The Emperor of Vegas

by Ryan Stygar

  “Lily, I want you to go inside that bedroom and close the door,” he said as calmly as he could.

  “What’s wrong?” Lily sputtered.

  “Nothing’s wrong baby, just do Daddy a favor and shut the door. I’ll get you in a minute.”

  “I don’t want to!”

  “Be a good girl and do what Daddy says. I’ll be right in.”

  Lily looked up at him, then to the pretty woman who had been holding her captive. After a few seconds, she turned, waddled inside the bedroom, and slowly closed the door as her father had asked.

  “Very good.” Viktoriya said. “I would hate for her to witness your head being blown away.”

  “There’s no need for this!” Adam said. In the reflection of the windows, he could see she was standing only four or five feet behind him with her pistol held up to his head.

  “Leave, Mr. Friend. If you really did as you were supposed to then the truth will soon be verified. If Watson and Jordan are truly dead, then you have no reason to worry.”

  “I poisoned Jordan’s steroids and he’ll be dead any day,” Adam said. To his left, just outside arm’s reach, a dinner plate sat atop the kitchen counter.

  “And what of his heir?”

  “I stabbed Watson Lafayette to death in Jordan’s nightclub.” Adam lied. “You have no reason to keep holding her here and you certainly have no more use for me, let me take my daughter home.”

  “And if tonight I discover that Watson and Jordan are both alive, how am I to hold you accountable?” Viktoriya took a step forward and pushed the barrel of her gun against Adam’s head. “You are going to get the fuck out of my suite, or else I’m going to shoot you and then force your daughter to clean up your brains from the carpet.” She gave him a forceful nudge with the gun. Adam turned slowly, appearing to comply, but he wasn’t about to walk away from Lily after getting so close to her. Turning to his left to get a clear look at the plate’s position, Adam waited for Viktoriya to take a step back to lead him out the door. The moment he felt the gun’s muzzle lift off his skin, he lunged for the plate. Viktoriya reacted with three ear-ringing shots as Adam grasped the plate like a Frisbee and hurled it at her face. The suddenness of his attack caught her by surprise and her shots missed.

  Gun blasts were cut off by a loud crack when the plate shattered against the side of her skull, splitting her skin open in a bloody gash. She dropped her her weapon. Wasting not a second of his brief advantage, Adam kicked Viktoriya in the belly to keep her down and then scooped up her gun from the floor. It was all over in less than three seconds, but the violence and the loudness was enough to cause Lily to bawl uncontrollably.

  “It’s ok Lily, Daddy’s here!” Adam called out as he opened the bedroom door. The tiny blonde had tears running down her cheeks. She threw her little arms around him.

  “What happened? What happened?” she repeated when she saw Viktoriya bleeding and writhing in pain on the floor.

  “Cover your face Lily!” Adam ordered as he picked her up in his arm. The toddler obediently tucked her face into her father’s neck as he leaped over Viktoriya to escape. “Hold on baby, we’re leaving!”

  Adam had just run out the door when he heard harsh male voices barking in rapid Russian from the next room over.

  He’d been through so much in the past few days that almost nothing could surprise him anymore. In his mind, whatever was about to come out that door was probably bad and probably trying to kill him. When the door clicked open, Adam squeezed off four shots long before his brain registered the fact that the man in the door was armed with an AKS-74U compact assault rifle. Furious Russian shouts bellowed from behind the door as their comrade fell to his knees, then slumped over dead on the floor.

  Poor Lily’s ears were stinging from the violent cracks of her father’s pistol. Terrified, she clutched Adam’s shirt into tight little balls in her palms. Everything around her was so loud, so violent, so scary.

  Adam held her tight. Spinning on his heel he ran as fast as he could down the hall while two red berets stormed out the door with their assault rifles raised high on their shoulders. The oldest of the pair, a dark-haired Russian with bushy black eyebrows, raised his weapon to fire. Every fiber in Adam’s body wanted to take cover, but he’d be pinned down and then shot like a fish in a barrel if he did. His only hope was to run.

  Fueled by an impossibly potent dose of adrenaline, Adam held his daughter like a large football with one arm and aimed his pistol behind his back with the other. Zig-zagging down the hall, he squeezed the trigger to keep the Russians back until the gun clicked empty.

  Tossing the spent weapon to the ground Adam barreled down the hall, hooked left toward the elevators, and then punched the “down” button. Every passing microsecond felt like an eternity as he watched the numbers above the doors track the ascent of the elevator to his floor. Heavy Russian boots were pounding closer and closer down the hall.

  For the love of God hurry up!

  There was an a electronic chime, and the doors split open. Adam dove inside the elevator to dodge a burst of automatic gunfire streaking toward him. He was smashing the “door close” button like a maniac even when the brass doors began to slide shut.

  “Come on! Come on!”

  A red beret reached the elevator and tried to pry the doors open. His and Adam’s eyes met just half a second before the hydraulic doors forced past his prying hands and locked shut. There was a rattle on the other side as the frustrated Spetsnaz fired half a dozen shots against the doors, but the reinforced steel safety barriers blocked the bullets. Tears of relief trickled from the corner of Adam’s eyes when he felt the elevator start its descent.

  Lily was crying uncontrollably.

  “It’s ok Lily, we’re okay. We’re gonna be okay.”

  They weren’t quite out of the woods yet, but he truly thought the worst was over. As the elevator approached the ground floor, there was no indication of the nightmare that was waiting for him in the lobby.

  63

  Fifty Feet above the Sumatra Hotel

  T he LVMPD pilot banked his helicopter toward the Sumatra Hotel and took another lap around the top of the tower. Looking down at the destruction caused by the first round of explosions, he knew that the window of opportunity for a safe extraction was rapidly closing. Fiery yellow embers swarmed up from the tower like a million fireflies. At the same time, flames lapped around the edges of Club Nariphon and spread to the planters. As the fire grew, so did the hellish red glow beneath the growing plumes of smoke. Keying his radio, the pilot hailed Sergeant Adrian Ramirez.

  “Eagle One to Zebra One, we’re running out of time if you still want to do an air-evac. What’s your situation?”

  There was a pause before his radio crackled in response. Ramirez, who was fighting his way through heavy smoke to guide his team up to the roof, was nearly breathless when he replied.

  “Zebra One to Eagle One – we’ve taken heavy casualties inside and I’ve ordered a withdrawal. We’re working our way up the stairwell but there’s heavy smoke and fire in here. What’s the situation outside?”

  “It’s not looking good, Zebra One.” the pilot said. “I’m seeing flames almost twenty feet tall coming from the windows and thick smoke pumping off the roof. If you can’t get up here in five minutes or less…”

  The pilot ended his transmission before finishing the grim thought.

  Inside the stairwell, Ramirez looked back to his team. Sweat was pouring from their faces and Adrian guessed that it must have been over one hundred and twenty degrees Fahrenheit where they stood.

  And it was growing hotter every second.

  Casualties in Las Vegas SWAT were rare, and every loss cut deep. Looking back at the broken remains of his team, guilt weighed heavily against Sergeant Ramirez.

  “Zebra One…?” the radio buzzed again.

  “I copy your last,” Ramirez said as he reached the final flight of stairs. “We’re almost out, prepare to evacuate three Zebras. I r
epeat, three Zebras.”

  The helicopter pilot felt his heart sink when he heard the number. Never in his ten year career had he picked up fewer SWAT officers than he’d deployed. Beneath the glass bubble of his cockpit, the Sumatra appeared like a burning spire from Hell; an evil place that had just consumed three noble officers’ lives.

  “I copy,” the pilot said after a long pause. “Three Zebras. Eagle One is descending now.” The pilot cranked his control stick downward to get as close to the burning tower as possible. “Eagle One to Zebra One, I’m ready for you, but the fire situation is getting worse.”

  “Almost there Eagle One!” Ramirez called into his mic.

  “Come on, hurry up Ramirez,” the pilot whispered to himself. As time went on he became increasingly worried about the structural integrity of the building beneath him. Ignoring a laundry list of safety protocols, he kept his chopper hovering just a few feet over the building to buy the team more time to reach him. The pilot shook his head.

  “Eagle One to Zebra One, be advised; you’re gonna have to jump aboard. I can’t risk adding more weight to the structure.”

  “Damn we are cutting this close!” Ramirez said. “Hold on Eagle One, we’re arriving at the top now!”

  Ramirez reached the top of the stairwell and threw open the door. With a loud whoosh the fire behind him sucked in a fresh gust of oxygen. Like a hungry beast the fire drank up the air and nearly doubled in size, causing coal-black smoke to belch out the doorway like a furnace as Ramirez and his team evacuated to the hovering chopper ahead of them.

  Ramirez had to shout to be heard over the helicopter’s thumping rotors. “Head’s down low! Zebra Six you’re first!”

  Ramirez and Zebra Five each grasped a side of Zebra Six’s ballistic vest to help hoist him up. The injured SWAT officer was nearly bucked from the hovering airship on the first few attempts, but the pilot was able to reach back from his seat and help pull him aboard.

  “Zebra Six is secure!” the pilot said. “Send your next!”

  “That’s you, Zebra Five,” Ramirez ordered. Without hesitating he began helping his subordinate officer up into the open cabin.

  Fire lit up the entire pool club now. Flames stretched high into the night sky and reflected against the waters of the rooftop pools. True to his nature, Ramirez ensured that he was not only the first to set foot on the Sumatra when the operation began, he was also the last to evacuate.

  “Zebra Five is secure!” the pilot announced. “Your turn, Zebra One.”

  Ramirez reached up and prepared to climb aboard. He had just grasped the hovering landing skids when a deep, woeful groan rippled across the deck beneath his feet.

  The pilot screamed through his headset.

  “Zebra One, you’ve got ground caving in behind you! Jump!”

  Ramirez tried to jump and pull himself aboard, but when he did, the ground just sunk beneath his heals like wet cardboard.

  “Shit!” Ramirez shouted as the ground beneath him crumbled away. Hot ashes burst out of the hole and burned his legs. He tried to leap again, but the ground collapsed entirely, opening into a twenty foot long chasm as the supporting beams caved in and the heavy decks of the pool club plummeted down to the floors below.

  It was like being trapped in a hot, smoldering avalanche as Ramirez fell away from the chopper.

  “No!” the pilot screamed. Narrowly avoiding disaster, he yanked back on his control stick to pull away from the devastation. The last thing the pilot saw was Ramirez plummeting into the smoky abyss below the roof.

  “Eagle One to Zebra One! Eagle One to Zebra One! Dammit Ramirez are you okay? Ramirez!”

  The calls went unanswered. The collapse destabilized the supporting structure beneath one of the pools, which buckled under its own weight and then broke in two. The destruction of the pool sent tens of thousands of gallons of water pouring down into the hole where Ramirez had fallen. Hot white steam shot up from the chasm as water met with flames.

  A string of swear words flew from the pilots lips. He couldn’t believe it. Ramirez was so close to making it out alive, so damned close. It wasn’t fair. He hated it. Cursing himself for not being able to do something, anything to help Ramirez, he throttled up his helicopter to pull away from the burning hotel. “Eagle One to command. I have two Zebras aboard. Zebra One is down, I repeat Zebra One is down.”

  Patricia Klein, who’d heard the entire gut-wrenching exchange over her radio, ordered the pilot to take the team back to the Federal Building. The situation in the Sumatra was becoming increasingly chaotic and yet Dimitri Jordan still managed to escape arrest. Klein wanted to bring him down, but the death toll was climbing too high. It would have been the bust of a century, but at what cost?

  Forcing away the urge to cry, she keyed her mic and ordered all DHS units to make an immediate withdrawal from the structure.

  “Rendezvous at the exits,” she added after radioing each team at the exit points. “Assist the fire department with evacuating civilians as much as possible. Primary objective is cancelled. I repeat, the primary objective is cancelled. I want a head count as soon as all our units are out safely.”

  

  Ramirez plummeted two full stories before landing on a king-sized bed in one of the Sumatra suites. Bouncing up from the bed springs like a child from a trampoline, Adrian flailed for a full second before crashing into a dresser on the other side of the hotel bedroom. Debris rained down on his head and he quickly dove out from under the chasm above him to avoid being struck by a collapsing steel I-beam.

  Hissing streams of water trickled down from the gaping hole in the ceiling. When Ramirez brushed himself off and looked up, he saw the glowing lights of the LVMPD helicopter bank left and then fade away, leaving him alone in the darkness. The fire department had arrived at the ground floor and, during their initial assessment of the building, killed the electronic fire alarm, but the bright white strobes still flashed and emergency lights glowed in the hallway outside. He guessed he was one or two levels below Dimitri Jordan’s private floor and he thanked his lucky stars that he wasn’t killed during the fall.

  Static blared out from his radio, which had been badly crushed when he fell through the roof. The radio’s transmission key made a hollow click when he pressed it but nothing more; Ramirez tossed the useless device to the ground and pulled out his flashlight.

  “Looks like I’m taking the long way home,” he muttered to himself. Following the strobes and emergency lights, he took off down the hall to begin his escape from the burning Sumatra

  .

  64

  “E xplosives are ready to detonate,” the Russian commando said. He placed the final detonation pin into the plastic explosives. The Semtex was positioned against the heavy steel beam which ran above the center of the stairwell; an explosion there would cripple the entire shaft. The first round of explosives had done much more damage to the structure than Lukas Petrov had initially predicted. primarily as a result of the massive inferno that was steadily consuming the entire top floor. A second round of blasts was certain to devastate the Sumatra Hotel.

  Smoke stung the back of Petrov’s throat and caused him to hack uncontrollably. He crouched low to escape the heat which was building in the room. He wanted to go after Jordan more than anything, but the fire was threatening to block off his escape. Dying in pursuit of revenge seemed like a noble idea, but in his gut Lukas had to admit he wasn’t willing to be burned alive. With a frown he keyed his throat mic to radio his hired helicopter pilot. “Explosives are planted, be ready for pickup in five.”

  “Lukas,” the pilot’s voice crackled over the radio. “The fire is too large now. There has been a partial collapse of the top floor and the crack is growing larger – evacuation by air is not possible!”

  “Damn,” Lukas whispered. Without air evacuation, their chances of escape were reduced from slim to nearly none. If SWAT officers were attacking from above, then there would surely be others guarding the exits down below.
It was SWAT strategy 101.

  Lukas’s mind raced and he ran through dozens of possible escape plans like a computer simulation. He then recalled that three Las Vegas SWAT officers were lying dead in Dimitri Jordan’s villa, and an idea flickered in his head.

  “What’s the effective range of our detonators?” Lukas asked.

  One of the red berets shook his head. “If we retreat downward then the radio signal won’t be able to penetrate to this floor from a safe range. We have to switch to a timer.”

  “How long will that take?”

  The Russian held up the palm-sized detonator in his hand. “I can program it right now and then leave the transmitter here. All it takes is the flip of a few switches.”

  “Can you lock out the timer?”

  “Negative; it’s programmed with a kill-switch to stop the countdown in case of an emergency. It is a safety feature and it cannot be overridden.”

  Lukas bit his lip. “I didn’t come hear merely to wound Dimitri Jordan, I want a dagger in his heart; the Sumatra must fall.” Lukas quickly calculated how much time he and his two surviving Spetsnaz commandos would need to reach the bottom floor. “We’ll have to cut it close to ensure that the explosives are not disabled by police or firefighters in our absence… set the timer for eighteen minutes. If we hurry then that gives us five minutes to change our clothes and then almost fifteen seconds per floor on our way down.”

  “Change our clothes?”

  Lukas nodded. “SWAT teams don’t send in an assault squad like the one we encountered unless they’ve already locked down the egress points. We will inevitably encounter others as we escape downward. Disguise and deception is our only hope.”

  “Until someone realizes we don’t speak English,” one said.

  “I’ll do the talking if anyone questions us.” Lukas replied with a nod. “The three of us will don the Las Vegas SWAT uniforms and run down the stairs as fast as possible. Once we reach the bottom level we will hide in plain sight until we can rendezvous with the others.”