Frank and Marcus traversed the interior of the stadium slowly, following its curving nature to the south. Campanelli put his back to a dusty wall and paused for a moment. The moldy air was going to make him sneeze. He held up a finger to bring Marcus to a halt with him and shuffled through the images taken live from the camera drones.
Movement on one of them froze him in place. He studied it for a moment and sent the image link to his partner. The movement appeared to be on the upper levels, in the luxury suite sections of the structure. He ordered the drone operator to freeze in place and follow the movement.
“Campanelli to Frohm,” he composed, “Elliot is in the luxury suite section. Watch this shot from the camera drone.” He sent the message and turned to Marcus. “He’s upstairs.”
“Yeah,” Marcus agreed in a whisper. The both of them walked past a bank of elevators, one of which had its doors forced open at some point. He looked about for directions to the stairwell that would lead them there and found one. “This way.”
The two detectives rushed up the stairs, Marcus leading the way as he was far more prepared to do damage to the Marine FROG. Williams reached the lowest floor of the luxury boxes and halted before leaving the stairwell. In a moment, Frank joined him, and the two entered the sunlit corridor.
The wind had its way within the structure, as many windows had been broken out over the years. Still, a foul stench lay underneath the undulation of fresh air. Campanelli had known form the many reports of squatters on the premises, that many a crime had been committed in the old suites, and nearly as great a number of criminals had sought refuge here, not so much from police, but from rivals.
A squadron of gray pigeons took flight some distance ahead of them, having been disturbed by something. They burst from several of the suites and headed toward the stairwell from which the two men had entered.
Both men ducked as the flurry of winged vermin took a sharp turn as a unit and exited the premises through what had once been a window, now missing its pane of glass.
“Whew,” said Frank as he cautiously rose to his full height. “So, that’s what the smell is.”
Marcus nodded and covered the area ahead of them with his semi-automatic rifle. He was fairly certain that neither he nor Frank had upset the birds.
Campanelli gestured for his partner to cover the door as he stepped forward and peered into the first suite. The floor was littered with pieces of broken furniture, empty bottles, cans, and unidentifiable bits of fabric, amongst other trash. The suites were separated by wood paneled walls and a clear partition at the front that would allow patrons to see down the row of suites, partially into the others. Frank slowly stepped inside, trying to keep the sounds of his footsteps quiet. It was difficult, due to the debris that littered the remnants of the carpeting.
The sun filtered into the room through splatters of unidentified fluids that had been deposited on the main window which overlooked the field. His shoes crunched underneath him.
Campanelli made his way to the front of the suite and looked through the filthy partition that had once been completely transparent. Sadly, the parade of vandals and criminals had done various deeds to just about every suite’s partition, making it impossible to see very far.
Giving up that avenue, Frank headed back into the corridor and shrugged.
“We’re going to have to check each one,” he sent in an audible message. He turned and began to step to the next one.
“Frank,” Marcus whispered.
Campanelli looked quizzically back at his armored partner.
Marcus tapped his helmet then made a swiping motion across his throat. It was at this time that the Captain of Detectives realized that his message had not been sent. His implant could no longer see Williams’s, nor could it make contact with any other officers, for that matter.
“He’s jamming us,” Frank whispered harshly.
At that moment, a black blur crossed their field of vision and flew into an open elevator shaft. The object was large enough to be Elliot Three-Seven. Campanelli raced toward it, but was quickly overtaken by his faster partner.
Williams skidded to a stop and covered the open elevator with his rifle barrel. There was nothing but cables in the expanse, but they were swinging jerkily back and forth. Marcus stepped forward and glanced downward. He heard the noise of shoes and clothes sliding up a steel cable come from above him. Quickly, he exposed his head and looked up just as Three-Seven exited the shaft at the top floor.
“Damn that guy,” Marcus hissed and headed for another stairwell.
“Can you transmit?” Frank asked as he followed.
“Frohm, come in,” Williams attempted. In response, he heard only static and bits of words, unable even to identify the speaker. He turned to Frank and shook his head.
“Can his implant cook, too?” Campanelli muttered and cussed. Before he entered the stairwell, he called to his partner. “Marcus, hold on a sec.”
Williams nodded and waited with his rifle covering the steps. It would not be beyond the realm of possibility that Elliot would try to double back, right at them.
Frank jogged down the corridor, looking into each suite until he found one that appeared similar to the one that the spy drone was hovering near. Near the center of the level he saw it and slid across the smooth concrete floor. He ran inside and waved to the small flying robot with both arms for about five seconds. He watched as the camera swung onto him and appeared to focus on his movement.
Campanelli made the same gesture that Williams just had to indicate jammed communications. Then, he pointed up and mouthed the words, “Top floor.”
As the drone gained altitude, he turned and sprinted out of the suite, back up the corridor, and joined his partner in the stairwell.
“Let’s go,” Frank directed and explained what he had just done.
“That should do it,” Williams concurred and led the way.
Marcus could see that this stairwell was different from the others. It brought the two detectives to the center of a large room, certainly, one of the more expensive suites in its day. The wind whistled as it passed over his helmet. It was obvious that many of the large window panes had been destroyed. The wind did little to cure the stench that met their noses. It smelled as if many dozens of vandals had used the once dignified location as a toilet. The fact that the entire stadium had served as a body dump for a myriad of criminals did nothing to help.
The sun shone throughout the wide open space, as the entire east wall was made up of curved panes of thick glass, many of which had been shattered. With his head the only thing above floor level, he turned in place as he scanned the area for Elliot.
There was nothing but broken furniture and garbage, just like everywhere else. Miscellaneous trash fluttered upon otherwise vacant countertops. Drawers hung open like lifeless tongues and many cabinet doors swung at the wind’s mercy. They creaked and banged without rhythm.
Williams stepped onto the top floor and continued his sweeping of the area. He expected Three-Seven to pounce on them any second. Frank followed and stood nearby.
“Now what?” Marcus asked in a whisper. Annoyingly, his implant remained utterly useless for communication.
“We search,” Campanelli answered plainly, though his heart pounded in his chest. He increased his serotonin levels to steady his hands. He found the suite’s washroom and peeked inside. It reeked, but was empty. He pointed northward and Marcus moved that way with his assault weapon ready and level.
Around the corner they progressed and found nothing different in the next suite, though the big windows weren’t busted out. The wind flew past them from other gaps in the structure, however, rising from a whistle to a howl.
Frank tried reaching the SWAT team again with his implant, but it was still blocked. The FROG had to be close by. Watching their backs, Campanelli progressed into the suite with his back to the wall and cleared that washroom as well.
A loud banging came from the suite they had just
left and both men’s heads swung toward it. Frank looked through the open doorway and realized what it was.
He turned to Marcus. “Cabinet…look out!” he exclaimed as he lifted his handgun to the fast moving target.
Williams was in the middle of spinning around to meet the threat when a foot met him. Elliot had administered a flying kick that found the ex-SEAL’s dented helmet and sent him flying backward. He landed on his back and saw stars.
Frank was about to squeeze the trigger of his eleven-millimeter when the FROG dropped into a crouch and spun around with another outstretched foot. It struck Campanelli in his left calf and sent him to the floor as well.
Marcus could not focus his eyes for a moment, but he saw enough to understand that Elliot was rushing his way, bayonet in hand and lifted high. There was no time to aim the weapon. Instead, he chose to deflect the blade with it. As Three-Seven came down on him, he pushed with his right arm. The power of the AA-Suit came to his rescue, redirecting the triangular carbon fiber blade away from him. At the same time, the stock of the rifle struck Elliot in the cheek.
“Gawww!” Three-Seven shouted gutturally as he tumbled off of Williams.
Marcus rolled in the opposite direction and hopped up just as the FROG got to his feet. Before Williams could lift the barrel, he was on him again. The two entangled and spun. Even with the AA-Suit’s powerful leg actuators, Marcus could not gain footing on his attacker. Every time he regained balance, the FROG shifted his weight in a different direction.
Campanelli regained his feet and aimed his weapon, but Marcus and Elliot moved through the room furiously, spinning one way, then another in an unpredictable pattern. Shockingly, Williams was slammed against the cabinetry, splintering a large door and sending it to the carpet in pieces.
“Aww!” Williams yelled. He kneed Elliot in the crotch and, though it did hurt him, it failed to crumple him to the floor. Instead, the FROG pulled his right arm back and prepared to plunge the blade into his opponent’s chest armor.
Frank flew into action and ran around the back of Three-Seven and grabbed him by the forearm. He jammed the barrel of his pistol into the killer’s ribs.
“Drop it!” Frank shouted.
Elliot looked back at Frank as he held Marcus’s two powerfully augmented arms at bay. He smiled and thrust his right elbow backward, impacting Campanelli’s cheek and driving him back to the wall of glass, which let out the sound of a gunshot when its inner pane cracked. Stunned, he watched his fedora fall from the top of his head. Outside and below them was the peaked roof of Soldier Field’s Collonades. Once a beloved landmark, it was now a simple reminder of how serious their situation was.
“Nice to meet you in person, Detective Campanelli!” Elliot shouted over his shoulder. “Hope you enjoyed the ride over!” He crowed madly as he pulled and spun Marcus around to put him between himself and the dazed detective.
Seeing the opportunity, Williams thrust his right knee up again, striking the groin of Elliot Three-Seven for a second time. It was causing discomfort, but it seemed to only make the madman angry. His yellow eyes flared and he grinned evilly, showing his sharp, unnaturally perfect teeth.
“I think that will be enough,” Elliot seethed. He braced against the wood paneled partition, brought his legs up and pressed the policeman his implant identified as a Navy SEAL. Intrigued, he read on as he worked to disentangle himself from the man. In a moment, he got his wish and struck out with a powerful sidekick.
The next thing Williams knew, he was flying across the suite. He impacted hard against the cabinetry and landed in the sink. The world went dark for several seconds.
“So, this is your partner, Detective Williams,” Elliot said and grinned. He was breathing hard after tangling with the amplified muscular power of an already strong man, but he was recovering quickly.
Marcus’s head had cleared enough to see that Elliot had paused in his gloating, so he raised his weapon and squeezed the trigger. Nothing happened. He stared at Three-Seven with his eyes wide.
Elliot laughed crazily and waved the rifle’s magazine at the SEAL. “Feeling low, old man?”
Williams knew that a round was in the chamber. He noted that the safety had been engaged, but there was something odd about that, too, his mind registered, even as his fingers failed to budge it from its place.
Mad laughter filled the tattered suite. “I bent that up a bit. You might want to think of somethin’ else!”
Elliot turned in time to see Campanelli raising his gun. In a flash, Three-Seven spun into a low crouch, closed distance with the detective and kicked up, striking the man’s wrist and sending the pistol flying.
Infuriated, Frank reacted more quickly than the FROG would have dreamed, striking the killer’s face with a left palm, followed by a solid punch from his right. Already near the floor, the FROG rolled away and retook a defensive stance. Campanelli was on him immediately. Wrapping the fingers of his left hand around Elliot’s right wrist to keep the blade at bay, he struck out with his right fist yet again and connected. By the time he drew back it back for another strike, however, Frank was again thrown back against the glass wall by a straight kick.
Another loud crack reminded the Captain of Detectives that it was a way down to the Collonades.
Williams flew into the fight, swinging the disabled assault rifle. Elliot was fast enough to move his head out of the way, but not the rest of his body. He took the rifle butt in his left shoulder, but as he spun away with his right arm outstretched, the bayonet’s blade sliced Williams’s armor, creasing it at his lower right ribcage.
Marcus turned quickly to face Three-Seven once again, forced into ducking immediately away once more to keep from being skewered by the carbon fiber bayonet.
Elliot danced his way around Williams, kicked off the cabinetry and flew into Campanelli, who was bending to pick up his pistol. Frank was tackled into the opposite partition with a floor-jarring thud and slashed at with the bayonet as Three-Seven left them both behind.
“Frank!” Marcus shouted and scrambled to his fallen partner. He had seen the blade flick through the man’s black overcoat, lifting it from his body as the blade passed through his side, near his hip.
To Campanelli, the voice sounded far away and muffled. His head, neck, and back throbbed harshly, and his left side burned.
“Frank!” Marcus repeated and placed a hand on the older detective’s pale face. He looked into Campanelli’s unfocused eyes and saw that the blow against the wall may have been the more devastating injury. “Okay, don’t move, Frank. Hear me?”
“Get that son of a bitch!” Campanelli slurred.
“Yeah!” Marcus shouted and was on his feet, running after his suspect. He tried the helmet radio again and this time, there was chatter. In a moment, he realized why.
Elliot had been laying an ambush for Williams, when he himself was met with SWAT members entering from the staircase in the floor. He assaulted them immediately, disarming the first man he encountered and giving him a powerful sidekick.
The unfortunate police officer flew backward and through an already broken out window pane. Marcus broke into a run as his eyes followed the falling man until he could see him no more. His right hand fell to the holster on his hip and came away with his pistol. As he cycled the action, he watched Three-Seven rake the stairwell with rounds from the stolen officer’s assault weapon, forcing the other men back down.
At the corner of the wooden partition, Marcus came around, found Elliot, and began firing. Three-Seven saw his movement and reacted in a blur, rolling along the floor as he returned fire. Williams was forced to drop to cover behind the partition, but not in time to dodge a round to his right forearm. It struck the thick aluminum alloy actuator and fragmented, sending a piece of shrapnel into Marcus’s visor, where it lodged without harm.
Another SWAT member tossed a flash grenade out of the stairwell and onto the ruined carpet, landing not far from the FROG’s feet. Seeing this, Williams steeled himself fo
r the explosion.
In two seconds, the main room lit up with a loud report. The area filled with smoke and Marcus peered around the corner. Two SWAT members came up the steps, covering the area with their rifles.
As the wind carried the smoke from the room, Elliot Three-Seven was nowhere to be seen.
Williams stepped to the side of the SWAT member at the top of the stairs. It was Sergeant Frohm.
“Where the shit did that bastard go?” he grumbled over the static.
“Not sure…” Marcus began to reply. It was then his eyes found a possible escape route along with something moving at his extreme left. By the time he figured out that Three-Seven had escaped the central suite through a broken transparency which had once separated the suites at the field end, the FROG struck him with a sidekick.
Williams was thrust into Frohm and Frohm, in turn, tumbled into the next officer, sending the both of them down the steps.
Marcus was saved from following by Elliot, who pulled the big man toward him by the shoulder armor. With his other hand, he ripped the helmet off the ex-SEAL and struck him on the top of the head with it.
Sent to near unconsciousness, Williams reached out with his left arm and met Elliot’s throat with his open palm. He squeezed. The AA-Suit was without actuators in the hands beyond the wrist, so it was up to the SEAL’s powerful fingers.
In a flash, however, Three-Seven had Williams on the floor once again. Marcus saw the bayonet thrust coming and was forced to abandon the attempt at strangulation to keep from being pierced.
Three-Seven gave Williams a succession of left jabs to his head. Marcus tried desperately to block the assault, but was losing consciousness.
“I didn’t want to kill you, brother,” Elliot grunted out between strikes. “You’ve served your country with honor, but you pushed me.”
Marcus tried to assault the creature with profanity, but he had no words as his head took another punch. He heard gunshots from directly above him and, to his horror, noted that it was his own weapon. Elliot was keeping the other SWAT members from coming up the stairs.
Campanelli: Siege of the Nighthunter Page 20