2041 Sanctuary (Dark Descent) (58 page)

Peering at the screens over the tops of his glasses, Steiner was dismayed to see all four streams were circling the one building.

‘What have you done, Colonel?’ Steiner said to himself, noticing the searchlights that swept the FBI offices and the surrounding area weren’t just emanating from the drones and helicopters he’d hacked into, but from many other sources too. Police cars were everywhere, their lights flashing in almost every camera angle, and more poured in, seemingly every second. One particular image suddenly commanded his full attention. A helicopter hovered in front of a bright red, Dodge Ram pick-up, its powerful light shining into the vehicle. Was that Samson sitting in the driver’s seat? It was hard to tell as the headlights of the vehicle blazed to life, the front of the pick-up rearing up as the driver – surely the colonel – floored the accelerator. Steiner tapped in a few more commands and switched on the police radio, combining the real-time shots from the helicopter with the audio of those that manned it.

‘Control, possible suspect sighted,’ the helicopter co-pilot said, ‘corner of Wilshire Boulevard and Veteran Avenue. Red vintage Dodge Ram pick-up. No visible plates – in pursuit east on Wilshire.’

‘Copy, Twenty-Four Bravo One,’ the police dispatcher replied, ‘proceed with extreme caution, support units en route.’

Steiner watched the helicopter gain altitude and turn to follow the speeding red truck, its taillights blending in with the light traffic that still flowed towards the centre of the city. The aircraft, unrestricted by land bound obstacles, soon caught Samson up, the searchlight tracking the truck’s every move as it powered through red light after red light. Creeping into view on the ground the flashing lights of police cars could be seen, some of them power sliding in from interconnecting roads to join the chase.

Two black helicopters shot past the LAPD aircraft, making it sway wildly in their wake.

‘Jesus Christ,’ another voice said, Steiner assuming it to be the pilot. ‘Are they trying to knock us out of the air?!’

‘Control,’ the co-pilot said, ‘FBI air responders have compromised our position. Please advise?’

‘Copy, Twenty-Four Bravo One, the FBI are taking the lead on this one, hang back and provide direction for ground units.’

Steiner could see the FBI helicopters taking a more aggressive stance over the fleeing truck.

‘All units, shots fired,’ the co-pilot said.

Steiner watched in horror as a stream of muzzle flashes burst from the Ram’s driver side window. Small explosions flashed over the tail rudder on one of the black FBI choppers. Smoke billowed from its disabled rear rotor as it fell from the sky to explode in a great fireball, taking a couple of cars on the opposite carriageway out with it.

‘Control, paramedics and fire-fighters required at intersection of Wilshire and Santa Monica Boulevard. Aircraft down, multiple casualties. Suspect utilising a high-powered automatic weapon.’

‘Received, Twenty-Four Bravo One,’ the dispatcher said after a momentary pause, ‘emergency services have been notified and are en route. Keep your distance; our UAVs will take the lead.’

The police helicopter dropped further back and Steiner saw the FBI aircraft follow suit. A few multi-bladed drones flew in to drop down above the red pick-up as it continued to weave through the traffic at speed, their searchlights taking over where their human counterparts had left off.

Sirens sounded outside Steiner’s building and his eyes flicked to the trace timer, twenty-nine minutes and five seconds remained. He rushed to the first floor window to see three police cars speed by, followed by two fire trucks and an ambulance. He was safe, for now.

Returning to his seat, Steiner saw Samson was now shooting at the drones, flames bursting from the muzzle of his gun while he drove like the madman he was, careering into, and smashing aside, any driver stupid enough to remain in his way.

‘Twenty-Four Bravo One,’ the police dispatcher said, ‘be advised, drone footage suggests possible hostage in pick-up’s passenger seat; all units advised to hold fire unless they have a clear shot at suspect. Shoot to kill has been authorised. I repeat, you are authorised to shoot suspect on sight.’

‘Roger that, Control. We have unlocked our gun turret and are weapons hot.’

‘Correction,’ the dispatcher said, ‘hostage is confirmed, identity unknown but appears to be a female FBI agent.’

The co-pilot indicated they’d received the updated information while his colleague continued to track Samson through the city, along with seemingly the whole of the LA police force and every available FBI agent. Surely Samson couldn’t remain at large for much longer?

An abrupt series of explosions behind the Dodge Ram answered Steiner’s question. Two police cars were blown high into the air, along with a civilian SUV, their mangled frames dropping back to earth, their interiors aflame.

‘Control, we have multiple detonations,’ the co-pilot said as another police car was blown clean in two, ‘looks like the suspect is distributing land mines onto the freeway.’

Another flash lit up the scene, making Steiner flinch, the loss of life mounting as the colonel’s rampage escalated. He had to do something, but what? What could he do?

The helicopter flew higher as it encountered a cluster of skyscrapers. ‘All units,’ the co-pilot said, ‘suspect entering New Downtown financial district, taking Route 110 off-ramp onto West 6
^th
Street.’

The footage now showed the red pick-up travelling at high speed through a built-up area, pedestrians and cars trying to get out of its way. Jumping a set of lights, the rear of Samson’s truck was T-boned by a police car, sending it spiralling out of control to come to rest in the centre of the junction.

‘Suspect stopped at corner of 6
^th
and South Hill Street,’ the co-pilot said. ‘We have movement inside the vehicle, suspect exiting—’

Steiner, transfixed, saw the indistinct figure of Samson getting out of the driver’s side and then opening fire with two black rifles, one held in either hand. The officers from the ten police cars in immediate attendance were either gunned down or could be seen ducking behind their vehicles for protection, returning fire as best they could.

‘Officers down, require immediate assistance!’ the co-pilot said. ‘Suspect heavily armed and appears to be wearing some kind of armour, or shield. I can’t make him out; he’s blending into his surroundings. What is that?’ the man added, perhaps to the pilot next to him.

Steiner saw the FBI helicopter reappear, hovering low behind Samson. A black-clad agent manning a small canon mounted on the aircraft’s side fired shell after shell at Samson’s shimmering outline. Throwing one of his guns aside, Samson rolled away from the bombardment, which chewed up the tarmac around him. He returned fire on the run, launching a small rocket from his weapon which took the FBI chopper broadside, a crippling blast sending it into a spin and crashing into the street. Its blades bit into the ground before snapping off, and the machine and its occupants were consumed by a huge fireball.

‘Engage, engage!’ the co-pilot said as they bore down on Samson from the other side, their own mini-gun tearing into the street, its tracer rounds providing the pilot with a guide as he tried to rip Samson to pieces.

‘RPG!’ the co-pilot screamed as Samson fired another rocket.

The picture from the police helicopter veered to the right, but the missile homed in on them with deadly accuracy. The camera image fizzed and went black and the final screams of the crew cut off to silence.

Steiner, blind and deaf once more, strove to find another source from which to watch. The other images on screen were of little use since they still depicted the crippled FBI field office. Rather than keep trolling through the police transmissions, which were now clogged to bursting, Steiner had a better idea. Taking another quick glance at the tracer timer, which read twenty-four minutes and forty-two seconds, he brought the local news channels up on his wallscreen. He wasn’t to be disappointed, every one had the story as breaking news and followed the incident blow by blow. Steiner couldn’t believe what he was seeing as he brought up three more channels on screen. CNN and Fox News were already covering the incident and the BBC’s worldwide service was just switching to it. It was official; Samson’s actions had just gone global.

Patching into the audio from CNN, Steiner listened as the male news anchor described to their viewers what was happening.

‘—horrific scenes unfolding on the streets of Los Angeles tonight, as police pursue a suspect they’re describing as, “
the most violent and dangerous individual they have ever encountered”
. Events started to unfold around a quarter past four this afternoon when an armoured man entered the FBI field office on Wilshire Boulevard and proceeded to wage a one man war inside. Accounts are varied, but many agents within the building are said to have already lost their lives, current estimates standing at around fifty fatalities, while many more incidents carried out by the same individual across town are expected to make this appalling death toll rise even higher over the coming hours. Reports are arriving all the time, indicating that many police officers and civilians alike, have also lost their lives as the deadly game of cat and mouse continues to play out across a city under siege.

‘The police are advising all Angelenos to remain indoors or to seek shelter until the individual has been subdued. For their own safety, and under no circumstances, should any citizen attempt to confront, or make contact with, the suspect, who is known to be heavily armed and exceptionally dangerous.

‘An emergency helpline has been set up for those finding themselves caught up, directly or indirectly, in this terrorist attack. You’ll find the number at the bottom of the screen. We’re now going back live to our reporter in the sky, Marianne Gobrinsky. Marianne, over to you.’

The image switched to a picture coming from an aircraft hovering over the city centre; there was a still photograph of the reporter in the top left hand corner of the screen, her name written underneath and a small black graphic representation of a helicopter beside it.

‘Thanks, Bill,’ Marianne said. ‘We’ve just arrived at the latest scene of carnage and, as you can see below, the streets of the financial district are like a war zone. The burning shells of two helicopters, which were moments ago blown from the skies, are testament to the scale of this attack. Wait … we’ve just received information that the fugitive may have an FBI agent as a hostage and has just driven into the newly developed Spring Street Super Mall. Not far from where we are now—’

Steiner watched the image from the helicopter roll sideways as it repositioned to the new location.

In an unconscious effort to rid himself of his stress and angst, Steiner rubbed his hands over his bearded face and worked his fingers beneath his glasses to massage his eyes.
A shopping mall
, he thought in despair,
there’ll be children there, mothers
. Groaning, Steiner slammed the desk in frustration.

Malls have cameras
and digital wall displays!
The thought sprang unbidden to his mind. He snapped upright, his fingers attacking the keyboard with a renewed vigour. This was his chance to intervene and he must seize it. Locating the security network of the mall, Steiner easily bypassed its firewalls and transferred the video streams to his own wallscreen while preventing anyone else from accessing them, including those in the Mall itself. Expanding the window so he could get a good view of the one hundred available images, Steiner turned his attention to the Mall’s internal information system, blocking out the human interfaces of those who usually operated it. He entered his message and transferred it to every screen in the building, hoping that he’d get lucky. He wasn’t to be disappointed. A minute later, as the trace from the FBI reached eighteen minutes, the speakers in the room crackled before a recognisably abrasive voice spoke. ‘You surprise me, old man; I’d have thought you’d have washed your hands of me by now.’

‘What you’ve done is beyond sickening,’ Steiner said to Samson, ‘but I still need you and if I can’t control you, I might as well try and prevent you killing any more people. Now, do you want my help or not?’

‘What have you got in mind?’

‘Where are you?’

‘Southern car park, level four. Orange sector B.’

Steiner looked to his screen, scanning the images. Finding one that looked promising, he enlarged it. ‘That area’s crawling with police cars,’ Steiner told him, watching a patrol car roll slowly past, its light bar pulsing and a searchlight combing the rows of parked vehicles.

‘I’d noticed.’ Samson’s voice dripped with scorn.

‘You need to help me a little here. Where
exactly
are you?’

Samson didn’t respond.

‘Hurry up, damn it.’ Steiner flicked his eyes at the countdown clock. ‘The FBI trace is down to seventeen minutes.’

‘I hid the pick-up in the back of a semi-truck on the basement level,’ Samson said, realising Steiner wasn’t about to rat him out to the cops – although the thought had crossed Steiner’s mind more than once in the previous half hour. ‘I’m going to draw them away, double back, offload my gear to another vehicle and then head back to you.’

‘Gear! She’s an FBI agent, who you’ve abducted!’

‘I had no choice,’ Samson told him. ‘Get out before the trace ends. I’ll meet you on the corner of Slauson Avenue and Port Road; according to my visor that’s three blocks from you.’

The line crackled again. ‘Colonel? Colonel, are you still there?!’

Silence.

Steiner uttered more than a few choice words.

‘My protocols dictate such language is not permitted under current parameters,’ the voice of the artificial intelligence said.

‘Oh, shut up.’ Steiner pressed the mute button on the A.I.’s window. Turning the volume back up on the CNN broadcast Steiner, once again a bystander in proceedings, felt a deep dread at what he might see next.