Extinction

by J. T. Brannan

  ‘We . . . we can’t!’ stammered the man on the other end of the line. ‘I don’t know what they’ve done, but the system’s not responding!’

  ‘You’ve got to be kidding me,’ Anderson moaned. ‘You’re telling me I’ve got to send all my men down fifty floors to get back into the building?’

  ‘I’m sure I can do it,’ the man said nervously, ‘I just need some time.’

  ‘You’ve got two minutes,’ Anderson barked. ‘If it’s not open by then I’m going to shoot you in the head the minute I walk through your door, do you understand me?’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ the man said, and Anderson could hear the fear in the voice. If it was possible, it would be done.

  ‘Santana,’ Anderson said next, back in touch with the leader on the ground, ‘can you break through?’

  There was a pause before Santana replied. ‘No, sir. The doors are thick steel units, and we don’t have explosives. The SWAT team would be able to, but they’re not here yet. Besides which, we don’t know if there are civilians on the other side.’

  ‘OK,’ Anderson decided, ‘split into three groups. Group one is to go downstairs and find an alternative route into the building, group two is to go up and do the same from the roof, and group three is to stay put and wait in case security manages to get those damned doors open.’

  Anderson waited for the acknowledgement, then put the radio down, fingers pinching the bridge of his nose as his head began to throb with a dull, heavy pain.

  ‘Where are we going?’ Alyssa asked as Jack pulled her by the hand through a huge open-plan office, work cubicles on either side of them.

  The office workers had obviously been warned that Alyssa and Jack were dangerous and cowered behind their desks, keeping their heads down and avoiding eye contact.

  ‘An enclosed office somewhere,’ Jack answered. ‘Somewhere with a computer and a bit of peace and quiet.’

  Alyssa suppressed a laugh. Peace and quiet? Not likely. Jack had somehow managed to relock the door behind them, but she knew it wouldn’t take long for their pursuers to get through and come after them again.

  They turned and weaved through a maze of cubicle corridors, Jack seeking out an office almost like an animal smelling its next meal, using his instincts to guide him.

  They came to a wooden door in a long wall on the northern side of the building. Jack pulled the handle and barged through, Alyssa right behind him.

  The office was big, with a stately desk holding a flat-screen monitor dominating the space. A large man in a suit sat behind the desk, his back to a huge picture window. Six other people were in the office with him, three sitting on a couch against the opposite wall, two on chairs on the other side of the desk, and one sitting cross-legged on the floor; all obviously hiding out in their boss’s office.

  ‘Out!’ Alyssa shouted. ‘Now!’

  The seven people widened their eyes, and Alyssa could almost smell their fear. She wondered what they had been told. Something to do with terrorism, she assumed; they probably thought she and Jack had explosives strapped to their bodies.

  A thought occurred to her, and she stopped the big man in the suit. ‘Not you,’ she said, ushering him back inside the office. Terrorists took hostages, didn’t they? She felt bad about it, but a hostage might make a SWAT team think twice before they blew the doors off and ran in, guns blazing. She hoped.

  She saw Jack heading towards the other side of the desk, keen to get behind the computer.

  ‘No!’ Alyssa shouted to him, gesturing to the window behind him. Jack stopped, understanding instantly. Snipers.

  He came back round to the other side, and he and Alyssa dragged the desk further into the office. Once it was at a safe distance from the window, Jack turned the monitor and keyboard round to face the other way and sat down on one of the other chairs.

  ‘Pass me the disk,’ Jack said, and Alyssa fished it out of her trouser pocket and handed it to him.

  As Jack got to work, Alyssa grabbed the sofa by one of its arms and started to drag it across the thick wool carpet, ignoring her hostage who stood off to one side, watching her. She pulled the heavy couch across the doorway. It wouldn’t stop their pursuers altogether but it would certainly slow them down. Especially if she added a little something extra. She looked at the suited executive.

  ‘Sit down on the couch,’ she told him. He stared at her with disdain. There was no fear in his eyes, and Alyssa knew he must be a man of some power and, hopefully, some importance. Eventually, he grunted and reluctantly lowered his hefty frame onto the couch, which creaked under his weight.

  Alyssa sat down in a chair opposite him, keeping herself away from the windows. ‘Look,’ she said to him, ‘I’m sorry about this. If there was any other way, believe me we’d be doing that instead. But there isn’t, and that’s the bottom line. Despite what you’ve been told, we’re not terrorists. I mean, do we look like terrorists? I’m a journalist, my name is Alyssa Durham. I work for the New Times Post.’

  There was a flicker of recognition in the man’s eyes. ‘I’ve read your work,’ he said eventually, ‘if you are who you say you are.’ He gestured with his head to where Jack worked feverishly at the computer. ‘What’s he doing?’

  ‘That’s Jack Murray, and he’s trying to get a line out of the building, open up communications somehow. He’s a lead technician at the High-frequency Ionospheric Research Project.’

  ‘What?’ he asked.

  ‘It’s a government research centre which we’ve discovered is a front for a covert weapons programme. That’s why we’re here now, being chased by government agents.’

  The man shook his head. ‘Whatever,’ he scoffed.

  ‘It’s the truth,’ Alyssa said. ‘What’s your name?’

  The man seemed to consider not answering, but then thought better of it. ‘Stevens, Ray Stevens. I’m the vice president of York Investments, the multi-billion dollar financial giant whose offices you’ve just barged into. And whatever your reasons are, you’re both in big trouble.’

  ‘From you?’ Alyssa mocked. ‘We’ve just had to drag your desk away from the window so we don’t get shot by snipers. A stolen taxi we’ve just driven across the park got blown across the street by a damned battle tank. The weapon we’ve discovered is capable of destroying entire countries. And you think we should worry about a fat banker? Mr Stevens, you really need to get over yourself.’

  Stevens spluttered, outraged, but then caught himself. ‘A weapon that can destroy entire countries?’ he asked, his interest aroused despite himself.

  He watched Alyssa nod her head gravely, then leant forward on the couch. ‘Tell me about it.’

  ‘They’re in the northern office,’ Anderson informed Santana.

  Santana was still in the stairwell, having decided to lead this section. If Murray could unlock and relock them, he was sure the building’s security experts would also be able to do so. And he didn’t want to waste twenty minutes running up and down the stairs again.

  Anderson went on to tell him that the pair had taken a hostage, and even more unfortunate was the fact that it was Ray Stevens, one of the richest bankers in the city and a personal friend of the mayor’s.

  Good news came next, though, when Anderson reported that security had finally managed to override the door locks; they would be open any moment.

  22

  THERE WAS BANGING on the office door and Stevens jumped. He quickly recovered himself. ‘They’re not going to shoot their way through with me sitting here,’ he said confidently. He turned to the door and shouted, ‘Hey! This is Ray Stevens! I’m right on the other side!’

  The banging stopped, and Stevens turned back to Alyssa with a look of satisfaction.

  As Jack continued to clack away at the keyboard, Alyssa scanned the walls of the room. ‘Is there another way out of here?’ she asked.

  Stevens hesitated. Eventually, he nodded his head. He gestured over to the side of the office, where some large mahogany bookcases stood in a
n alcove. ‘Over past the bookcases,’ he said. ‘There’s a private elevator, goes from here up to the executive lounge on the hundredth floor.’

  ‘Does it go down?’ Alyssa asked.

  Stevens shook his head. ‘No, it’s only for the chosen few of us on the executive board. Bit of a luxury gentlemen’s club. Not many people even know about it.’

  ‘Is there another way down from there?’

  Stevens nodded. ‘I guess so. There are four offices like this one, and each has its own private elevator. So there are at least three other ways down, although none of them come down further than this level.’

  Alyssa looked at Jack. ‘How are you getting on?’

  He carried on typing as he talked. ‘Nothing so far,’ he said in exasperation. ‘I’m not sure if I’m going to be able to get through. I think they’ve shut down the building’s actual external communications hardware on a physical level, not just performed a software command protocol. They’ve pulled the plug, so to speak.’ He looked up at Alyssa. ‘We’re going to have to get our message out in person.’

  Alyssa nodded. She could hear activity on the other side of the door. It was time to move, although she had no clear idea how they were going to get out of the building. She motioned Stevens over to the private elevator. ‘Lead the way,’ she said.

  Minutes later the three of them stepped out of the elevator into the executive suite on the one hundredth floor of the Landers Building.

  Alyssa could scarcely believe her eyes as she gazed at oak flooring covered with rich wool rugs, mahogany-panelled walls hung with works of fine art, breathtakingly turned antique furniture – and this was just the foyer. There were private dining rooms, Stevens explained, a bar area with an entire wall of glass that looked out over the city, a library of rare first editions and antiquarian delights, kitchens and service rooms, and even bedrooms in case the valued executives needed to stay the night.

  Alyssa’s eyes strayed to one of the large windows in the foyer, but there was no view today; the hundredth floor was enveloped in low cloud, At least that meant there would be no threat of snipers.

  ‘That’s strange,’ Stevens said as he walked through the foyer, starting to check through the rooms. He had listened without interruption when Alyssa had explained what she knew about Spectrum Nine. She wasn’t sure if he believed all of it, but his manner had certainly become less antagonistic. And they had all heard the assault team blasting through his office door just seconds after the elevator started its ascent. It seemed clear that while Stevens might not be a primary target, his life was considered dispensable.

  ‘What’s strange?’ Jack asked, trailing after him.

  ‘There’s nobody here,’ Stevens answered.

  ‘Well, they probably went down in the other elevators when this whole thing started,’ Alyssa said, catching up with them in one of the private dining rooms.

  ‘Perhaps,’ Stevens said. ‘But where are the service staff? This area has over twenty people working here and they don’t have access to the private elevators.’ He grunted. ‘So there must be some other way out. Stands to reason really, though I’ve never considered it before.’

  Alyssa and Jack exchanged looks. ‘Maybe directly to the ground floor,’ Jack said hopefully.

  Stevens just shrugged his shoulders. ‘Maybe.’

  ‘Then what are we waiting for?’ Alyssa said. ‘Let’s go and find it.’

  ‘A private lounge?’ Santana exclaimed with barely concealed rage. ‘Why the hell didn’t we know about that before?’

  The cop before him just stared back, unfazed. ‘Who knows? SWAT just got here, remember? You’ve been on the scene for an hour already. Why didn’t you know about it before?’

  Santana wanted to punch the puke in the face, but thought better of it. Besides, the cop was probably right. He should have known about it. And yet the executive suite didn’t show up on any of the blueprints to the building, and nor did the private elevators which accessed it. There was just a big open space for the hundredth floor, labelled as still ‘under construction’.

  The SWAT team had placed explosive charges round the office door frame and smashed their way in with a battering ram, with little regard to the well-being of the bank’s vice president. Anderson had told Santana to get the job done, whatever it took. When they found the elevator at the back of the office, Santana had instructed one of his men to ask if any of the employees knew anything about it. One man had explained about the private lounge, and how there were three more elevators that accessed it.

  Now Santana snapped out orders to his men and the SWAT team, creating four assault sections, one to each of the elevators. They would time their arrivals to coincide, burst out into the lounge foyer and clear the floor one room at a time.

  Locking and loading their weapons, Santana and his section of eight men squeezed into the elevator and checked their watches.

  One minute and ten seconds left before they would set off into the kill zone.

  23

  ‘WELL, HERE IT is,’ Stevens called to the others, standing at a large concealed panel in the main kitchen, much like the panels that were used to disguise servants’ access corridors in the large houses of the past.

  ‘At least I think it is,’ he added. ‘There’s a control pad right next to it, the same as next to our own elevators.’ He sighed. ‘The trouble is, I have no idea what the code is.’

  Alyssa looked at Jack.

  He answered her unspoken question with a nod. ‘It’s going to take about ten minutes.’

  They heard a pinging sound from the foyer and raced back to check it out. The light had come on above all four private elevators.

  Alyssa turned to Stevens. ‘OK, think. Is there any other way out of here?’

  Stevens thought. ‘Well, there is one way,’ he said finally, ‘although I don’t know if it will do us any good.’

  Jack gripped him. ‘What is it?’ he demanded.

  ‘There.’ Stevens pointed towards another elevator door, positioned in a corner of the room behind a huge potted plant.

  ‘Why didn’t you mention it before?’ Alyssa asked as they raced towards it.

  ‘Because it doesn’t go down,’ Stevens said evenly. ‘It goes up. To the roof.’

  Santana re-checked his assault rifle, making certain the magazine was properly inserted and he had one round chambered, ready to go.

  They would be in the foyer in seconds, and he flicked the safety catch of his weapon to the ‘off’ position, watching as his men did the same. Drilled into keeping the weapon safe until a target was identified, the SWAT officers sharing the elevator with them decided to follow normal protocol with their own; but Santana was too far gone now to worry about protocol. The three people upstairs had to die, and they had to die the second those elevator doors opened.

  There would be no more mistakes, Santana promised himself as the elevator began to decelerate, weapon coming up to his shoulder as they came to a stop on the hundredth floor.

  The foyer’s fifth elevator, Stevens explained, was to access the building’s rooftop helipad. Stevens had to admit that there was no helicopter there at the moment, and he wouldn’t be able to fly it even if there was, but it was mutually decided that it was better to avoid the destruction that was about to be brought down upon the executive private lounge. They would keep heading up, until there was nowhere else to go.

  Stevens keyed in the code and the steel doors slid open. Stevens and Jack hurried inside. Alyssa, however, paused, her eyes drawn to the far side of the room.

  ‘What are you doing?’ yelled Jack, reaching out to yank her inside.

  She snatched her arm away, pointing to the bar in the far corner. ‘Is that a radio?’ she asked Stevens.

  ‘I don’t know,’ the big man snapped. ‘I suppose it could be, the staff use them. What does it matter? Get in the damned elevator!’

  Alyssa sprinted across the room. If she got that radio, they would be able to get a message out from the
roof. Radio communications were always possible; Anderson and his men wouldn’t have thought of this possibility, she was sure.

  ‘Come back!’ called Jack, but Alyssa ignored him. She grabbed the radio off the bar top and held it triumphantly aloft.

  And then the lights above the private elevators clicked off, the doors opened, and all hell broke loose.

  Santana saw Murray and a large, heavy man in a suit – presumably Ray Stevens – in another elevator across the foyer.

  As the flash-bang grenades went off, Santana opened fire at them, watching as they hunkered down and hit the elevator button. He cursed as the doors began to close, his bullets ricocheting off the metal surface, noticing Murray’s pained expression as he looked across the room towards . . .

  Alyssa Durham. She was running through the smoke as rounds from the rest of the assault team tore up the oak floor and wool carpet behind her, grabbing a bar stool as she went.

  Santana turned his own weapon towards her, watching in disbelief as she hurled the stool at the huge window on the eastern side of the building. The glass shattered and she followed the bar stool, throwing herself straight out of the window, one hundred storeys above the earth.

  Alyssa had placed the radio in her belt as she ran, and with both hands free, she swivelled in mid-air and grasped hold of the bottom window ledge. It was wide, made of rough concrete which gave her fingers purchase, but the wind at fourteen hundred feet was strong, threatening to rip her hands off the ledge and send her into the abyss below her.

  But the building did have a surprising amount of places where an experienced climber could place fingers and toes. Calming herself, she swung one leg up and levered her body up on to the ledge. She moved to the side of the window and pulled herself upright, fingers sunk deep into the half-inch gaps between the concrete blocks. She shut her mind to the fearsome wind and the freezing low-level cloud, and started to climb.

  Santana looked out of the window straight down, but he could see nothing. Then his peripheral vision caught movement to the left, and his rifle came out of the window at the same time as he saw Alyssa Durham’s leg pull round a concrete abutment to the side of the window ledge.