Shockwave

by Norm Applegate

  Chapter 52

  Agent Miller was in an ambulance. Paramedics had taken the injured out of the hotel. All except Miller went to hospital. He demanded to stay behind. His right leg was broken. Twisted, a compound fracture. The tibia had splintered and burst through the skin. A white jagged point of bone was exposed. The paramedics had cut away his pants from below the knee. They were wet, red, soaked. They’d lifted him onto a stretcher. Inserted an IV. He didn't feel the needle prick his skin. Moved him out of the lobby, out into the parking lot. In the ambulance, his face was cleaned. A three-inch gash on his right cheek would require stitches. His wife would later tell him he looked like a hero. One of the paramedics gave him a cell phone. Miller was still on the job.

  Jack Dwyer walked away from Miller. He left him on the floor. There was a noise behind him. He heard Miller moving.

  Dwyer turned around.

  "Get them, Jack," Miller said. "Whatever it takes."

  Miller was propped up on one elbow. Blood running from his face.

  Dwyer started at him for a beat. Then nodded.

  It reminded Dwyer of a war zone. A bombed out building. The war had come to America. He'd seen this in Afghanistan. He'd seen this in Bagdad. He was in Tampa.

  People were crying, moaning. Dwyer looked straight ahead. He knew better then to make eye contact. He knew what would happen if he did. He felt pain like everyone else. He would have to help. There was no time. He walked faster. Blocking them out. He saw someone reaching for him. He tightened his jaw. He was looking mean, hard eyes, killer's eyes. He moved past them.

  He saw a woman on the ground. Her face was gone. Reduced to red mush. She had been facing the bomb blast. The shockwave traveled up her body stripping skin and hair from her head.

  He saw another body slumped over some furniture. Still shaking. The nerves were still firing, spasm like.

  He was standing in the hallway by the elevators. Twisted steel, charred. The elevator was blown apart. Metal embedded in the wall. An elevator door was open. The light was on. It was working. If he was going to stop the bad guys, it was all about speed and how well trained he was. He was thinking, calculating the stairs or the elevator. Everyone knows not to take an elevator in an emergency. Could get trapped. But he was alone. Only he could stop Redell and Ore. It was all about speed. He had the training. He took the risk.

  He stepped into the elevator. The panel was lit up. He pressed the fourteenth floor. He heard it ding. The doors closed. He was moving. It made a screeching noise.

  Second floor.

  Dwyer pulled the Glock 22 caliber pistol out from its holster. It felt right, snug. Kind of heavy, comforting, heavy. He liked that about the Glock. One of the most important factors for him. He popped the magazine, loaded, fourteen rounds of revenge and one up the snout, fifteen. He knew its capabilities. If he could see the shot, the Glock would deliver. He slammed the magazine home.

  Fifth floor.

  He was thinking about Kelly Paul, the pretty woman. He stopped himself. It was dangerous to lose focus.

  Eighth floor.

  He was looking at the panel. Saw the light switch. He flicked it off. The abyss. It was black. He could hear his heartbeat. He was sweating.

  Tenth floor.

  His eyes were adjusting.

  Eleventh floor.

  He raised his shooting arm to shoulder height. Extended it. Leaned slightly forward. Opened his legs a bit. Strong shooting stance. Held the gun with both hands. Needed to control the recoil.

  Twelfth floor.

  He took a step back. Braced himself against the elevator wall. It was cold. He swallowed, cleared his throat. Wet his lips. Took a deep breath, held it for a beat and let it out slowly. He was calm.

  Thirteenth floor.

  He heard the ding. The doors opened.

  Dwyer stood still. Camouflaged in the darkness. He was listening. Tilted his head slightly just enough to direct his ear to the hallway. Maximum listen. Sound is a wavelength of energy. It travels through the air. The ear funnels the wave into the middle portion. Then it gets amplified. Dwyer didn't hear anything.

  He squeezed the pistol. Leaned toward the door. It started to close. He stepped forward, putting his foot against it, blocking it from closing. He listened harder, concentrating. Nothing.

  The gun was just right. Loaded, it weighed just over two pounds. Miller had given him a good handgun. Accurate up to fifty-five yards. Its five-by-seven inch pistol fit his grip.

  He eased the barrel out the door. Followed behind it and looked right, down the hallway. Then left. Nothing.

  Miller had picked up additional ammunition. It was in the knapsack. Extra magazines. But they had left them in the car. He had fifteen rounds. Not enough to go after two guys with pipe bombs and probably armed to the teeth. But he had his knife. A large Military Ka-Bar Black Tanto Knife with an eight-inch powder coated carbon steel blade.

  The elevators were in the middle of the hallway. Dwyer stepped out and placed his back flush to the wall. Tried to make himself as small as possible. Kind of difficult when you're over six foot and two hundred plus pounds.

  He was counting hotel rooms along the hallway.

  Four on each side, eight and eight behind him. Large rooms, most floors have twice as many. It was warm in the hall. Maybe the air-conditioning had shut down, maybe an emergency response to the explosion. He was sweating. Noticed it first on his palms, then his forehead. It felt cool. He took his right hand off the gun and wiped his head, wet. Brushed the back of his hand against his pants.

  He started down the hall. His breathing was under control, forcing his heart to beat steady. Not everyone could do that but he could. You listen to the beats, feel the rhythm, then think slow, almost like you're squeezing the heart to slow it down into a steady pace.

  He looked at the first two doors, closed. It's kind of tricky going down a hallway. You have look for movement at the same time you're looking left and right at the doors. It's like having one eye focused on the end of the hall and the other one studying the foreground. You're looking for shadows, grey moving to black, any change in light.

  At the same time you're doing all this, you have to be listening. The alarm was still going in the lobby. It resonated up the elevator shaft. The elevator doors closed. Metal doors scraping along a track. It seemed loud. Dwyer had never noticed that sound before, never needed to. He heard the humming of the motor releasing the cables so the elevator would move.

  He was at the first two doors. Looked down for shadows moving under the gap between the door and the floor, nothing. He looked at the peephole. No shadows, empty. Then he looked at the opposite door, clear. He stood still, listening. He moved ahead. It was maybe fifteen feet between doors. The floor was carpeted. He walked quiet, stealth like.

  A bright light flashed in the hallway about seventy feet ahead. Maybe the last room. It was just under the halfway point for accuracy. Dwyer calculated the distance. He figured he could make the shot if he had to.

  The sound of the door handle releasing echoed along the corridor, followed by the squeaking of the door opening.

  A voice sounded somewhere inside the room, whispering, preparing to step out.

  Chapter 53

  Dwyer looked down the barrel and held his breath. He backed into a doorway. It was about a foot deep, not much protection.

  The hotel door opened at the end of the hall and he heard Redell's voice.

  Dwyer braced himself against the wall. He figured the rooms were empty. Everyone must have evacuated after the bomb went off. The hallway was quiet, like the place was deserted. He stayed glued to the wall and waited.

  Seconds later he heard a noise. It was behind him.

  He realized he had walked into a classic trap. He didn't see it coming. Attack from in front, Redell. Someone approaching from behind, Major Ore, he thought. The elevator was behind him. He would be out in the open if he went for it. In addition, the doors had closed. It went back down to the lobby. If he made i
t to the elevator, he'd have to press the button. Squeeze against the doors. Wait for it to come back up. Thirteen floors, at least thirty-seconds. That's not a long time to do anything. But waiting to be killed, it's an eternity. If they heard him, they'd be shooting at him from two angles. What if the elevator never came back up? Firefighters could have disengaged it. He'd be trapped.

  Then there were the stairs. Two sets running the full height of the building. But they were at each end of the corridor, where the shooters were.

  The hotel rooms were empty. Which meant he had to think fast. If the shooting started nobody would come out to see what was going on. Nobody to be nosy. Breaking down a door just doesn't happen in real life.

  He looked behind; the door was opening. He could see light enter the corridor.

  He looked in front; the length of the hallway was dark until it lit up with Redell opening the door.

  Dwyer took off like a rocket. Running down the hallway, he raised his pistol. Redell heard something and stepped out into the line of fire.

  Dwyer opened up. Short bursts. Two at a time. He was running, trying to cover the distance between him and Redell before Ore had a chance to get a few rounds off. The closer he was to Redell the less likely Ore would shoot. He missed with the first shot. It was loud. Echoed in the hallway. He saw the bullet pop a hole in the wall. Two feet to the right of Redell's head. He used that to adjust his aim. He fired the second shot too fast. It missed, barely.

  He was straining to listen behind him. Expecting to hear gunfire from Ore.

  The handgun was bouncing as he ran. He kept track of the bullets he fired. He counted two.

  Redell looked shocked. Twisted toward the open doorway. Trying to get back inside.

  Dwyer aimed. Fired another burst. Saw a pink puff. Splatter hit the wall. He heard Redell yell. A shoulder wound, superficial. It hit Redell's left arm. Just below where the deltoid muscle inserts into the biceps. Tore a hole in his jacket. Dwyer saw the material open up. The shiny grey slug tore into his fat skin. It drilled a channel screwing its way through the arm. Ricocheted off bone. The bullet travelled vertical up his arm about two inches. Came out through his rear deltoid. Embedded in the drywall. That was the first shot.

  Redell banged into the doorframe.

  The second shot missed. He counted four.

  Dwyer flinched. He heard something zing past his ear. Then again. Two shots both missing. He spun around and unloaded four shots.

  He was running backward as he was shooting.

  Dwyer was counting, eight. More than half his ammo was gone. Seven shots left.

  Major Ore was in a shooting position. Down on one knee. Both hands on the gun. He flung himself forward. Laying flat on the carpet. Dwyer's bullets hit the window behind him smashing the glass into a billion fragments.

  Dwyer turned around. He was more than halfway down the corridor. Redell had disappeared. He'd fallen through the doorway. A big man down on the ground bleeding. Feeling pain.

  He felt it before he heard it. Ore had fired a single shot. Straight down the center of the hallway hitting Dwyer in the right forearm. He dropped the pistol. It hit the carpet. Dwyer saw it sliding past the open door where Redell was. He staggered and bounced off the wall. Kept his balance. If he fell he'd be dead. No gun, on the ground. Ore shooting at him, no chance of survival. His arm felt numb, tingling. Then he felt something wet running down his arm. Then pain, lots of pain. He was still on his feet running. Faster now, he had no gun.

  He ran past Redell's open door. Slammed into the wall. Bounced off it. Saw a flash from the other end of the corridor. Ore was shooting at him. He heard the slugs hitting all around him. He saw his gun. It was three feet away. He was standing. Knew he didn't have time to bend down and pick it up. He did the only thing he could think of.

  He tumbled into the room. Redell was on his back. A pool of blood beneath him. The carpet was wet. He was trying to raise his right arm, pointing the pistol at him. It was shaking. He was out of position.

  There's a lot that can be absorbed in a flash of a second. Dwyer saw the Minister, scared, pressed against the wall. He was to Dwyer's left. Looking shocked.

  Dwyer moved fast. He remembered his Karate training. Speed times mass equals power. He shifted his weight to his right side. Lifted his left leg. Pivoted. Threw a left roundhouse toward Redell. Like a baseball bat it cracked into Redell's forearm making an ugly sound. The gun flew out of his grip hitting the wall, hard.

  If Dwyer was to survive, he had to think fast. There were four problems to deal with.

  One, Major Ore was running down the corridor toward him. He had only fired a few shots. Dwyer knew his gun wasn't empty. He would be poking his head into the room any second.

  Two, the hotel room door was open. Dwyer was out of position. He couldn't close it and fight Redell at the same time.

  Three, Redell was a big man, powerful, mean, a killer, possibly insane. It would take everything he had to take him down.

  Four, if Dwyer was to solve the first three, they still had to get out of there alive. It meant rescuing the Minister, Benjamin Paul.

  Dwyer twisted left and faced the Minister.

  "Lock the door," he yelled. "Move."

  Dwyer twisted right. Brought his elbow up high. Flung his body down on top of Redell. Drove his elbow into Redell's eye socket. Karate training. The sharp pointed tip of his elbow struck first. Pain, cut, blood. Then the weight of his body slammed Redell.

  The Minister ran to the door. Three steps and he had his hand on it. He could hear Ore's breathing. He could hear his footsteps pounding down the hall. Ore was close.

  The Minister knew this was the defining moment, life or death. He put his weight behind the door and drove it shut. Two inches from closing, something happened. It stopped. Ore had managed to reach the door and jam his gun barrel into it. They struggled. The door opening a few inches. The Minister fought back. They went back and forth.

  Dwyer heard the scuffle behind him. Then the door slammed shut. The sound of the lock clicking was what he was listening for. Two problems solved. Two to deal with.

  Chapter 54

  Beau Redell was a tough man. Big by any standards. He wasn't about to let an elbow to his eyebrow, or a bullet wound stop him. He was fighting for his life. He bench pressed Dwyer and tossed him to the right. Redell was scrambling to get up. He moved fast for a big guy. Surprisingly fast for a big guy with a bullet wound to his shoulder. He was standing.

  Dwyer was facing him.

  Redell smiled and looked to his left. The gun was a few feet away.

  Dwyer smiled and pulled his knife.

  Redell said, "That butter knife ain't going to stop me kid."

  Dwyer said, "You sure?"

  They looked at each other.

  Redell made a fist. Two fists, they were huge. Big square blocks of fat and bone. His knuckles were white, his muscles tightened. He was just beyond arm reach from Dwyer, maybe seven feet. Behind Dwyer and to his left, the Minister squeezed into the corner of the room. There was banging and yelling out in the hallway. Major Ore was threatening the Minister.

  Redell said, "Put the knife away."

  Dwyer said, "Not going to happen."

  "You want to live?"

  "You want to die?" Dwyer responded.

  Dwyer looked at him.

  "You think you have the upper hand here, kid. Well, you don't. The Major is out there in the hallway right now either placing a pipe bomb against the door or deciding where to shoot. You think you're that tough? Make a move. Make a sound. See if he doesn't lodge one in your spine. Cripple you for life. You'll be crawling around like a worm. Useless in life, useless to women. Is that what you want? Eh kid?"

  Dwyer looked at him.

  "When I saw you looking at me at the farm … you know when I was getting in the ambulance. Oh you didn't think I saw you? We knew you were trouble. Saved the little lady. Followed her to the farm. Killed one of my men. We expected you to show up. Hero types like
you always do."

  "That's right Dwyer," Ore yelled through the door. "Make a move. I'll nail you."

  Dwyer looked at him. Didn't make a sound. Didn’t want to give away his position.

  Ore fired a shoot through the door. It was a metal door. They're not really metal, only the skin is. It covers a wooden frame, cheap wood. The bullet bore a hole clean through. Buried in the concrete beneath the carpet.

  Dwyer blinked. Stood still, didn't move.

  "Now put the knife down," Redell said. "Before you get hurt."

  There was an uncomfortable silence. Blood was running down Dwyer's right arm. The knife arm.

  The Minister did something nobody expected. He stepped in front of the door. His back against it.

  "Do it kid," he said. "Don't let them get away with this."

  Redell smiled and moved forward, closing the distance between him and Dwyer. He held his fists up high. His right by his chin, boxer style. The left, the wounded arm, down by his side. Kind of across his stomach. He looked like George Foreman, big, thick neck, mean.

  Dwyer held the knife in his right hand. Down by his leg.

  Redell was taller than Dwyer. Outweighed him by one hundred pounds. He was wider. Lots of area to hit with the blade.

  He threw a left jab. Dwyer arched back. Felt the breeze.

  Redell smiled.

  Dwyer was observant. He watched how Redell threw the punch. Watched how his eyes widened just before he lifted his arm up. Holding the left low is not a good idea unless you’re Tommy Hearns. You have to move up to shoulder height and fire it straight out. Two steps, slower than one step of snapping it straight out. When he dropped it, his arm went back over the stomach. Not straight back, but down at an angle. All slow movements. Amateurish. Plus he'd just had a bullet rip through his arm.

  Dwyer raised his arm. Held the knife waist high. The blade pointed at Redell's big belly.

  Redell looked at it. He wasn't smiling. Stepped forward; threw another jab. Dwyer saw it. He saw Redell wind up. Knew where he was going to land it. Dwyer moved to his right. The big meat of a fist went left.