Lock glanced around. It looked like every single assassination attempt ever witnessed, five seconds before it went off. A chaotic scrum of bodies, security caught flatfooted, then, from nowhere, someone making their move.
Three
As Lock stepped out of the elevator, Van Straten’s bodyguard, Croft, was stationed at the door which led into the boardroom.
‘Who’s inside?’
‘Just the old man and Stokes.’
‘You check on them?’
Croft shook his head. ‘The old man didn’t want to be disturbed. Don’t worry, I made sure he sat at the top of the table before I left.’
Lock relaxed a notch. There was a panic button fitted directly under that section. Not that he thought even Stokes would be dumb enough to try something here.
‘Any idea why the boss wanted a sit-down?’
Croft shrugged. ‘Nada.’
‘He didn’t say anything in the car this morning?’
‘Not a word. Just sat in back going through his papers, same as always.’
To be fair to Croft, Lock had found Nicholas Van Straten a tough man to read. Not that he was taciturn or impolite. Far from it, in fact. In contrast to his son, Nicholas Van Straten always seemed to make a point of being overly polite to those who worked for him, sometimes in almost inverse proportion to their seniority in the company.
‘So no one knows what this is about?’
Croft shook his head.
Lock turned to walk back to the elevator as the door to the boardroom opened and Van Straten stepped out.
‘Ah, Ryan, just the man,’ Van Straten said, turning his attention to Lock.
‘Sir?’
‘First of all, I owe you and the rest of your men an apology. I should have given you some warning of my plans.’
Lock bit back his irritation. ‘That’s quite alright, sir.’
‘It was something of a last-minute decision to open direct discussions with Mr Stokes and his group.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Now, in ten minutes or so Mr Stokes and I will be going back outside to make a joint announcement.’
‘Sir, if I might make a suggestion.’
‘Of course. Please do.’
‘Perhaps if we found somewhere inside the building where you could-’
Van Straten cut him off. ‘Already thought of that, but Missy thought it would be more visual to be out on the steps. Oh, and could you arrange for some coffee to be sent in? No milk. Mr Stokes doesn’t take milk. Something to do with cows finding the process emotionally unsettling.’
‘Right away, sir.’
Van Straten stepped back inside and closed the door, leaving Lock alone with Croft.
‘Who the hell’s Missy?’ Lock asked.
‘Some gal in the public relations office. The old man put a call in to her about two minutes before you got here.’
‘Terrific,’ Lock said, trying hard to keep the exasperation from his voice. Now security strategy was being dictated by someone who probably thought an IED was a form of contraception.
‘Dude, relax,’ Croft said. ‘Looks like the war’s over.’
Lock stepped in close to Croft. ‘
Croft was puzzled. ‘What? I didn’t cuss.’
‘In my book, “relax” beats out any cuss word.’
Back outside, word of the sit-down between Gray Stokes and Nicholas Van Straten had got out, drawing even more news crews to the scene. Bystanders and protestors filled the gaps, pilot fish waiting to snatch at whatever morsels of information might float their way.
Lock finished briefing his team stationed on the steps just as Gray Stokes emerged from the entrance, his clenched fist raised in imitation of the black power salute. Next to him, Nicholas Van Straten stared at his feet. A chastened Croft stayed within touching distance of his principal.
‘We did it!’ yelled Stokes, his voice sounding hoarse in the chill air. ‘We’ve won!’
Two protestors whooped as the pack of reporters surged forward. Lock noticed that Croft and Ty, who were flanking Van Straten, were looking nervous as the reporters pushed up against them, jockeying with one another for position.
Lock stepped between Janice in the wheelchair and a reporter squeezing in next to her, worried that she’d be toppled over by the crush of bodies. ‘Folks, if you could give everyone here some space,’ he shouted.
Knowing what Lock had done to the cameraman, those nearest to him hastily made some room.
Van Straten cleared his throat. ‘I’d like to make a short statement if I may. As of midnight tonight, Meditech and all its subsidiaries, alongside those companies we work with in partnership, will no longer engage in testing on animals. There will be a fuller statement released to all media outlets later.’
Before Stokes had the chance to have his say, a volley of questions came at Van Straten. Even in victory, Van Straten was stealing his thunder, and Stokes didn’t seem to be enjoying it one bit. He shifted from foot to foot. ‘I have a statement as well!’ he shouted. But the reporters ignored him, continuing to throw questions at Van Straten.
‘What’s behind your change in policy, Mr Van Straten?’
‘Have the extremists who desecrated your mother’s memory won here?’
Another question, this one more pertinent to a broad section of the audience at home: ‘What do you think this will do to your company’s share price?’
Van Straten stretched out his arms. ‘Ladies and gentlemen, please. I think it would be rude if you didn’t at least listen to what Mr Stokes has to say on the matter.’
Struggling to keep his cool, Stokes took a single step to the right. Now
He raised a bunched right hand to his mouth, theatrically cleared his throat, and waited for silence to descend.
‘Today has been a momentous one for the animal rights movement,’ he began.
But before he could finish the sentence, his neck snapped back. A single.50 calibre bullet had vaporized his head.
Four
Lock placed himself in front of Croft and drew his weapon, giving Croft time to spin and sling Van Straten so they were back to back. With his left hand, Croft clasped the collar of Van Straten’s shirt, which allowed him to return fire with his right, all the while backing up as fast as he could. Lock remained steadfast among the scrum of bodies as between them Ty and Croft moved Van Straten back inside the building.
Lock looked around for Brand and the rest of the CA team but they were nowhere to be seen. Backing up, he
