her foot.

Marcus Jones.

He’s average height with dark, olive skin and a shaved head. He has a few days’ growth on his face, but I wouldn’t call it a beard. He’s wearing a short sleeve navy blue shirt with a yellow logo over the breast pocket that says ECS, with jeans and boots.

As he walks in, he sees the guy behind the desk smiling at him and pointing over to us. Confused, he turns and looks at me, frowning when he doesn’t immediately recognize me. Then he sees Clara and his eyes go wide. I don’t get chance to work out whether it’s fear or surprise, because he bolts for the door.

Without thinking, I rush after him, throwing the door open and stepping out to see him climbing into the cab of his van, parked a short distance away. His tires squeal as he flies out of the yard and turns right, nearly hitting another car as he does.

Clara appears next to me and we both run over to the car.

“Well,
that
went well,” she says as we get in and she starts the engine. “Did he tell you everything you wanted to know?”

We speed off in pursuit, narrowly avoiding a car coming from behind us.

“Now isn’t the time for sarcasm and I-told-you-so’s,” I say. “Can you please just focus on catching this guy without killing us in the process?”

I SEE THE van up ahead, speeding down the six-lane freeway and weaving in and out of the traffic erratically. Thankfully, there isn’t much traffic around us.

“Try and get next him,” I say to Clara.

We’re in a far superior car, so
getting
close Jones isn’t the problem. The problem is
staying
close to him, because he keeps swerving left and right whenever we try to move alongside him. We don’t want to risk a crash so we have to keep dropping back.

Clara’s focused on the road. I’m trying to figure out how to stop him without killing him. There aren’t too many options when you’re both pushing eighty on the freeway.

“Any idea where he’s likely to go?” I ask.

“Could be anywhere,” she replies. “I doubt he’s going to run straight to their main base of operations knowing we’re following him. There are a couple of other locations Dark Rain use—weapons drops and safe houses, so it could be one of them maybe...”

I frown with mild frustration. “We need to get him before he reaches somewhere we can’t follow.”

I open my window and lean out, reaching behind me for a Beretta.

“What are you hell are you doing?” yells Clara.

“Good question!” I shout back.

If I’m being honest, right now I have absolutely no idea what I’m doing. It’s extremely difficult to hit a tire in this situation—not that I want to, because it’ll cause him to lose control and at this speed that could be fatal.

Ah, screw it. I’ll just fire a few rounds in his general direction and see if it distracts him or something.

I squeeze off three rounds. I’ve no idea where the first two went, but the third one hits the back door of the van, causing a high-pitched ping. Jones must’ve heard it or felt it, because he suddenly swerves left, then right, fighting for control.

We drop back while he straightens up.

“Oh, shit…” Clara says, seeing him take a sharp left, narrowly missing the oncoming traffic he cuts across the adjacent lanes and down another street. There’s no way we can follow—we’d never make it across the junction without hitting something.

“Take the next left, we’ll catch up to him,” I say.

She does and we see the van go across the end of the street. We speed up and turn right, getting behind him again in no time. Clara steps on the gas some more and gets us almost level with him on the inside, but he sees the move and edges to the left, closing us down and forcing us to drop back.

“We’re never going to get level with him,” she says, slamming her hand against the wheel in frustration.

“Be patient,” I say. “We’ll get him, don’t worry.”

A heartbeat later, he tries to take another sharp turn, to the right this time. The guy’s a maniac… he’s going too fast—he’ll never get round the corner…

His passenger side back wheel lifts as he skids round the corner. I see him through the windshield fighting to control the van, but he’s got no chance. The momentum carries him, and he tips over, crashing down on his side and skidding across the street. The screeching sound of metal on blacktop is deafening, but it’s quickly replaced by a lower, much louder bang, as he collides with a parked car on the opposite side and stops.

“Jesus…” she says.

“Told you we’ll get him,” I say.

We pull up just before the right turn and I step out of the car, looking at the scene before me. A crowd of people has gathered, taking photographs and pointing, but making no effort to see if Jones is alright. Luckily, no one appears to have been injured.

“This is all my fault...” says Clara, appearing next to me.

“How do you figure that?” I ask.

“He only ran when he saw me. If I’d let you go in alone, you might have been able to talk to him and stop him from running.”

“Look, neither of us could’ve known he was going to bolt the moment he saw you. No one’s been injured—except him, and I’m okay with that.”

She forces a smile. “But we’re still at square one,” she says. “We didn’t get anything out of him, and now Dark Rain will know we’re on to them.”

“Hold up,” I say, looking over at the crash.

Marcus Jones is climbing up and out of the passenger door window. He looks relatively unhurt, apart from some cuts and bruises. He jumps down to the road and bends over, resting his hands on his knees to catch his breath. He looks around at the people staring. Then he sees our car—which, let’s face it, isn’t exactly hard to miss. His eyes meet mine. We hold each other’s stare for an hour-long split-second, then he sets off running down the street, pushing through the crowd and disappearing.

“Oh, no you don’t, you little bastard!” I yell, setting off after him without a second thought.

I sprint round the corner and barge through the crowd of slack-jawed onlookers. I see Jones just ahead of me. Unfortunately, just as I realize I’m not actually gaining on him as quickly as I would’ve liked, I remember the sore back and busted ribs from last night. I grit my teeth as each rapid, deep gulp of air feels like knives in my chest. I’m usually in pretty good physical condition, so the fact I can barely move is both frustrating and embarrassing.

Remembering my old military training, where every day someone would tell me that pain is a choice, I push it to the back of my mind and carry on.

That being said, I’m not an idiot and I know I can’t maintain this pace for much longer. I have to catch Jones, and fast.

I can see him in front of me. He looks over his shoulder at me and nearly falls over a trashcan. He recovers quickly and ducks into an alley on the left, between two buildings.

“Marcus!” I shout. “Quit making me run, you asshole!”

I enter the alleyway after him, but he’s nowhere to be seen. It’s a dead-end, what the...

Dammit, fire escape—just behind one of the large dumpsters against the right hand wall. I look up and see him climbing the metal stairs up to the roof.

Shit.

I take a deep breath and move back a couple of steps. I sprint toward the ladder that Jones has ever-so-kindly pulled up and jump, stretching as best I can under the circumstances and managing to just grab the bottom rung. The pain ripping through my torso right now is excruciating and difficult to ignore. I breathe rapidly to compose myself and after a few seconds start to pull myself up.

Once on the fire escape, I set off running, taking the stairs two and three at a time. I step down onto the roof of the building just in time to see Jones reach the other side and jump. Without breaking stride, I rush over and see he’s made it over the next alleyway and onto the roof of the adjacent building.

“You gotta be kidding me?” I say to myself, gasping for air.

Without thinking—because, let’s face it, if I stop and think about it, my brain would definitely tell me this is one of the dumbest things I’ve done in a long time—I run and jump…

Thankfully, the gap is deceptively small and I cover the distance easily enough, landing heavily on the neighboring roof. I stand up, wincing in pain, and see Jones ahead of me. He’s at the edge of the roof again, but he’s just standing there with his back to me. It takes me a moment, but I realize we’re on the edge of the block. There’s nowhere left to go.

He turns to face me, glancing over his shoulder quickly at the ledge, and subsequent drop, now behind him. We’re easily five or six stories up, so the drop would be fatal. Let’s just hope it doesn’t come to that… at least not before I get some answers.

I slow down as I approach him, catching my breath. I draw my gun and take aim one-handed.

“Finally,” I say. “Have you finished being an asshole? Me and you need to have a chat.”

“I ain’t got nothin’ to say to you,” he says, defensively.

“You don’t know that… You don’t even know who I am, or what I want. Don’t write off your ability to be helpful before we even start talking.”

Jones shrugs. “Okay, so who the hell are you, man?”

“I’m a concerned citizen who wants to know what Dark Rain is planning.”

I see the flash of concern on his face, but he seems set on pleading ignorance.

“I ain’t ever heard of no Dark Rain, man.”

“Bullshit. I saw your reaction when you laid eyes on Clara. Why did you run?”

He glances over his shoulder again. “I ain’t talking and you can’t make me,” he shouts. “They’re gonna hunt you down and slay you in the street for this!”

I fire once, above his head. “Enough,” I say. “If you’re gonna talk, stick to what I want to know, not what I could give two shits about.”

I step closer to him. Again, he looks over his shoulder at the street below, except this time he inches himself backward a tiny bit so he’s standing right on the edge.

He wouldn’t jump, surely?

“Don’t even think about it, Marcus,” I say.

I’m maybe ten feet away from him. I can see the defiant look in his eyes. His jaw is set and his breathing is rapid.

Shit… he’s going to jump, isn’t he?

Screw it.

I take a chance and shoot him in his left kneecap. He falls forward, screaming in pain and clutching his leg, which is pumping out blood on the ground around him.

The kneecap is one of the most painful places to get shot. I didn’t do it to make him suffer, though. I needed him to fall forward—if I’d shot him in the arm or shoulder, the impact would’ve sent him backward and over the edge. At least putting one in his knee meant he’d him keel over and drop straight to the floor.

I walk over and crouch beside him, putting my gun to his head. Before I can speak, I hear a loud bang behind me. I spin around, aiming my gun, preparing for anything. I see Clara walking toward us. The door that leads to the roof must’ve hit the wall as she opened it.

“Hey,” I say, lowering my gun. “How’d you find us?”

‘I was following you in the car,’ she replies. ‘I could see you on the roof. When you reached the end of the block, I figured the chase was over so I came up through the building.’

She walks over to Jones, looking down at him quickly before turning to look at me.

“Can you interrogate
anyone
without shooting them?” she asks.

“Not usually,” I reply with a shrug.

“Maybe I should handle this?”

“Be my guest.”

I take a step back as Clara crouches down next to him.

“Marcus,” she says. “I need your help.”

He looks up at her; his teeth are clenched in agony. “Screw you, bitch!” he says. “You’re a traitor, and you’re gonna die!”

Seemingly unfazed, she places her hand on his throat. “Marcus, did you know about the Uranium?”

“Do you have any idea what they’re gonna do to you if they find you? Or to me, if I talk to you? Kiss my ass,
traitor
!”

Clara squeezes his throat. His eyes widen as he gasps for air, but he can’t breathe. After a few moments, she loosens her grip again. “Do you have any idea what
I’m
gonna do to you if you
don’t
talk?” she says to him. “I can make the agony you’re in right now last for days. Weeks, if necessary.”

He starts to cry… the poor bastard.

“Please—they’ll kill me!” he begs.

“Marcus, you’re dead anyway. You’re going to bleed out on this rooftop in a lot of pain. But if you help me, tell me something that we can use against them…” She pauses and I see a look on her face that reminds me of a nurse comforting a patient. “…you can rest knowing you’ve done the right thing. I can ease your suffering.”

I have to admit, she’s good. This is probably more effective, and quicker, than me shooting him and beating on him until he talks. I’m not going to admit that to her though.

“Please, Marcus,” she urges. “Did you know about the Uranium?”

“Yes,” he says, finally.

“What’s the big picture?”

“Once they’ve mined it, it was my job to transport it to their lab.”

“And then what?”

“I’m not sure.”

“Marcus, come on.” She squeezes slightly on his throat again.

“Please! I swear, I don’t know. I heard talk that they’re holding a scientist somewhere until the Uranium’s ready. They’re going to make them process it into weapons-grade material.”

Clara looks up at me and my jaw muscles tense. I’m guessing we share the same concerns right now.

“Marcus,” I say after a moment. “Where are they keeping this scientist?”

“I s-swear I don’t know. I just heard a couple of people talking.”

Clara stands and motions to me to follow her. We walk a few paces away from Jones, just out of earshot.

“I believe him,” she says to me.

“Okay.”

“Ketranovich doesn’t tell any one person everything. He tells people only what they need to know to carry out their assignments. That way, if he’s betrayed, he’ll know who did it based on what information has been leaked.”

“That’s very smart. So now what?”

She looks over at Jones, then back at me. She lowers her gaze, and her body goes tense all over. That tells me she believes we’ve got all the information we’re going to get from Jones. And we obviously can’t leave him here…