Ciphers - Matt Rogers (popular ebook readers txt) 📗

be, I’d have shot you in the back of the head and you wouldn’t be alive to debate this.’

Riordan twitched.

Slater had reasonable faith that he could get his hands on the man’s Glock 17 before the detective could bring it up to shoot him, but he suspected he wouldn’t need to.

He was right.

Riordan gave up the tough-guy act, too distracted to focus, thrown off by the intensity of the firefight. His eyes were wide as saucers every time Slater caught a glimpse of them. Which wasn’t often. Aside from the intermittent muzzle flashes, the light was sparse and the night was full. The initial pandemonium had trickled down to the occasional exchange of gunshots as all parties sought cover and approached the skirmish a little more tactically.

Slater caught the outlines of bodies out of the corner of his eye, either sprawled against vehicles or lying between them. It was too dark to see the blood, but he knew it was there.

Riordan’s hard-charging nature had got a sizeable number of his men killed in the Bowery, and that realisation was striking home.

His usual no-bullshit demeanour was replaced with something very close to shell shock.

Slater said, ‘You were told to keep a perimeter.’

‘I figured the situation was urgent,’ Riordan muttered.

‘It is. But now it’s even more urgent.’

‘What’s in that building?’

‘I know as much as you do. But they’re defending it like it’s the key to all this.’

‘Who are they?’

‘I have a colleague who might have a lead on that.’

‘Where?’

Slater threw a glance over his shoulder. ‘He told me to meet him back there, but that was before World War Three broke out. He won’t be there anymore.’

‘You two work together?’

‘Yeah.’

‘You some kind of super-soldier?’

Slater looked at him. ‘What makes you say that?’

‘No one throws me around like that.’

‘I had to make sure you didn’t shoot me.’

‘I get it.’ Riordan bowed his head. ‘I fucked up.’

‘Yeah, you did. I’m not going to sugarcoat it.’

‘What do you need from me?’

Slater thought about it. Thought hard, considering the time constraints. Ran through a dozen different options and arrived at a satisfactory conclusion and said, ‘I need to get inside. No matter what.’

‘Your colleague…?’

‘He could be anywhere.’

Bracing against the constant unsuppressed gunfire, Slater kept low and slipped his phone from his pocket. He angled it against his body to mask the screen glare, instantly lowered the brightness, and then navigated to King’s number. He tapped the screen.

It rang, on and on.

Nothing.

No answer.

‘Right,’ Slater said, his teeth clenched.

He didn’t dwell on what that might mean. Now wasn’t the time to contemplate the death of his closest friend.

Riordan said, ‘That’s what we were trying to do before all this happened.’

‘What?’

‘Get inside the building.’

‘You’re not me,’ Slater said. Then he added, ‘No offence.’

‘How do you plan on breaching it?’

‘There’s at least a dozen first-floor windows on both faces. I’d guess they’ve barricaded the entirety of the ground floor, but you can’t reinforce every window. No matter how much manpower they’ve got. It’d take too much time.’

He didn’t really care what Riordan thought of the plan. He wasn’t speaking to him. He was vocalising his internal thoughts, testing how they sounded out loud. Speaking to himself. All that mattered was his own conclusions. Years operating solo had taught him to rely on nobody but himself when everything went to hell.

Riordan said something, but Slater didn’t hear it.

He snuck a look over the top of the car, taking in what he could of the bank building. He didn’t think the first floor windows were reinforced, but he couldn’t be sure of anything.

He ducked back down and said, ‘I’m doing it. Can you give me a chance?’

‘How?’

‘Covering fire. I need it. I’m going in.’

54

Riordan grimaced and looked around, still overwhelmed, still in over his head. He said, ‘You’ll get yourself killed.’

‘I don’t see how that affects you. You don’t know me.’

‘Because I’m not an idiot,’ Riordan said. ‘If you work for the woman I talked to, then you’re something else. So if you get yourself killed trying this, then we’re fucked. You think I’m stupid? You think I don’t realise what’s gonna happen if this drags out any longer? Couple of days from now, people are gonna start panicking. I’ve seen what that’s like.’

‘You have?’

‘Been a cop a long time. Seen some shit. Riots, protests that escalate, you name it. It takes one second of desperation for all this … civilised shit … to just vanish.’

Slater pondered that.

‘Why the hell were we assigned to this?’ Riordan snarled.

The detective’s tone was a little heavier, a little shakier. It was sinking home that some of his men were dead. This wasn’t a fever dream. This was real life, and the consequences of what happened tonight would last for years.

‘Because of the state of the city,’ Slater said. ‘I thought that’d be pretty obvious. SF crews will get here eventually, but you combine the networks going down with the roads clogging up, and add in a few thousand people who need immediate assistance, and you’ve got a logistical disaster on your hands.’

Riordan nodded, solemn. He knew that, of course. It was obvious, just as Slater had said. But now he was mirroring Slater’s earlier actions — speaking to himself instead of the audience. Like, How did I let this happen? Now I’m going to have to tell wives their husbands are dead. Tell kids their fathers aren’t coming home.

Slater knew it was a downward emotional spiral waiting to happen.

He changed topic.

‘The woman I work for,’ Slater said. ‘The one you mentioned before. You know who she is?’

‘I know how much power she has. All the way to the top.’

‘Then, by extension, I have the same power, no?’

Riordan shrugged. ‘I guess so.’

‘I do,’ Slater said. ‘And I’m ordering you and your men to give me covering fire. All I need is half a minute. Then I’m out of your hair forever. It’s not too much to ask for.’

‘You don’t need to flex your connections,’ Riordan said. ‘I was gonna help you, regardless.’

‘Thank you.’

‘Make sure you