Shot Clock

by Mark Parragh

  Swift shook her head. “We’re going to have to forage as we go.”

  “I’ve got this,” Josh said, producing a Smith and Wesson .380.

  Crane hadn’t realized Josh had a weapon, and he wasn’t sure he liked the idea. “Where’d you get that?”

  “Hank David gave it to me,” Josh answered, “as he was dying.”

  “You have any idea how to use that?”

  Josh gave him a look. “Just like a computer,” he said. “You point and click.” Crane noted the safety was on. Josh ejected the magazine with a flick of his thumb, checked the chamber and the magazine, and then slapped the magazine back into the butt.

  “Five rounds,” he said matter-of-factly.

  Crane looked at him in surprise.

  “I didn’t have time for the driving courses you sent over,” Josh finally said, “but I did take one of the pistol classes.”

  “Were you going to tell me about that?”

  “I’m not sure,” Josh said, and turned away, ending the conversation.

  Crane understood. It hadn’t been that long since someone managed to turn Josh’s driver and bodyguard. Someone he had trusted had tried to kill him, and Josh had been more shaken by it than he liked to admit. Crane had helped him develop considerably more robust security protocols. But that was only part of it, and most likely the smaller part. Josh was still struggling to feel safe, no matter how safe he really was.

  “What the hell is Pack up to?” Swanepoel said suddenly.

  Crane dropped thoughts of Josh with a handgun and turned to see her looking outside. He followed Swift and Josh to the windows. The suite was on the front side of the hotel, looking out across the valley toward the main road and the view of the Rockies beyond it. Crane saw a figure dashing across the strip of land between the east wing and the entrance to the underground parking garage.

  Sure enough, it was Theodore Pack, the real estate developer Josh had had dinner with last night. He looked unhurt, and he was moving fast, bent low to the ground. He reached the driveway and ran down the ramp. He carried something clutched in one hand that Crane thought was a phone.

  “He’s going for help,” Swanepoel murmured to herself.

  “Huh,” said Josh. “All right, go, Packman.”

  Pack offered a clear target for anyone firing from the hotel, but no shots came. He hurried down the ramp and disappeared into the shadows beneath the overhang.

  “He made it to the garage,” Swift observed sharply.

  “He’s not carrying a wounded man,” Crane shot back. “Plus, I know what he’s driving.”

  A few moments later, they heard the whine of a high-performance engine echoing off the cement. Then a matte silver Pagani Huayra came streaking up the ramp. The Italian supercar looked like a spacecraft, all curved body panels and dark glass. It left the ground for a moment as it cleared the top of the ramp, and then shot past the east wing. Pack veered into the long, oval roundabout in front of the lobby and then whipped the car around the corner as if it was held to the road by magnets. The engine screamed like a Formula One racecar as Pack sped away down the access road. He has to have the pedal floored, Crane thought.

  Now there was a burst of gunfire from the lobby. A black-clad figure stood at the top of the stone stairs, firing a shouldered assault rifle. He emptied the clip at the speeding car, but to no effect.

  “Yes!” said Swanepoel.

  If Pack made it, their odds of survival would increase, at least slightly. By now, the authorities knew something had gone wrong at the Cambie, but they wouldn’t know what. This was no communications outage or even an armed robbery. Whatever response they were preparing, it almost certainly wasn’t enough. If Pack could give them an idea of what was really going on here, maybe he would scare them half to death, and that would bring to the Cambie the kind of help they needed that much more quickly.

  Then a dark shape seemed to fall out of the sky. It leveled out and settled onto an arc directly behind the Pagani. Crane heard Swift swear under her breath.

  “Um, is that what I think it is?” said Josh.

  It was a heavy drone. Crane didn’t recognize the design. It wasn’t a Predator, but it was about the same size and general configuration as the drones the US military and CIA used to strike targets in Afghanistan. The Predator was heavily armed, very expensive, and required significant expertise and equipment to operate. If the opposition had something like that.… Crane didn’t like what that implied at all.

  The drone descended on a relentless arc, closing in behind the Pagani. It settled in behind the car, and then Crane heard the distinctive buzz of a minigun. The recoil alone nearly knocked the drone out of the sky, pushing back against its forward thrust until it was nearly reduced to stall speed. A cloud of smoke engulfed the drone’s nose and swirled away behind it.

  The Pagani seemed to simply disintegrate into a cloud of glass, metal, rubber, and gasoline. The few heavier parts that remained intact tumbled away, smoldering, into the grass.

  “Jesus,” Josh whispered.

  Swanepoel had gone pale. “Is he…”

  “Yeah,” Swift said in sudden irritation. “Yeah, I’m pretty sure he’s dead.”

  “Oh my God,” Swanepoel said quietly. “I’m going to die. We’re all going to die here, aren’t we?”

  The drone flew smoothly over the wreckage, regaining speed as it continued down the valley. It began to climb in a long arc back toward the hotel.

  Crane just gave a silent nod of respect to Theodore Pack. He’d been brave when it counted, and he’d made a damn good run at it. He just never had a chance from the beginning. Swift caught his eye, and they traded a knowing look. Whether Swanepoel was right remained to be seen. But they’d learned one thing. Getting to the service garage with Redpoll was no longer an issue.

  They weren’t going anywhere.

  Chapter 19

  Crane stood at the window, looking out toward the remains of Pack’s car. The small fires had died out, and only a couple tendrils of smoke curled up from the wreckage. Otherwise, the valley looked peaceful, untouched. Crane knew better. The drone was still up there, ready to annihilate anything that moved outside.

  How long had it been since the initial attack? He checked his watch—a little over an hour and a half. He hadn’t heard the muffled sounds of distant gunfire for a while now. The hotel had gone quiet. But Crane knew the enemy was still there, just like the drone. They weren’t going anywhere. Whatever their mission, right now it suited them to dig in and wait. There were probably other pockets of survivors like themselves holed up in whatever space they could barricade themselves into, armed with whatever they could find. They breathed softly, whispering among themselves lest someone hear them. At some point, Crane knew that would come to an end, and there would be more loud violence. But for now, an uneasy silence had descended over the Cambie. Everyone waited, most of them unsure what they were waiting for.

  Josh had gone into the bedroom to check on Redpoll. Swanepoel sat on the floor, hunched in a corner behind the sofa, furiously writing something in a tiny notebook. Notes for loved ones, perhaps. Crane didn’t know. Pack’s failure seemed to have shattered something inside her.

  Swift had gone into the bathroom several minutes ago and still hadn’t come out. Crane walked gently across the suite to the closed bathroom door and knocked softly, but she didn’t answer. He tried the knob, and the door opened. She was leaning over the marble vanity and turned from the mirror as Crane entered. Her eyes were red from crying, and she was trembling. She looked up at him in sudden fear.

  “What’s happened?”

  Crane shook his head. “No change. Josh is with him.” He quietly closed the door behind him.

  “Don’t you tell me I wanted this,” she half-whispered with a ferocity that didn’t quite break through her fear. “Don’t you say I can be free of him now. Don’t you dare.”

  “I wasn’t,” said Crane. He reached out and touched her shoulder, and then drew her to h
im and held her as she trembled.

  “I can’t save him,” she said, her voice quavering. “I can’t get him out. I told him not to come here, the stubborn son of a bitch. I didn’t want this to happen.”

  “I know,” Crane murmured into her hair, “I know. So does he. He saw you charge straight into an army to save him with nothing but that stupid little gun. He knows.”

  She pushed him away, shaking her head in anger. “He doesn’t care about that! You didn’t grow up with him. Brave people get killed, and dead people don’t get the job done. Brave doesn’t mean shit.”

  Crane nodded. “All right, then. Let’s save him.”

  “I can’t! I can’t get through them. There’s too many. And with air support? Where would we even go? Help won’t get here fast enough, and they can hold this place for days if they want to.”

  “If they get whatever they’re after…” Crane began.

  “They’re after him!” she interrupted more loudly than she’d meant to. She forced her voice back down. “What do you think this is, John? Do you have any idea how long it’s been since he stuck his head out of his boltholes? This is about him! This is Turnstone making his move. It’s the only thing that makes sense.”

  Crane didn’t know how she could be sure of that, but he didn’t have any other theory to offer. If the enemy was actively looking for them, then their choices were even more limited. They couldn’t escape, but neither could they just hole up and wait to be rescued. If she was right, the soldiers were searching the hotel for them right now. They couldn’t get out, and they couldn’t stay put.

  But they would have to worry about that later. Right now, they had more pressing concerns, and Crane saw only one way forward.

  He pulled her back into an embrace, and she let him, molding herself against him. He could feel her heart beating fast against his chest. He stroked her short blue hair and kissed her temple.

  “It’s all right,” he said softly. “Stand down. You’ve done enough for now. Let me take point for a while.”

  She looked at him curiously. “What are you going to do?”

  “We can’t get out right now,” he said. “That means we need to buy time. We need to stabilize him until help comes or we find a way out. For that, we need medical supplies. I saw a medical locker in the security offices when I was there. They’ll have trauma kits. You stay here and watch over him. I’ll go get what we need.”

  She considered the idea and then shook her head. “Too dangerous,” she said. “You’ll need the MP7. That’s the only real weapon we’ve got. What if you don’t come back?”

  “I’ll come back,” he told her. “I can do this. You could too, but he might want you, and I know where the locker is.”

  He could tell she didn’t like the idea, but finally, she nodded and said, “All right. All right. You go get a trauma kit.”

  “You watch the others,” he said. “Keep them safe. We’re going to make it.”

  She pulled him close and kissed him hard, clutching the back of his neck and pressing his lips against hers. Crane thought it was how she’d kiss someone she didn’t really expect to see alive again.

  Then she pulled herself together. He saw composure sweep over her like a wave. She might let him see her this way, but not the others—and certainly not Redpoll.

  “Let’s tell them the plan,” she said at last, and then pushed past him to open the door.

  After Crane left, Josh helped replace the furniture blocking the door and then went back to check on Redpoll. It was the one thing he could actually do. Despite his bravado for Crane with the pistol, he knew he wouldn’t be much use in combat.

  Josh hadn’t liked the idea of Crane leaving them when he’d presented it, but he kept his mouth shut. It wasn’t concern for Crane’s safety. Josh knew Crane could handle himself out there. It was that he didn’t want to be left here with Swanepoel, the wounded Redpoll, and the armed madwoman, Swift. He was less safe without Crane here. That seemed cowardly to him, so he’d kept quiet. But it was his reaction, and Hank David’s pistol didn’t make him feel any safer at all.

  No, you still run to Crane for protection when the chips are down, don’t you?

  That’s not the question, is it?

  Okay, smartass, what’s the question?

  Why do the chips always seem to be down these days? What the hell have I gotten myself into?

  Redpoll lay on the bed, still, slumped into the bloody sheets like so much dead weight. For an instant, Josh thought he might actually be dead, but he looked over at Josh as he entered, and coughed. Bloody spittle flecked his lips. Josh whipped a tissue from a box on the nightstand and leaned over to wipe it away.

  Then Redpoll coughed again, and more blood ejected from his mouth in a fine mist. Josh flinched.

  Bloodborne pathogens. Skin, eye, mucous membrane, or parenteral contact with blood or other potentially infectious materials including saliva in dental procedures; semen; vaginal secretions; cerebrospinal, synovial, pleural, pericardial, peritoneal, and amniotic fluids; body fluids visibly contaminated with blood; along with…Why do I remember this?

  Redpoll rolled painfully onto his side and began to vomit blood. It came out of his mouth in a foamy red torrent, soaking the sheets, spraying the floor, spattering Josh’s shoes.

  Josh stumbled back a step.

  Oh, Jesus!

  “I need help in here!” he shouted.

  Behind him, Swift burst into the room and let out a gasp. She shouldered her way past him, and Josh turned away as she waded into the mess and turned Redpoll farther onto his side. Blood soaked into her clothes, streaked her skin.

  “It’s all right,” she said. “I’ve got you.”

  Josh retreated into the en suite and closed the door. He was shaking, a combination of fear and shame.

  Useless. Completely freaking useless.

  He turned on the faucet, soaped up his hands, and washed the old man’s blood from his skin.

  When he emerged from the bathroom, Redpoll was sitting up. The effort had exhausted him, and he looked pale, but he was conscious and alert. Swift was cleaning the blood from his face with a wet bath towel. She glanced up at him for a moment and then went back to work.

  Josh wandered over to the doors and stood there until she was done. Then she stood up and approached him.

  “Puzzles,” he said quietly.

  “What?”

  “I don’t have any medical training. I’m very good at puzzles. And trivia. I’m great at movie quotes. And I figured out how to predict the stock market. That’s why I’m here.”

  “Just watch him,” she said. “Be with him while I check the perimeter. If anything happens, call me.”

  She headed out without waiting for an answer and closed the doors behind her. Josh stood there for a moment, and then he heard Redpoll chuckle.

  “I would almost think you aren’t having a good time, Mr. Sulenski,” he said when Josh looked up.

  Josh walked around to the unbloodied side of the bed and sat on its edge. “This is not what I signed up for.”

  Redpoll nodded. “Some men are born to greatness. Others have greatness thrust upon them.”

  “Yeah, you’re a real riot,” Josh said. “Bet you kill them at the Bond villains’ convention.”

  Redpoll laughed weakly. “You tell me,” he said. “Where do you think we are? But from here, it looks more like a matter of them killing me.”

  Maybe not such a bad thing if I wasn’t the innocent bystander.

  “Don’t worry,” Josh said. “We’ll get you out of here. You’ll be wrapping your tentacles around the globe again in no time.”

  Redpoll smiled. “You don’t care for me, do you?”

  “I don’t know you,” said Josh. “I just know what you stand for. Unless your girl out there’s misrepresented you?”

  Redpoll chuckled to himself. “She has her own ideas about what we do,” he said after a moment, “but she understands it well enough.”

  �
��So you’ve got all that money, all that power, your private armies, and your spies, and your trove of blackmailing secrets. All that, and you just sit there like a vulture on a tree branch, and you wait. And when civilization finally crashes down, then you’ll sweep in and rule the ruins? Is that the idea?”

  “It sounds like a poor plan the way you put it,” said Redpoll. “I’m an old man, Mr. Sulenski. I’ve waited a long time. Even without this…very inconvenient bullet in me, the world would need to fall very quickly if I’m to have any time to enjoy my kingdom.”

  “So what’s the point, then? Pass it on to your heir? I’m not sure she’s quite on the same page as you.”

  Redpoll laughed at that until he grimaced and seized his side. “She has always been her own creature,” he said when he could speak again. “Never mine. No, she’ll have her own life when I’m gone. I haven’t done the things I’ve done for fortune. Money makes a good tool but a poor master, Mr. Sulenski.”

  “Call me Josh.”

  Nice line, though. Remember that one. You can use it sometime if you get out of this.

  “Not for fame or glory,” Redpoll said. “My organization is a shadow. Not a living soul knows my name. I did the things I did for the same reason anyone else does. I did what I thought was right.”

  “Oh, bullshit!” Josh snorted. “You see war and pestilence, famine and death. You see the apocalypse, and what are you doing about it? You just follow behind the horsemen and stuff the pieces in your sack.”

  “Where you would fight them,” said Redpoll. “That’s what you mean to do, isn’t it? You’ll stand before their charge and stop them in their tracks.” He coughed and wiped blood from his lips. “You won’t. They’ll trample you and your brave Mr. Crane. They’ll sweep you aside and never even notice. You can’t save the world, Mr. Sulenski, any more than I can. Look around you. This world is plunging headlong toward its end, and there’s nothing that can stop it.”

  Chapter 20

  Crane listened at the door to the fire stairs. The steel felt cool against his skin. The floor was quiet. Youseff Arafa’s gangsters still waited at the far end of the hall to shoot anyone who came around their corner. An elevator still yawned open where Swift had locked it down. Up the hallway from him was a laundry and utility room, and Crane had wondered if there might be a service elevator inside. But the door was locked, and he didn’t want to draw attention by forcing it.