Condemned (Julian Mercer Book 1) Page 15

  “Who hired you?” Julian aimed, but at this angle, he didn’t have a bead on Armann. Hopefully, the police did.

  “Get on the ground,” a police officer commanded, and Armann stepped into the hallway, closer to the cart.

  “Don’t shoot,” Armann called, slowly raising his arms. In less than a millisecond, he changed stances, gripping the gun in both hands and firing two shots, sending a single bullet through the skulls of two of the responding officers. “At least not until I have a chance to even the score.”

  Mercer dove out of the room, tackling Armann to the ground. The officers from the other end of the hallway moved closer, and bullets flew past, lodging into the ground near the embattled men. It wasn’t surprising. One of the combatants just killed two of their brothers-in-arms, so if they accidentally shot Mercer, he would be seen as collateral damage whose death could be blamed on the crazed shooter. Then again, the bloody bobbies probably didn’t have any idea if he was working with Armann or not.

  Mercer squeezed off two shots, and at close range, he knew he didn’t miss. Armann gasped, clutching his side with one hand and fending off Mercer with the other. Despite the lead in his gut, Armann wasn’t ready to throw in the towel.

  “Are you going to finish it this time?” Armann asked, but before Mercer could respond, he was pulled away by one of the police officers.

  The officer placed the muzzle of his Glock against Mercer’s head. “Just give me a reason,” the cop bellowed.

  Dropping his Sig, Mercer didn’t resist being handcuffed. He watched another three officers move in to subdue Armann, first kicking his gun away and then kicking him repeatedly in the process. Before Mercer could even utter a word, Armann grabbed the first cop by the ankle and removed his back-up piece while simultaneously performing a sweeping leg kick and knocking the other one off balance and into the third officer.

  “Until next time,” Armann warned, grabbing the off balance cop and holding his gun against the man’s temple.

  The bullet wound was oozing, but it didn’t slow down the killer. He stumbled backward, taking his hostage with him. The cop that subdued Mercer aimed his weapon and radioed for back-up, but they weren’t close enough to be of any use. The macabre procession continued to the nearest exit, and when they reached the doorway, Armann pulled the trigger, spraying the officer’s brains across the wall and fleeing from the building, leaving an obvious blood trail in his wake.

  Mercer clenched his jaw and shut his eyes. He might not like or trust the police, but three men just gave their lives in the line of duty. And there wasn’t a chance in hell Mercer would let the party responsible get away with it. Isaac Armann was a dead man.

  Twenty-six

  In the aftermath of the firefight, three men were dead, and a trail of blood led from the center of the hallway to the exit Isaac Armann took. The hallway was roped off, and hospital personnel moved the nearby patients to other rooms, attempting to avoid disturbing the crime scene any more than necessary. Katia and Ben were still in the same room, being questioned by the police. Since Ben was no longer a patient, he was a material witness. Mercer caught a glimpse of the two. Ben had his arm wrapped around Katia’s quaking shoulders as she tried to explain what happened and why.

  “Call Bastian,” Mercer mouthed, hoping one of them would notice. Blood was running down his arm, but until the police decided he wasn’t responsible, they were willing to let him suffer. He was seated in a chair with his hands handcuffed behind his back. The irony that he was in a very similar position to John Welks was not lost on him, and despite the gravity of the situation, he snorted.

  “Is something funny?” one of the officers asked. “You think it’s funny to kill a few cops?” The gravel in the man’s voice was full of vengeance. “What can you tell me about your partner?”

  “He’s not my partner. His name is Isaac Armann, and someone hired him to murder Benjamin Styler.”

  “Yeah, and according to the reports I read, you assaulted Styler in this very hospital room not too long ago.”

  Mercer sighed. “I need to speak to Detective Rowlins.”

  “You need a lot of things. Too bad I don’t give a shit.” The cop shoved Mercer sideways, knocking him against the wall and forcing him to land on top of his still bleeding arm. “Maybe you need to stop being so clutzy.” He yanked Mercer back to an upright position. “If you cooperate, maybe I’ll even get a doctor to come look at that arm.”

  “Check the security footage. I was trying to stop him, not aid in his escape.” Mercer let out an aggravated breath.

  “Oh, so you want me to just leave you here unattended so you can escape? I don’t think so.” Before the cop could do anything else, Katia and Ben were escorted from Styler’s room.

  “Oh my god, you saved us, again,” Katia exclaimed, kneeling next to Mercer. Her fingertips traced the skin near the gunshot wound, and Mercer bit back a hiss, looking away. “I’m sorry.” She practically spun in a circle, searching for someone who could patch him up. Not finding a single paramedic or nurse, she turned to the officer. “He protected us.” She stepped between Mercer and the man interrogating him. “Can’t you see he needs help? Why aren’t you helping him?”

  “Miss,” one of the cops said, trying to pull her away, “we need to take you down to the station to answer more questions.”

  “Go with them. But call Bastian and have him meet you there. He’ll protect you,” Mercer said before the officers led Ben and Katia away.

  “Who’s Bastian? Is that the shooter?” the same officer from before asked.

  “Listen to me very carefully,” Mercer growled, “Isaac Armann was hired to perform the hit on Benjamin Styler. Detective Rowlins is investigating. My team and I are assisting.”

  “Your team?” He glared. “How many of you are there? I need names.”

  “Good luck with that because I’m not saying another goddamn word without counsel.” Mercer clenched his jaw and gave the officer a dead-eye stare.

  “We’ll see if you don’t change your tune.” The man put his hand on Mercer’s shoulder, the same one that had recently been dislocated and grazed by a bullet, and gave it a hard squeeze. “It’s just a matter of time.”

  Mercer hid the flinch masterfully, and the man stepped away, taking a seat at the nurse’s station. He continued to stare at Mercer, but the two remained locked in a battle of wits. Julian had experienced far worse than this, and he wouldn’t crack. Hell, he was more likely to pass out from blood loss than he was to utter another word to a stubborn policeman who was seemingly doing little to track down the man responsible for murdering three of his brothers in blue.

  Just as Mercer was starting to get a little woozy, Rowlins appeared at the end of the hallway, accompanied by a few members of the police brass. Although no one spoke to him, Julian could hear some muttered words about the security cam footage taken during the time of the shooting. Reluctantly, the officer from earlier came around the desk to unlock the handcuffs.

  “Looks like you’re clear for now,” the officer said, but his words sounded like a threat.

  “We need to ask you some questions,” another man with captain bars said, “but first, let’s get you stitched up.”

  “Fine.” Mercer looked down, noting that a small pool of blood had collected below the chair from his injury. “Isaac Armann’s been shot. He’ll need medical supplies or assistance. You need to monitor area doctors, hospitals, vets, and pharmacy supply centers.”

  “It’s already being done. We’ve issued an APB, and his description was broadcast over the wire. It’ll be fine,” Rowlins said, motioning some medical personnel around the crime scene tape. They pushed a gurney with them. “It seems you and I may have some things to discuss in private,” he whispered.

  Mercer waved the gurney away and stood. “I’m capable of walking down the bloody hallway.”

  Rowlins shrugged. “It’s your funeral, buddy.” He turned to address the three other people standing nearby. “Captain
, I’ll take him to the ER, and we’ll meet you back at the station after they stitch him up.” One of the men nodded, and Rowlins led Julian down the hallway, away from the mess and the other officers.

  “Are Katia and Ben safe?” Mercer asked once they were out of earshot.

  “Of course, they’re safe. They’re at the precinct. Plus, your pal, the friendly one, is with them. He was concerned about how well you were holding up. Care to tell me what happened?”

  “Someone hired Armann to orchestrate a hit on Styler. He missed the first time, so he came back to try again.”

  “And how does this relate to the car crash I heard a little something about?”

  “Unimportant details.”

  “Somehow, I doubt that.”

  “It is none of your concern. Why did the protection detail leave? Why didn’t the responding officers take down Armann after he killed three of your own?” Rage boiled to the surface, skyrocketing Mercer’s blood pressure and causing him to teeter. Rowlins ducked underneath Julian’s good arm to steady him as they continued toward the ER. “Right now, I’m having a hell of a time trusting any of you.”

  “I’m not your enemy. You’re not under arrest. We’re just doing our jobs to piece this mess together. And for the record,” Rowlins passed Julian off to a nurse who helped him onto a waiting bed, “I wouldn’t have let that motherfucker get away.” The nurse went to find a doctor. “I’m glad you put two slugs in him. But shit, why couldn’t you have taken a better shot? Aren’t you supposed to be some hardcore green beret or something?”

  “Retired Special Air Service, and your men seemed content enough to pop off quite a few shots at me. So care to explain why they didn’t do the same to Armann?” He narrowed his eyes. “I’m not in favor of friendly fire.”

  “I’m sure they did all they could. Let the doc fix you up, and we’ll discuss this at the precinct.” The detective stepped away, calling over his shoulder, “With the rate things are going, maybe I’ll get you your own desk, right next to mine.”

  “Maybe I’d rather put a bullet through my own bloody head,” Mercer retorted, and Rowlins chuckled, muttering a few other inappropriate suggestions under his breath.

  After far too much poking and prodding, Julian was free to go. His arm was bandaged and placed in a sling on account of the previous dislocation, and he was instructed to avoid a list of items due to the mild concussion he had sustained during the crash. Other than that, he was given some antibiotics to stave off any infection from the gunshot.

  “You still look like shit,” Rowlins offered, leading him to a waiting unmarked cruiser. “Are you sure you’re capable of protecting Katia Rhoade and Benjamin Styler in your current condition? The captain’s been urging them to consent to protective custody, but she’s adamantly opposed. Perhaps you could sway her point of view.”

  “I’m not here to do your bidding. And from what I’ve seen, there is absolutely no reason why she should trust the authorities.”

  “And how did you reach that conclusion? Or is that just your paranoia kicking in?”

  “Someone with deep pockets hired Armann. Do you have any idea who that might be?”

  “Not yet. We’re working on it.”

  “So are we.” Mercer maneuvered his arm out of the sling and balled up the blue mesh. “Whoever it is could buy off people in positions of power. You’ve said so yourself, Detective. And unless you’re personally planning to keep watch on Katia and Ben, then I think they’d be safer elsewhere.”

  Rowlins bit his lip and shifted his gaze to Mercer. “Unfortunately, you might be right.”

  Twenty-seven

  “Glad to see you’re all right,” Bastian said, nodding to Julian. “Katia had one hell of a story to tell, but it seems you fared rather well.”

  “It was nothing I couldn’t handle,” Mercer replied. Rowlins disappeared into the break room to have an impromptu meeting with his commanding officer and a few other high-ranking officials, and Mercer took advantage of the privacy. “Where are the lovebirds now?”

  “A few officers are taking their statements. Carlton showed up, and their personal rendition of World War III played out in the middle of the squad room.” Bastian glanced around and leaned closer to Mercer. “Donovan’s tracking Armann. He thinks he’s found his staging ground, and with any luck, he’ll be able to determine where the bastard lives. That is, if the police don’t locate him first. Do you think he’s gone to ground?”

  “No. He won’t stop until the contract’s been carried out. I put two in his gut, and he kept going. It didn’t even slow him down. He must be accustomed to pain. What else have you dug up on his history?”

  “You know the basics. He performed unsanctioned assassinations, probably for the government, before becoming his own boss. I’ll keep digging, but Donovan can handle it from here. There isn’t anything in Armann’s background that’ll give us a leg up. Plus, the coppers are already digging into every ounce of information they can find, but they don’t have him in their sights. Unfortunately, we don’t either.”

  “What about the man who hired him? He needs to be our primary focus since Armann is just a symptom of the underlying disease.” Mercer glanced behind him to make sure Rowlins wasn’t returning.

  “Right, just like a deadly fever is only a symptom of the flu.” Bastian rubbed his cheek. “I’ve analyzed the bank information, Piper Investigations’ database records, and the photographs that we uncovered, but you aren’t going to like where it leads.”

  “Which is?”

  “Around in a bloody circle. Significant funds have poured out of Carlton Rhoade’s business account and filtered into Piper Investigations through the newspaper, which isn’t that odd, but the cash withdrawals from Carlton’s personal account match the amount that was moved from Welks’ hidden account into Piper. It makes Carlton look guilty as sin, especially since Welks said the source of the cryptic e-mail messages from his unidentified employer originated internally from Carlton’s newspaper. Carlton has connections to hired guns from his old reporter days and that one questionable newspaper article. He has contacts, means, and motive. And according to Detective Rowlins, that’s all we need to make criminal charges stick.”

  “I thought you didn’t believe Carlton was capable.”

  “I don’t.” Bastian sighed. “But Rowlins seems pretty sure, and he is a trained investigator.”

  “Then why didn’t the police arrest Rhoade? Or better yet, why hasn’t Carlton called off Armann since Katia knows the truth and is refusing to leave Ben’s side?” Mercer narrowed his eyes. “Carlton might not be a man to reckon with, but this is nothing more than an elaborate setup by someone intimately aware of Carlton’s activities.” Mercer smirked. “Apparently, you’ve swayed me to your side of the argument, Bas.”

  “It’s about time you started listening to me. So now what do we do?”

  “We find Armann, make him talk, and put him down.” Mercer saw the unsettled look on Bastian’s face. “He just killed three cops. Casualties don’t seem to be one of his concerns.”

  “Jules, you tried to stop him.”

  “If I had really tried, I would have put two in the back of his head when he was still inside the car.” Mercer paused. “How did he get out of that car? How did he escape when sirens and lights were looming in the distance?” Spinning on his heel, he stomped toward the break room. “Rowlins,” he snarled, “I need a word.”

  By the end of it, details were hashed out, the city’s CCTV feeds were analyzed, and the parts of the police investigation Rowlins was privy to were shared with Mercer and Bastian. It appeared that within less than a minute of Julian’s departure from the crashed vehicle, Armann climbed out of the car and took refuge in a nearby alley, eluding the camera feed and disappearing before the investigators could identify the people involved. The rat had crawled back to whatever hole he crawled out of.

  “I don’t like being accused of things,” Rowlins huffed.

  “What do you kn
ow?” Mercer asked, remembering the comment about Katia and Ben being safer with Mercer’s team than the police. “You obviously don’t believe your comrades can be trusted.”

  “Look,” Rowlins lowered his voice, “there’s been speculation that Carlton Rhoade sourced out the hit. Hell, there’s a lot of circumstantial evidence to support that theory. But we can’t touch him without a smoking gun since he’s close friends with my lieutenant, and he’s been known to rub elbows with the police commissioner and the mayor at black tie affairs. That being said, I’d personally like to make sure everything is on the up and up before I jeopardize anyone’s life or my career. As you can see, we’ve already lost three good men, and now, we’re out for blood.” He swallowed, blinking and looking away. “Goddammit.”

  “I’m sorry.” Bastian squeezed the detective’s shoulder. “Were you close?”

  “I knew two of them personally. Hell, I trained Stan when he first got out of the academy, and Tom’s wife is just about to have their first kid. Now that boy’s gonna grow up without a dad. That sick son of a bitch is going to pay.”

  “Yes, he will,” Mercer promised. “But in the meantime, I can’t afford for your officers to kill Armann when we don’t know who hired him. Do you know anything more than what’s already been said or what Bas has disclosed to you?”

  “The only thing left is the surveillance footage taken from Styler’s apartment building that you asked for. Those two men that were leaving haven’t been identified yet, but I’ll give you a copy of the photos.” He looked at Bastian. “It seems you have your own methods for determining facts.”

  “Indeed.” Bastian nodded, and Rowlins went into another room to retrieve the data. “What are we doing about Katia and Ben? Armann should be out of commission for the immediate future, but according to what you’ve said, he won’t stop until the job’s done.”

  “You will take them to the safe house we established. Ring Hans and have him meet you there. Two of us will remain on-site to guard them at any given time. I know it will make tracking Armann and the man responsible more difficult, but we don’t have much of a choice, especially since we have minimal intel on Armann’s two accomplices from the alley.” Narrowing his eyes, Mercer thought through the information they currently possessed. “Have you spoken to Welks?”