All Fall Down (11 page)

Charles Mangold was the founder and president of Medi-Lab Research, a company based in Sagebrush that specialised in research into, and manufacture of, antiviral drugs. The company was heavily involved in research into HIV, as well as research into the common cold and flu viruses. Medi-Lab Research was one of Ventura County’s largest employers until a significant health scandal in 1991, when it was accused of endangering the lives of its employees
and the wider community due to ‘safety violations’ and
, more seriously, ‘misuse of biological agents’. The company’s headquarters and laboratories were shut down by the Department of Health. Two employees were taken seriously ill and diagnosed as suffering from a hemorrhagic virus, although precise details are not available. Both of the affected workers died.

Several key members of staff were arrested, but Mangold went to ground and has not been seen since.The company’s reputation was ruined and it ceased trading shortly afterwards.

Where was Mangold now? At the time of the scandal, in 1991, Mangold had been fifty-three. So, assuming he hadn’t died in the last couple of years, he would now be seventy-four. What would he be doing?

He read the line about the haemorrhagic virus again. Could it have been Watoto? Officially, there had never been an outbreak of Watoto in the US, but maybe there had, and the authorities had kept it under wraps.

He closed the laptop lid. Perhaps this was a foolish plan. But what was the alternative? Tomorrow, Harley and DiFranco would drive him to San Francisco and dump him in some cheap motel. He would go mad, sitting around with nothing to do, no way of contributing or helping.

Well, screw Harley and the BIT and MI6 and the FB sodding I. He wasn’t going to sit around on his arse, not when there was a man out there who needed to pay for what had happened to Stephen. This was his chance, and he wasn’t about to let it slip away.

He quickly packed again, and as he wound up all the chargers and leads, he noticed that Kate’s BlackBerry charger was among them. Shit. He remembered packing it, and he had forgotten all about it when they separated at the airfield. He hoped they would have a spare charger at the lab so he could contact her.

Dragging his duffelbag behind him, he slipped out of the door and walked down towards the freeway, heart pounding with the anger that propelled him onwards. He didn’t know how he was going to get there, or how long it would take, but Mangold’s trail would start in Sagebrush.

Paul was going to track him down, whatever it took.

Midday, on the San Bernardino Freeway. The sky was a sheer, metallic blue, the sun burning through the ozone, baking the earth, the air outside the vehicle lethally hot. Two women sat inside the car, protected from the scorching sun by the air-con that ruffled the golden hair of the woman in the passenger seat. She sat upright, sunglasses on, her beautiful face serene, while the driver thumped the radio with the palm of her hand.

‘Goddamn piece of junk.’ The driver stabbed buttons on the radio, eliciting one hiss of static after another, before punching it again, using the same move she would use to break a man’s nose. She switched it off, silence filling the car. She was solid and muscled, with a neck that bordered on bullish and a high colour in her wide cheeks, cropped curly dark hair and biceps like a Marine.

Without moving her head, Angelica said, ‘Keep calm, Sister.’

Heather made a low sound under her breath, putting both hands on the wheel and concentrating on the road. She was rarely calm. Sometimes, in the moments after orgasm, or after she’d killed someone, when their blood was still fresh on her hands, a stillness would come over her, like light filling her body, taking away the pain. But it never lasted long. She ran on rage. It was the fuel that powered her.

The traffic was crawling in and out of the city, stretching across every lane. Horns sounded out like seabirds calling to one another.

‘Don’t see why I can’t get a decent car like Cindy’s, instead of this heap of shit,’ Heather complained. Angelica ignored her. She had heard it all before.

Eventually, when she realised Angelica wasn’t going to say anything to mollify her, Heather said, in a quieter voice, ‘I’m sorry.’

The corners of Angelica’s mouth lifted a millimetre. ‘No need to apologise, Sister.’ She reached across and stroked Heather’s hair with a crooked index finger. ‘We all feel anger. We just have to point it in the right direction.’

Heather pressed her head against Angelica’s finger, but it was withdrawn quickly, and she snatched a glance at the woman beside her, looking for the same sign she’d been seeking for years. But Angelica had slipped back into neutral, and was gazing straight ahead at the backs of other cars.

They drove in silence for a while. Heather gestured at the line of cars crawling out of the city, the faces of their occupants etched with stress visible even from the other side of the freeway. ‘Wonder how many of them are already infected?’ she asked.

Angelica merely smiled enigmatically. ‘They have no idea what’s coming, do they? They’re worried now – but imagine the chaos in a month’s time …’

Heather paused. ‘Dadi …
we’re
ready, you and I – we’ve been ready for years … but the other Sisters – are they?’

Heather liked to do this; to elevate herself to the unofficial position of Angelica’s second-in-command by slyly casting doubt on the commitment of the others. Angelica knew it, but indulged it nonetheless.

Angelica pretended to consider. ‘Sister, you know how hard we’ve trained to prepare for this. I believe we’ve all followed our instructions to the letter. Peak fitness, unquestioning dedication, limitless thanksgiving …’

‘Even Sister Preeti?’

‘Preeti isn’t a warrior. She has other skills we need. I will keep her at the ranch when the time comes. Simone, Cindy, you and I will handle the business. Brandi will drive.’

‘Good plan,’ said Heather, accelerating towards a stray dog that wandered dangerously across the freeway. ‘As always.’ The car hit the dog and Heather smiled as its mangy body somersaulted in the air beside them.

They entered the city. The streets were bustling, life going on as normal, the beautiful people of LA shopping, scurrying between offices and lunch places, cruising along with their tops down, despite media reports of a killer virus ravaging their city.

Angelica checked her phone. ‘We’re early. Let’s drive around for a while.’

They cruised the coastline: Malibu, Santa Monica, Venice, down to Redondo Beach. Finally, when they had seen enough, Heather turned the SUV round and they headed towards South Central, checking the coordinates on the satnav.

The two men were waiting in their own vehicle, a black Jeep only marginally smaller than Heather’s SUV. Lil Wayne pumped from the stereo, the two men nodding along almost imperceptibly. Heather drove past them once, taking a good look, then circled the block and pulled up behind them.

The two women got out, momentarily stunned by the unseasonable heat. They waited for the doors of the Jeep to open. There was no one else around.

This was South Central, the part of LA that tourists are warned, in block capitals, with exclamation marks, to avoid. It was Simone’s home turf, and Angelica had originally intended to bring her along. But Simone had started to tremble at the mention of it – something about some unfinished business, the reason that Simone had joined the Sisters in the first place – and Angelica needed someone with earthquake-proof nerves, someone who would be ice-cool anywhere.

The men were younger than Angelica had expected. Barely nineteen, by the look of them, but tough, cooked hard by years on these streets. She looked them over, in their brand-new sportswear with diamonds in their ears. It didn’t matter how tough or rich they were. Neither of those things would offer protection from what was coming. What was already here.

She spoke quietly and calmly, ignoring the wide eyes
of the two men, the brute, lustful looks they gave her – and the sneer as their gaze turned to Heather. One of them, who stepped a pace further forward than his colleague, was way over six foot, wore a white-and-grey basketball top and had his hair in dreads. The other, half a foot shorter, was wearing a black jacket buttoned up against the heat and had a shaven head.

‘We all set?’ Angelica asked.

‘If you police, this is entrapment. My lawyer’s just waitin’ for my call.’

‘We’re not police.’

This meeting had been set up through a chain of contacts. The two men should have felt one hundred per cent confident that they were not undercover cops. The question irritated Angelica. Made her want to put a bullet in this punk’s head.

Basketball Top looked her up and down. ‘You sure don’t
look
like police. All right. You got the money?’

Angelica nodded. ‘Let me see the merchandise.’

The men – boys – exchanged a look of amusement before Black Jacket popped the rear door of the Jeep and unlocked a security trunk, then watched Angelica and Heather’s reactions, like two boys showing off their first car, expecting the women to be impressed.

The guns were covered with a sheet, which Black Jacket pulled back. Angelica scanned the weapons, checking them against the inventory in her head. Half a dozen Glocks, a pair of Sig Sauers, two AK-47s, an Uzi, black and dull and deadly, plus enough ammunition to keep a National Rifle Association convention happy for a weekend.

‘Check it,’ Angelica said, and Heather – who had stayed silent so far, watching the two men like a cat keeping an eye on two mice – snapped into action, lifting the weapons and looking them over, running a hand over each of them, inspecting the ammo. The boys watched her. They appeared to be growing increasingly amused. Black Jacket kept staring at Angelica. She sensed he was the more dangerous of this pair.

Eventually, Heather nodded. ‘It’s good.’

‘Sure it’s fuckin’ good,’ said Basketball Top. ‘Now – payment please, ladies.’

Heather went to the SUV, reached inside and took an envelope of cash from the glovebox. She handed it to Angelica, who passed it on.

Basketball Top thumbed through it and, taking a look around to double-check there was no one watching, gestured for Heather to take the guns. She set about transferring them from the Jeep to the SUV. Sweat soaked through the back of her T-shirt. When she was done, she came back and stood beside Angelica.

‘Thank you, gentlemen,’ Angelica said. ‘Have a good day.’

Black Jacket couldn’t keep his mouth shut any longer. The words he had been longing to say erupted from his mouth. ‘You are one fine bitch.’

Heather immediately stepped forward. ‘You apologise.’

Basketball Top laughed. Black Jacket said, ‘What?’

Heather took another step closer. ‘Apologise for calling her a bitch.’

‘Fuck you, dyke,’ said Black Jacket.

Basketball Top stopped smiling. ‘Yeah, fuck you. Bitch.’

‘Matter of fact,’ Black Jacket continued, pulling a Glock from the waistband of his pants, ‘maybe I will. Fuck you both, even the ugly—’

Before he could finish the sentence, Heather launched herself at him, surprising him with a punch to the throat. He gasped, his gun clattering to the ground, and she grabbed him and thrust him into his friend, who was scrambling to get his own gun out. Heather used Black Jacket as a shield and aimed a kick at Basketball Top’s hand, connecting with the gun and sending it flying in a low arc until it crashed against the side of the Jeep.

Angelica scooped it up and trained it on the taller man.

Heather aimed another quick punch at the other one, breaking his nose and sending him to the ground. He reached for the Glock and she stamped on his hand, the finger bones crunching beneath her boots. He tried to push himself up and she stamped on his face. Then again. And again, until she was panting with exertion and Black Jacket’s face was a pulp of blood and bone.

‘Who’s ugly now?’ she said, spitting into the red mess.

Basketball Top put up his hands up. ‘Hey,’ he said.

Heather walked up to him, picking up the dead man’s gun and pointing it at the remaining man’s face.

‘Hey, come on …’ he started.

Heather shot him through the forehead.

Angelica laid a hand on Heather’s shoulder. ‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘Though you didn’t need to kill the tall one. He was about to run home to his mom.’

Heather’s breathing changed from sharp and shallow to slow and deep. Her pupils dilated. There was blood on the front of her T-shirt, darker than the sweat on her back.

‘He called you a bitch,’ she said. ‘Nobody is allowed to do that, not ever.’

Angelica regarded her. She was so loyal. Always had been. Like a dog – a faithful, dangerous attack dog. She might have been ugly on the outside – the dead boy had been right about that – but on the inside she was beautiful. And she would be rewarded. They would all be rewarded.

In the distance, she could hear a siren, growing gradually louder.

‘Come on, we’d better go.’

They got back into the SUV. As they drove off, Heather couldn’t resist reversing over Black Jacket’s body. The way the SUV bumped over him made her smile. Angelica smiled too. Another beautiful day in sunny California.

After a little while, she said, ‘Take a left here.’

‘Huh? Where to?’

‘You’ll see.’

She directed Heather until they reached Hollywood. Eventually, they pulled up outside a bar called the Rattlesnake. There were trucks parked out front, a few Harleys and a big neon Coors sign. She would definitely be able to find what she was looking for here.

The last few days, she’d been fighting off a rising feeling inside her, a familiar urge that took hold of her every couple of weeks. Usually, she could ward it off with cold showers or ten minutes beneath the sheets on her own, but sometimes that wasn’t good enough. The craving was for something very specific. The closer they came to the Great Day, the more urgent became the desire; filling her, spreading outwards from her belly to her loins. The killing of the two gun dealers had brought the longing to fever pitch.

She couldn’t hold off any more.