Hawk, p.24
Hawk, page 24
part #6 of Will Slater Series
If not for the deathly stillness in the air, Slater wouldn’t have noticed the woman reach out and thumb something on the screen of her device.
But he did notice.
And a moment later Ray jerked imperceptibly — just a tiny, subconscious twitch in the limbs — and then he smiled and nodded and put the Glock under his chin and took a deep breath and pulled the trigger and a geyser of blood exploded out the top of his head and his lifeless corpse crumpled to the floor.
The gunshot blared loud in the confined space.
Deafening.
Slater couldn’t cover his ears with his hands — they were shackled to the bed.
Instead he winced and closed his eyes for a moment to deal with the headache pulsing through his temple, and when he opened them again Ali Hawk was standing bedside.
Hawk said, ‘You see? It’s not about how much willpower you have. I can make anyone do whatever I tell them.’
Slater sat in stunned silence.
‘Physical control of the mind,’ Hawk whispered, astonished at his own achievements.
Then he ordered in a fresh crew to remove the body and mop up the blood.
56
King unbuckled his seatbelt and leapt over the centre console, landing in a heap in the rear seats. He moved fast — surprisingly agile considering his size and weight — and when he came down in a pile of flailing limbs across the rear seats, only a couple of seconds had passed since he’d been rear-ended.
A dark silhouette materialised on the driver’s side of the car.
It threw the driver’s door open and unloaded half a clip of fully automatic rifle fire into the empty seat.
The polyester shredded, and the unsuppressed gunfire resonated down the highway.
Screams rose up from the line of civilian vehicles, but King didn’t hear them.
He lined up his aim with the Glock, and shot the silhouette in the face from the backseat.
The bulky figure jerked back and tumbled to the freezing asphalt outside.
King came straight back over the same centre console, and scrambled out of the driver’s door. He caught the next guy en route to intercept him, but the newcomer wasn’t in the right headspace. He’d just seen his co-worker’s brains fly out the back of his head, and it made him screech to a halt, disrupting the flow of the attack on the Tiguan.
King made to bring the Glock up and shoot him in the face, but then the impossible happened.
He lost his grip.
The icy conditions froze his hands, and in his haste to capitalise he overcompensated and lost control of the pistol. It flew out of his hands, and he made a wild snatch for it and missed.
No matter.
Before it even hit the ground, King thundered a boot into the guy’s rifle, knocking it aside and breaking the finger resting in the trigger guard. Before the man could open his mouth to scream, King grabbed his head like a bowling ball — one palm flat on each side, crushing his ears — and used the leverage to throw him to the ground. King had massive hands, and it didn’t take much effort. The guy went down head over heels, tumbling and turning, and when he finally righted himself and sat up into a crouch, King snatched his Glock off the asphalt and put a round through the man’s face.
Screams rose from the line of vehicles, this time louder.
This time, King noticed them.
He searched frantically for any more hostiles, but the road was empty save for the horrifying sound of traumatised onlookers. He became keenly aware of his isolation — standing in the oncoming lane between two dead men, illuminated by the headlights stretching down the highway.
Blood coated the road.
His chest rose and fell with each heaving breath.
He looked at the empty SUV that had almost been the death of him. It rested nose-first against the back of the Tiguan, wedging it in place.
No good.
He couldn’t keep using the Volkswagen.
It would take time to back the SUV out, then get back in his own car and navigate out of the line.
And then what?
It was precious time he didn’t have.
In the eyes of the law, he’d just committed a double homicide.
A couple of brave individuals got out of their cars. They were both men, and they were both older, and perhaps they thought they’d try to perform a citizen’s arrest.
It wouldn’t work.
King steeled himself and prepared to dodge a couple of geriatrics en route to his next destination.
But where?
He was on foot.
Surrounded by wilderness.
Nowhere to go, and no help to rely on.
And then fate or happenstance made the decision for him.
Three cars peeled out of the line into the oncoming lane, at regular intervals down the queue. Stretching away from the blockage, they accelerated toward the crime scene.
There were no flashing lights.
No sirens.
And they were coming on fast.
Not cops.
King turned and took off sprinting for the fallen tree across the lane.
Toward lights.
Toward sirens.
Toward police that were just now starting to realise what had happened a hundred feet up the highway.
They’d heard the gunshots, and now the culprit was sprinting right for them.
Caught between a rock and a hard place, King ran for the only option he had.
57
‘Democracy and office politics and unending meetings,’ Ali Hawk said. ‘It’s all bullshit. It’s a waste of time, and there’s nothing I despise more than wasting time. Thankfully the four of them saw the light. The four of them were on the same page as me. They didn’t take much convincing. I showed them what I’d built out here. I promised them as much leniency as I could. They signed on the dotted line.’
Slater said, ‘Who are they?’
The four-person team in sweatpants and sweaters had filed out moments after killing Ray. Slater had scrutinised the looks on their faces as they left. He didn’t pick up a hint of guilt. Not a shred of empathy.
Now it was just him and Hawk, alone in the room again.
There was a faded crimson patch on the shiny floor behind them.
Hawk said, ‘They’re the best.’
‘At what?’
‘Neuroscience. What you and King were to Black Force, they are to the secrets of the brain.’
‘It didn’t raise any red flags when they left tenured positions to come out here?’
‘Sometimes I wonder if anything I’m saying rubs off on you,’ Hawk said.
‘Oh, it does — trust me.’
‘Then you’d understand I leave nothing to chance. Three of them are officially dead, and the other is officially retired.’
‘How’d you manage to pull that off? Convinced three of them to leave everyone they ever loved and cared about?’
‘When you get to this level of the game,’ Hawk said, ‘you don’t get wrapped up in sentimental bullshit. The four of them were the best neuroscientists in the world, spread across the globe, and it took painstaking research to find the right crew. But I did it, and when I made the offer they pounced on it. Think about it. They were already working obscene hours. They never saw their families anyway. And then I gave them the opportunity of a lifetime — to advance human consciousness. To make the next leap in human evolution. They all knew it would take a gargantuan commitment to go through with it, and when I gave them the choice, none of them turned it down. Three of them left their old lives behind in an instant, and the fourth had no family or friends so we didn’t need to fake his death. They’re ghosts out here, and we’re slaving away to do things that no-one on this planet has the balls to do anymore.’
‘So you’ll never be investigated out here,’ Slater said, his stomach sinking. ‘Because nobody knows you exist, and there’s no red flags being raised because nobody knows that four of the top neuroscientists in the world are here, together, in a work environment that would usually put them on a watchlist.’
‘I cover all my bases,’ Hawk said. ‘You’d know that by now. But you don’t listen, because you don’t want to comprehend the gravity of what’s about to happen to you. You’re wrapped up in an insulated bubble that’s very, very close to bursting. I can’t wait to see how deep down the rabbit hole you go when you finally lose it.’
‘I’ll be okay,’ Slater said.
‘I don’t think you will be.’
‘Do you have King yet?’
‘I’m not sure.’
‘You’d best follow that up.’
Hawk picked up a ballpoint pen from a metal tray alongside the bed and began to click it incessantly. He stared down at it, and Slater saw his pupils darting left and right, as if breaking down an infinite number of possibilities in his own head. Then he put the pen back down and turned back to Slater.
‘It doesn’t matter whether we get King or not.’
‘I thought you said that was vital.’
‘We’ve got you,’ Hawk said. ‘And I think he’ll run.’
‘He won’t run.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘More sure than you are.’
Hawk said, ‘I wouldn’t count on loyalty in a world like this. In the new world.’
‘Doesn’t matter what world it is. He won’t run.’
‘And if we set you against him?’ Hawk said. ‘Will he run then? Or will he kill you?’
Slater lifted his hands imperceptibly upward, and the raw skin on his wrists bit into the handcuffs. He dropped them back down, and claustrophobia swelled in his chest.
Entrapment.
The feeling of approaching, impending doom.
He said, ‘I still don’t believe you.’
Hawk laughed. Loud and shrill in the quiet of the underground lair.
Hawk said, ‘What else do I need to show you?’
Slater shrugged.
Inwardly, he squirmed and writhed and fought for control.
Inwardly, he lost his last morsel of hope.
Even if King was coming, he wasn’t Ali Hawk.
No-one was Ali Hawk.
Slater said, ‘What’s the hold-up?’
Hawk stared at him. Stared right into his eyes. Pierced through to his soul.
And found nothing in his expression that resembled fear.
Hawk said, ‘You’re a fascinating specimen. It’ll almost be a shame to change you.’
‘Then don’t do it.’
Hawk shook his head. ‘Hell, it was worth a shot, wasn’t it?’
Slater said, ‘You might have a change of heart. You never know.’
Hawk said, ‘Never.’
‘Don’t worry. I can tell.’
‘You really aren’t scared, are you?’
Yes, Slater wanted to say.
Oh, yes.
I’m terrified.
I’m fucking terrified.
Instead he said, ‘I’ve got out of worse situations than this.’
Hawk smirked. ‘I dare you to get out of this one.’
‘King is coming.’
‘And if he’s not?’
‘Then I’m fucked.’
‘You’ve got all night to consider how fucked you are,’ Hawk said. ‘It’s a twelve hour procedure tomorrow, and I don’t want any of my team slipping with the scalpel in their hand. You’re too valuable for that. So rest up. Dream about all the ways you might be rescued. And then, hour by hour, lose hope.’
I’ve already lost hope, Slater thought.
But vocalising that would be admitting his own death.
So instead he said, ‘You should do it now if you knew any better.’
‘Maybe if I was someone else, I would,’ Hawk said. ‘But I don’t cave to fear. Sleep tight.’
‘You too.’
Hawk made for the door, and then stopped halfway across the room. He slowly turned one hundred and eighty degrees, so he was facing Slater.
He looked at him for a full minute. Maybe two or three.
Then he said, ‘Sooner or later it’s going to hit you. I don’t know when. I wish I was here to see it, but I have to sleep too. Can’t stay up all night watching my passion project. When it does hit you, I want you to feel every part of it.’
‘When what hits me?’
‘The knowledge that you’re never going to get out of here. I’m going to rearrange the tiny, intricate segments of your brain and make something that does exactly what I say. I’m going to use you as my right-hand man. If we get King, then I’ll use him, too. If not, I don’t think it will matter. I know I’m going to do great things with you. Unbelievable things. I get goosebumps thinking how far I could go. I can’t wait to put you to the test.’
‘I’ll still be there,’ Slater said. ‘Locked inside my head somewhere. I’ll get out.’
Hawk smiled. ‘You won’t exist anymore. You won’t have consciousness. There’ll be something else there. A clean slate. No memory. Just a blank personality that I can shape into whatever I want.’
Slater didn’t know how to respond to that.
So he just sat there, dejected, wrists aching as the handcuffs bit deep.
‘Sleep well,’ Hawk said.
And he turned out the lights.
58
King could sense the trio of vehicles on his heels.
He didn’t know what make they were, or model, or the number of occupants. He could be up against fifteen men for all he knew. Five per car.
It wasn’t a significant stretch of the imagination.
But he didn’t have time to check.
He ran faster, and faster, and faster, and the light behind him grew brighter. But no-one shot him in the back of the head, and for a moment he grew cocky.
He figured, They need me alive.
That guy told me they need me alive.
They won’t shoot me.
But he wasn’t thinking straight. He didn’t realise the orders had changed — even though, minutes earlier, a silhouette had unloaded half a clip of fully automatic rounds into the driver’s seat of the Tiguan.
Then a round went whizzing past his head, so close he could almost feel the bullet, and then he thought, Now they just want me dead.
So he picked up the pace and bolted for the fallen tree.
He made it and threw himself over — hands on the coarse bark, pulling, tugging, wrenching his big frame over the tree — and he came down on the other side in as ungainly a fashion as possible. He landed hard on his feet, but the momentum carried him into an ugly tumble-roll across the road on the other side.
Then there were hands on him, snatching at his shirt, trying to drag him down to a prone position.
King cleared his head, and realised it was a cop grappling with him.
Thank God for New Zealand police, he thought.
Even though there was practically a gang war unfolding in front of him, the policeman had decided to try and wrestle the nearest culprit to the ground instead of pulling out his firearm and shooting him dead.
Which he full well could have done as soon as King came over the tree trunk.
But instead he froze up, maybe hesitant to kill his first resisting arrestee in the line of duty, and resorted to the non-violent option.
Unfortunately, King didn’t have time to reason with an officer of the law.
As the policeman wrapped his arms around King’s chest and tried to drag him to the ground, King pivoted into an uppercut, which he placed in the centre of the man’s sternum. He hit flesh and the shock carried through into bone, and the officer gasped and crumpled and loosened his grip all in the same movement.
King kicked him in the sternum to add insult to injury and sent him reeling back across the asphalt, and then he sprinted for the cop’s waiting vehicle.
It was a plain sedan, pulled over beside the fallen tree, its driver door open.
King darted into the driver’s seat and pulled the door shut just as a low vibration echoed through the tree trunk.
‘What the fuck…?’ he muttered.
Then he realised that, instead of slowing down, his pursuers had opted to ram the tree trunk head-on to minimise the time they needed to spend slowing down. A pair of silhouettes materialised on top of the trunk, like gargoyles in the gloom, rifles in their hands. They’d leapt onto the hood of their vehicle and scaled the tree in record time.
King threw the car into reverse and smashed the accelerator and twisted the wheel as hard as he could to the left.
The sedan spun, and for a moment the flashing lights on top disoriented his pursuers.
He could sense them looking from the downed policeman, to the sedan now in motion.
He could sense them putting two and two together.
The cop’s not in his car.
So who’s in his car?
They opened fire on the sedan.
The rear window shattered and King ducked low, fighting for control of the wheel. When he lifted his head, a pair of policemen were sprinting at him from the front. They’d both leapt out of a neighbouring vehicle, and the flashing lights alternating red and blue lit them up in the otherwise gloomy night.
King saw one of them going for his gun.
He swerved again, into the oncoming lane, and narrowly avoided a collision with the backed up line of civilian vehicles on this side of the tree trunk. The cop car fishtailed and he came back into the correct lane, narrowly avoiding the pair of policemen with the trunk of his vehicle.
If he’d connected, he might have paralysed them both for life, and that wasn’t his preferred outcome.
But he missed them, and carried on, and there was a moment of hair-raising tension as another volley of rounds from the silhouettes atop the trunk riddled the back of his car. He felt the thud-thud-thud as the chassis absorbed some of the bullets, and he couldn’t see a thing in front of him, and his vision blurred and his pulse pounded and his head spun…
And then suddenly it all fell away.
Just like that.
One second — uncontrollable chaos.
The next — a welcome breath of calm.
He kept his foot on the pedal and suddenly he was out of range of the silhouettes. The cops had no chance of catching him on foot, and their own sedan was parked awkwardly — they’d been using it as a barrier for the civilian traffic. He was flying past an endless row of stationary civilian vehicles facing the other direction. He blitzed past them and took the sedan up to its limit, until the headlights fell away and were replaced by absolute darkness.
