The Prophecy

28

Naval Air Station Joint Reserve Base Willow Grove is a military airfield near Philadelphia that has undergone many transitions over the past century. In 1926, it was nothing more than a grass airstrip and a single hangar in a small rural township. But all that changed during World War Two. Shortly after the Japanese attack on Pearl Harbor, the United States bought the grounds and launched a classified anti-submarine programme at the base that stayed active until the late 1940s. Since that time, it has served as a training and operational base for several reserve units.

On this night, though, it had a much different purpose.

It allowed Payne and Jones to fly secretly across Pennsylvania.

In order to keep their names off passenger logs and to let them carry weapons, Randy Raskin had found them two seats on a Naval Reserve jet out of Pittsburgh and had arranged ground transportation — a custom-armoured Chevrolet Suburban, normally used by politicians and visiting dignitaries — for their time in Philadelphia. The flight took over an hour but would have been quicker if not for the lingering snowstorms. By the time they had left the base and driven into the city, it was nearly 8 p.m., and they were starving.

Back when they were in the military and constantly travelling, Payne and Jones had a longstanding tradition. If their mission allowed it, their first meal in a new city would feature local cuisine — whether that was fish tacos in San Diego, paella in Spain, or Cuban sandwiches in Ybor City. Over the years, they had spent a lot of time passing through Philadelphia, and every time they did, they ordered the same thing: Philly cheesesteaks.

Although it was one of the greasiest, leastnutritious meals on the planet, cheesesteaks were also one of the tastiest. Thinly sliced rib-eye steak is placed on a lightly oiled griddle where the meat is browned and chopped into smaller chunks with an iron spatula. Then, depending on the establishment, slices of provolone or white American cheese are melted over the steak. Once everything is hot and bubbly, the molten mass of meat and cheese is scooped into a small loaf of Italian bread, known in Philly as a hoagie roll. It is then garnished with grilled onions and peppers, lettuce and tomato, or even mayonnaise. In certain locations, a ladle of Cheez Whiz (a processedcheese spread) replaced ‘normal’ cheese, but neither Payne nor Jones was a fan of its viscous texture and mysterious chemical ingredients.

The two most famous eateries in Philadelphia were Pat’s Steaks (credited with creating the cheesesteak) and Geno’s Steaks, a rival located directly across the street. Both joints are open twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week, and serve thousands of hoagies per day. Since Payne and Jones were hoping to maintain a low profile, they skipped both places and drove to the University of Pennsylvania (Penn) campus where they ordered their food from one of the vendor trucks that catered to hungry college students. Jones ordered a traditional cheesesteak with provolone, onions, and peppers, but Payne opted for a pizza steak — crumbled mozzarella and pizza sauce were added to the grilled meat and roll before it was toasted in a broiler.

To avoid some calories (and to save their arteries), they split an order of French fries and bought two bottles of water instead of soft drinks. Just to be safe, both of them swallowed an antacid tablet before they consumed their feast inside the heated SUV.

‘Holy hell, this is friggin’ good!’ Cheese and grease dribbled down Jones’s chin, scalding his skin, but he couldn’t have cared less. ‘This is how I want to die.’

Sitting in the passenger seat, Payne admired the bulletproof glass. ‘From the look of this armour plating, that sandwich is the only way you can die in here.’

‘Well, if I start choking, please don’t save me. I swear to God, Jon, I’m gonna walk through the pearly gates, carrying my cheesesteak with me.’

‘If that happens, don’t take the fries. Remember, we’re splitting the order.’

Jones wiped his chin. ‘No promises.’

After finishing their meals, their focus shifted to the mission at hand. According to the criminal database, Ashley had lived in an apartment near Spruce Street, fairly close to the Penn campus. Because of her proximity to the school, Payne and Jones wondered why she had flown to Pittsburgh to visit the Cathedral of Learning. Perhaps it had been to maintain her anonymity, or to meet someone at the charity event, or to talk to them like she had claimed. Whatever the reason, they realized the best way to find the answers they were looking for was to visit her place. At night. Without a key. Or permission.

Simply put, they were going to break in.

Dressed in dark sweaters and jeans, they drove round the block a few times, memorizing the exits, looking for guards and security cameras. Doing most of the things they used to do when they had planned an urban assault, because that’s what this situation required. Although it had started off as a simple conversation with a mysterious woman, it had evolved into something complicated and violent: Belgian snipers blowing off heads, trained assassins searching for a letter, and a coded message pointing back to the city where the woman had lived.

None of it made any sense to them. Or Ulster. Or Raskin. None of them understood what was going on, why Ashley had been targeted, or what to make of the puzzling poem.

However, all of them agreed on two things.

The best way to solve the mystery was to charge forward.

And if the situation called for it, shoot with prejudice.

The apartment building was nineteen storeys high with a tan brick exterior. Overall it was a nice complex, but not too nice, meaning they wouldn’t have to worry about a pompous doorman or an overzealous security staff. The surrounding streets and sidewalks were fairly busy for a Sunday night, filled with students and non-students alike. Snowflakes danced through the air, yet there was little accumulation on the concrete walkway that led up to a maroon awning.

Payne and Jones wore ball caps and gloves — partly because of the cold, but mostly to protect their identities as they snuck inside Ashley’s apartment. If the Pittsburgh police hadn’t contacted the local authorities about her homicide already, they would in the near future. And once that happened, the Philadelphia cops would swing by, looking for clues of any kind. The last thing the duo wanted was to be linked to the scene and her apartment. That was the type of coincidence that would be tough to explain.

As they walked towards the front door, Jones reached into his back pocket for his lock picks. Payne shook his head, and pointed to the intercom off to the side. Jones nodded and smiled. This would be easier than they had thought. Both of them had been in enough highrise buildings to understand how easy it was to get past this type of security system. Simply press the ringer on a few random apartments, and some sucker was always willing to buzz the electronic lock open without asking questions.

In this case, it took less than thirty seconds for them to get inside.

The lobby was warm and well lit. No security cameras in sight. Several rows of locked mailboxes filled the left-hand wall. Beyond it was a long corridor that led to a workout centre, laundry facilities, and a private parking lot. On their right, a fire door opened into an emergency stairwell. Just past it was a bank of three elevators and a small sitting area, with a couch and two chairs. A bulletin board, covered with flyers and a local bus map, hung on the back wall.

Jones pressed the elevator button, and the middle doors sprang open without delay. He walked inside first, followed by Payne, who pressed floor number six.

The doors slammed shut, and the next phase of their journey began.