Thank you to those who have reviewed the last chapter, and a big thank you to Lily Moonlight for reading though this and offering her comments. I hope there's enough gory details for you now?
Chapter 20
Your Screams - I Hear Them in My Sleep
It was almost dawn when Flack found himself sitting in an unmarked car across the street from 5061 Bramhall Avenue. The building had been surrounded all night, and nobody had been seen entering or leaving. Nothing suspicious had taken place, and unless Rostow had burrowed a tunnel, they were all in there.
The sky was turning pink and orange, a myriad of shades. He felt the calm stillness of the morning, the only time New York seemed almost quiet once the revellers had gone home, and daytime's workers had not yet awoken.
He knew he should feel tired. He hadn't slept; the night had been spent sat on the sofa with Jess. She had traced his scars with her fingers as if reading Braille and he had run his fingers through her hair, waiting for the morning and the cursed promises it would bring. But tiredness did not possess him. Instead he was fuelled with adrenaline, his focus on getting into the building and getting out, with no casualties.
His radio crackled and he heard Mac's voice. Everything was set to go.
Flack left his car, five other officers following him to their point of entry, a back door on ground level. The map of the building was etched in his mind, the path they needed to take engrained. In through the back, first left, down two flights of stairs and then first right.
The gas chamber.
Once that was cleared they were to check the small bedrooms on that same level, bring anyone they found outside and then get the hell out of there themselves.
He felt his heart thunder in his chest and heard Mac's voice permeate the radio waves.
"Thirty seconds."
Blood soared through his veins, focusing his vision; every sense seemed more alert, alive.
"Twenty. Everybody ready."
He inhaled deeply, feeling the oxygen pound more strength around his body. He focused on the door, hoping it would open as easily as it looked.
"Inside in ten."
His hand grabbed his gun from his holster and turned off the safety.
"Go! Go! Go!"
Flack forced down the door and stepped inside, quick but cautious. His men fell behind him. As they expected, there looked to be no one on the ground level. The only rooms that were used were three offices belonging to Rostow, McKinsey and Paul Murphy. They were being checked out by another team and weren't his problem right now.
The stairs were carpeted and Flack found that even the footfalls of six heavy men made little noise. He knew from Jess' account of Jackie's experiences that this was to try and promote a noiseless atmosphere.
"There's no one around," one of his men, Phillips, said in an undertone. This had been anticipated. Even though the residents of 5061 Bramhall Avenue didn't follow patterns of day and night, the human body was still programmed to feel tired and less energetic in the hours just before dawn.
Flack ignored the doors to the first basement, one of his men standing by them in case anyone came through. Their actions were quick and well practised; it was an experienced team and they almost instinctively knew where the others were going to move to. Flack was beginning to feel more confident; they had each other's backs – things would be done as they should.
There was silence and no movement as they passed the doors to the second basement. The temperature was warm, too warm, and he was starting to sweat beneath the Kevlar vest. A thought crossed his mind that this had been done purpose, that Rostow was expecting a raid and making it uncomfortably hot would be one way to wrong foot any intruders. He dismissed the thought, his brain continuing the programme to find and seek the hostages, and then get his men out.
The third basement was still strangely quiet; by now Flack had expected to have seen at least one of the hostages. He began to wonder whether they'd somehow managed to get out and Rostow had taken them somewhere else, but given the surveillance on the building over night and for the latter part of yesterday it was unlikely, especially given that Rostow was in a wheelchair.
He led the way through the doors which swung open without making a sound. The carpeting was still plush and thick underfoot, the heat almost unbearable. Flack glanced up at the air conditioning units. They'd been switched off. He pointed up to them and caught the eye of Phillips, who understood the gesture. They were expected. But that was no surprise. Once Rostow and McKinsey knew that Jackie had escaped they would have begun to anticipate reprisals from the police.
"You think they're dead already?" Phillips said, a mutter that could barely be heard.
Flack shrugged. "Who knows?" He gestured to the right, a long corridor that would lead underneath the building next door and the one passed that. He could see the door to the gas chamber, an innocuous looking metal door. With his back to the wall he began to edge towards it, feeling his heart still pounding. He heard shouting from further down the corridor, where team two were, and he hoped that Angell was okay. He heard the beating of his blood around his body in his ears and the pressure was deafening as he pushed open the door.
He took a step back as he saw the scene in front of him. Seven corpses lay behind a glass partition, their eyes still open, expressions of horror forever carved upon their faces. He heard one of his men radio in the information as David Rostow wheeled himself into view and placed his hand on a switch. Flack directed his gun at the man.
"The rest are preparing themselves to go to the next level," Rostow said, his voice perfectly calm yet hypnotic.
"Tell me," Flack said, "Do you really believe in this shit?"
Rostow laughed and Flack felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. "Does it matter?" His hand was lingering on the switch. "I press this and you all find out. How many of your men are in this building, detective? How many will make it out in less than thirty seconds? You must have noticed the air conditioning's switched off? If I press this trigger, the temperature will cool down, with a little added extra." He smiled.
Flack smiled back.
"You got one chance to move away from the switch. You don't, and I'll blow your brains out and you'll go to the next level without them."
Rostow continued to smile and Flack continued to aim. He couldn't strike the man's arm – a through and through would hit the glass and whatever cyanide gas was in the compartment could be released putting his men and himself in anger.
"Your girl's in here, David, you want her to end up dead, or is that part of the plan?" he said, his eyes fixed on the switch.
"That bitch can rot in hell."
The sound of the gun fractured the silence, ripping it open and making it bleed. Flack lowered his weapon; he'd always been a good shot and then heard a radio behind him, Mac asking what the shot was and then Phillips responding.
"Get the rest of the floor cleared," Flack said, still calm, still unflustered.
He took a last look at the body of David Rostow and wondered whether there was another switch.
-&-
Angell followed Mac into another of the small, prison-like cells where a man who was not much more than a boy sat on the small bed, his eyes wide and anxious. Mac went up to him, holding his hands up to show he meant no threat, although he still help his gun.
"We're getting you out of here. Rostow's dead," Mac said, watching the boy's reaction.
"He's already gone? We were meant to go together!" The boy stood up, full of fear.
"You need to make your way to the stairs," Mac said. "Someone there will tell you what to do next."
The boy stared at him as he walked out of the room, almost falling over his own legs like a fawn, as if they hadn't been used for time unknown.
Mac and Angell backed out of the room after him, Mac closing the door to. So far 18 people been evacuated. The five on the watch list for being suspected extremists were not among them, and neither was Rachael McKinsey.
There was a sharp call from further along the corridor; Danny, calling for Mac. Angell followed the older detective to where Danny was; a hubbub of noise was breaking out nearer to the exit as some people refused to leave the building. Angell heard Flack saying something about arrests, his voice growing fainter as she moved towards where Danny stood, pointing into another of the rooms. She glanced inside and saw what was left of a young woman, a handgun fallen to her side.
"Move on," she heard Mac say. "This is one big scene we'll have to process when we get the all clear."
"Closing the door."
She was vaguely aware of Danny still speaking as she looked further down the corridor, something catching her eye, a glimpse of dark hair and a figure she recognised. "Mac," she said, but his attention was on the next room that Danny had just opened up.
She saw movement again, and heard a door close. "Mac!" Her call was louder this time, but she didn't wait for his response, knowing that he would be somewhere behind her. She took off, running quickly, feeling the sweat drip down her back and her hair sticking to her scalp as she ran.
Reaching the end of the corridors, she began to push doors open, gun in her hand. Somewhere, in one of these rooms, was Rachael McKinsey, of that she was sure. A door opened to a room that hadn't been chartered by Jackie and Angell saw a desk, an old fashioned oak desk with a familiar symbol on the front.
"It's not an original, Rachael just liked it, she carved the swastika herself," a voice said. Angell spun around as the voice entered the room, closing the door behind her. A tall girl stood there with long blonde hair and an exquisite face.
"You're Jennifer," Angell said, noticing the gun in the girl's hand.
"You've done your homework," she said. "But you're stopping the final act."
"It's over, Jenn," Angell said, recalling the facts from the missing persons record and the abbreviation of her name. "You can go home back to your family."
Jennifer laughed and lifted the gun to her head, moving around the room and sitting down on the desk chair. She began to spin on it, round and round, making dizzying circles.
Angell wondered where the hell Mac was, or even Danny.
"You don't need to hurt yourself, Jenn. You don't need to go to the next level yet. They will wait for you," Angell said, trying to pacify the girl. She kept hearing the click of the safety as she flicked it on and off, on and off.
Angell saw the door begin to open and aimed her gun at it, hoping to see Mac or Danny. Instead she saw Rachael McKinsey, tall and slim. She turned a catch on the door and faced Angell.
"She's going to kill herself anyway. You should have left her to it," Rachael held out her hand for Jennifer gun. The girl passed it to her, unquestioning.
"Put the gun down," Angell said, hearing a note of apprehension in her voice.
Rachael smiled and pressed the trigger. The shot was a good one and Jennifer fell on to the desk, her pretty face mangled by the bullet and the blood and brains it had produced. "She was a good girl. She got me a detective."
Angell aimed and fired but she was too slow. She saw the bullet come at her as if in slow motion, but she was paralysed to move, feeling only searing pain as it struck her femoral artery in her thigh and she fell to the ground. She saw Rachael's face, her mouth caught in a laugh and her eyes shining. Then it turned to a blur and she became oblivious to Rachael leaving the room, not hearing the calls of Mac and Danny, and finally, Flack.