Ultimate Power (29 page)

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Authors: Arno Joubert

Tags: #Mystery; Thriller & Suspense, #Thrillers & Suspense, #Military, #Spies & Politics, #Conspiracies, #Political, #Thrillers

BOOK: Ultimate Power
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"Captain, listen to me. All Sonti wants is to avoid the nuclear fallout, correct?"

"Okay?"

"How thick are the slabs?"

She shrugged, thumping the concrete with her fist. "About fifteen centimeters, I guess."

"So break the damn thing!" Weinstein shouted.

Alexa looked around for tools. "Okay, I'll try, bye," she said and slipped the phone into her pocket.

"What are you looking for?" Neil asked.

"Something to break in, a sledgehammer or something."

"How about that?" Neil said pointing to a four-wheel drive truck parked in the driveway.

She sprinted to the truck and climbed inside. She breathed a sigh of relief when she found the keys, still in the ignition. "Okay, watch out," she shouted at Neil. She slammed the truck into reverse and drove to the side of the building, lining up the back of the truck with the window where Yumi had gotten out.
 

She gunned the truck and jerked back in her chair as the back slammed into the wall of concrete. She jumped out and checked the damage.
 

"More to the left, you've managed to crack it, but it’s too far to the right," Neil shouted.

She nodded and jumped back in. She drove all the way to the fence, then put the vehicle in reverse again. She flattened the gas pedal, but kept the clutch on the floor. The rev counter screamed into the red section and the car shuddered as the engine strained. She dropped the clutch and the car spun away, Alexa steering by checking in the mirror. A moment before impact, she braced in her seat and pushed her head back in the head rest. She hit the slab so hard that the loading bay of the truck crumbled all the way to the wheel arch, slashing the tires, pieces of smoking rubber flying loose and smacking against the back window and the mirrors.
 

"Whoah!" Neil shouted.

She rammed it into first and pulled forward.

"That sure as hell did it," Neil said, inspecting the damage that the large four-wheeler had caused. The truck had slammed through the concrete block and a part of the wall.

Alexa peered inside. "It looks like a basement cellar or something," Alexa said, lowering herself down.

Neil jumped down beside her. There were rows of shelves containing supplies that could last a small army a couple of years. Four large generators stood side by side, and more than a hundred twenty-liter jerry cans were stacked neatly beside them. Neil whistled softly. "Looks like they're ready to bunker down for a couple of months."
 

Alexa stood in front of a wall, hands on her hips. "What do you think this is for?" she asked, glancing over her shoulder.

Neil whistled softly. "What the hell?"

The wall was filled with photos of Alexa, some cut out of yearbooks, schools that Alexa had attended as a kid. Newspaper clippings of investigations in which Alexa had been involved were also stuck against the wall. Black-and-white photos of Alexa and Neil, walking hand-in-hand, Alexa in a chair, sleeping beside Laiveaux's hospital bed.

Neil snorted. "Someone has a crush on you."

Alexa nodded. "Let's go fond out why." She pulled her Glock from her shoulder holster and scrambled up the stairs. Alexa fiddled with the door handle and stood to the side. "It's locked."

Neil nodded and slammed his foot into the door, below the handle. It burst open. Alexa peered around the corner before entering the passageway. It reminded her a lot of the complex on Knifepoint Island. The floors and walls were painted a shiny but bland grey, like the stuff they used on the floors in airplane hangars or large car workshops.

She led the way and turned to her right. The passageway ended in a locked door. She stood back again and Neil booted the door off its hinges. She flicked a light switch.
 

They saw a large room filled with wooden crates, stacked neatly on top of one another.
 

Alexa removed the top off a crate and scratched some foam bubbles to the side. "Holy shit," she said as she tried to pick up one of the gold bars. She couldn't. "Check the others," she told Neil.

He ripped open another crate and heaved a bar out. "They're all the same."

Laiveaux cursed as another red blip appeared on the screen. "How do you think he's activating the missiles?" he asked Bruce.

Bruce brushed his fingers through his hair, drummed the table with his fingers. "Cell phones, would be my guess. All the latest surface to surface missile carriers are equipped to be remotely discharged."

Laiveaux nodded as he punched a number into his phone. "I need to speak to the Minister of Energy, this is General Alain Laiveaux from Interpol."

He waited a moment before his call was patched through. "Lilianne, Laiveaux here."

"General, I wish I could speak, but I'm dealing--"

"Lilliane, we've managed to track down the terrorist group to a secure location in Les Vesinet."

She went quiet, then said, "Go ahead, Alain."

"They're discharging the missiles remotely using cellular technology."

"What do you want me to do, Alain?"

"I need the power grid to the entire city switched off. I need to disable those cellular towers."

"All right, Alain. Give me two minutes. But some of those towers still have backup generators, you know."

"Leave that to me," he said and disconnected the call.

He punched another number into his phone. It was answered after three rings. "General Lazard, General Laiveaux, Interpol. I have a code one situation."

The man grunted. "Yes, I heard that you had your hands full."

"General, I need you to locate and eliminate all cellular towers in a twenty mile radius of Les Vesinet--"

"Alain, there could be loss of lives, Les Vesinet is a densely populated area."

Laiveaux closed his eyes. "We're looking at a hundred million casualties if the terrorists manage to detonate all of their missiles."

The man was silent.

"What would your collateral be?" Laiveaux asked.

"A couple of thousand, I guess," Lazard answered.

"Do it," Laiveaux ordered.

"Affirmative, General. It'll be you ass, this conversation is being recorded."

"Just do it," Laiveaux said again and disconnected the call.

He leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes. He ignored Bruce and started praying for the souls of those who had lost their lives and for those who would in the near future. And then he prayed for the salvation of his own soul.

Allan Sonti cursed as the lights dimmed, but the backup generators kicked in. "You're going to have to do more than that to stop me, Laiveaux," he mumbled.

He flipped through all the CCTV cameras to make sure that they were operational and swore again. Captain Guerra had managed to enter the facility, and she was snooping through his bullion stocks. He spoke into the microphone. "James, Captain Guerra and the Sergeant are inside."

"Where?"

"In the treasury."

"Okay, let's deal with these bastards once and for all."

Sonti nodded. "Get Rowley to help."

"Okay."

"And James..."

"Yes?"

"Don't screw this up."

James said nothing.
 

Sonti jumped up from his chair. Did he need to do everything himself?

Alexa spun around when she heard the door open.
 

"I see you've managed to infiltrate our little lair," James Rue said with a chuckle. He was holding Nicole Rue by her waist, pointing a gun to her head. "Drop your weapons or I shoot her."
 

"We all have skeletons in our closets," Alexa said, raising her Glock to James Rue's chest.

Neil frowned, placing his gun on the floor. "You'll shoot your own wife?"

President Nicole Rue tried to pull James' hand from her waist. "Please...,please, do as he says, these people are crazy," she begged, black mascara marks trailing down her cheeks.

Alexa held the gun aimed at James' head. "You don't have the balls to do it," she said with a smile.

James pressed the gun harder into the President's temple. "Wanna bet?" He had a maniacal expression on his face. "I'm gonna blow this bitch back into the presidential graveyard."

"James, wait," Neil said. "I know you're probably tired, let's talk--"

Alexa aimed her gun a couple of inches down and shot the President of France in the leg. "There, I did it. I knew you didn't have the balls."

"What the fuck?" President Rue roared, clutching her injured leg.

Neil's wide-eyed gaze shifted between Alexa and the President of France.

Alexa strode to James and slammed a fist into his mouth, grabbing the gun from him and slipping it into the back of her pants. Neil had a dumbfounded expression on his face.

She laughed. "Stop looking so surprised."

Neil shook his head. "Alexa, you just shot--"

Alexa ripped the wig off Nicole Rue's head. "Neil, allow me to introduce you to Mr. Allan Sonti."

Allan Sonti stood with a grimace on his face, clutching his leg, cursing.
 

"How did you know?" James Rue asked, licking his bruised lip.

Alexa laughed, holstering her weapon. "You two thought you were so clever, didn't you?"

Allan Sonti sat down with a grimace. "What do you mean?" he asked, taking a ragged breath.

Alexa shook her head in amazement. "You left clues scattered everywhere, like you wanted to be found out."

"Like what?" James asked.

"Do you know what the anagram for Britney Spears is?"

James Rue waved a hand. "I don't know who the hell that is, but amuse us anyway."

Allan Sonti looked up, realization dawning on his face.

"Presbyterian," Alexa said.

"You're a damn idiot, James," Sonti said, slapping the concrete floor. He looked at Alexa. "You knew all this time?"

Alexa lifted her shoulders. "You both like playing scrabble. A couple of phrases seemed odd in those black letters that you two sent."

James lifted his chin, defiantly. "Which would be?"

"Cruel One, I. Taste my wrath in All the Nations," Sonti said. He glared at James. "I wondered why you had put that shit in."

James fiddled with his cuff link. "For dramatic effect."

Alexa chuckled. "I ran it through an online anagram processor.
Cruel One I
came out as
Nicole Rue
."

Sonti pursed his lips. "And
All Nations
decoded to
Allan Sonti
, right?" He turned to James. "You gave them my name on a plate, asshole. How could you be so stupid?"

The man pursed his lips but didn't say anything.

Alexa swung around as Wayne Rowley stalked into the room, an M-4 rifle pointed at them. "That's all interesting, dolly, but I think we've flapped our traps enough, now." He glanced at Sonti. "Get up, we're running out of time, we need to start initiating the final sequence."

Sonti nodded and pushed himself up of the floor with a grimace. He straightened his dress and held out his hand. "Give me a phone."

Rowley scratched in his pocket and pulled out a cell, handing it to Sonti. "Drop your weapons," he said, waving the rifle between Alexa and Neil.

Alexa glanced at Neil. "I'm afraid I can't let you do that, Sonti," Alexa said, glancing at Neil.

Neil nodded.

Rowley chuckled. "What are you going to do? I'm afraid you've been outmaneuvered. Check mate, Captain."

Neil pursed his lips, grim determination on his face as he lifted his Glock.
 

Rowley's gun stuttered, spraying bullets at Neil. Neil tried to step out of harms way, but the bullets ripped holes into his shoulder, chest and upper leg. He leapt forward and grabbed Rowley's rifle, struggling to rip the gun from the man.

Sonti started punching a sequence into the phone, but Alexa grabbed his hand and twisted it out.

She turned to Neil and Rowley who were still struggling, Rowley pinning Neil to the wall, pushing the rifle to Neil's neck.

Alexa tugged Rue's pistol from her pants. "Rowley, stop," she commanded.

He looked back over his shoulder with a sneer. "Screw you."

"Well, okay," she said and fired three shots into Rowley's back. He dropped to his knees with a grunt, slumped onto his side.

"Are you okay?" she asked Neil, rushing to his side, keeping the gun pointed at Sonti and James.

He grimaced and slid down the wall, a smear of blood trailing down the wall as he went down. He clutched his shoulder. "Nope."

She checked his chest. The kevlar vest had stopped most of the bullets, but he had wounds in his shoulder and leg.

"The shit I do for you," Neil groaned.

She pecked him on his cheek, pulled a phone from her pocket and punched in a number. "General, the situation has been contained."

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