The Prophecy paj-5

by Chris Kuzneski

  ‘Yeah, but—’

  Before Ulster could utter another word, Payne hustled back into the bar. The look on his face and the gun in his hand told them everything they needed to know.

  They had company.

  56

  Urban warfare is particularly tricky, especially in a delicate environment like a five-star hotel. Before the first trigger is pulled, the combatants have to decide whether their impending battle is more important than the collateral damage that is bound to occur. Not only to the artwork and the architecture, but to all the people who might get caught in the crossfire. Ideally, Payne would have preferred a gunfight in the mountains or a desolate stretch of desert where he could utilize his training and minimize civilian casualties. However, when the enemy initiates a fight, a soldier has no choice in the matter. The field of battle has already been determined. All that is left is to make the best of a bad situation.

  ‘How many?’ Jones demanded as he pulled his gun from his belt.

  Payne answered. ‘Four out front. Maybe more in the back. Didn’t have time to check.’

  ‘How do you want to play it?’

  He yanked Ulster from his chair and grabbed

  Jones said nothing as he hustled out of the room.

  Meanwhile, the people at the bar realized that something bad was about to happen. Payne sensed their emotion and did his best to quell the panic. ‘You, behind the counter.’

  The barkeeper froze. ‘Me?’

  ‘Call the cops and tell them armed gunmen are about to storm the hotel.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I’m a US soldier on vacation. My partner and I will stop the gunmen, but we need reinforcements. Got it?’

  The barkeeper nodded and picked up the phone.

  ‘White guy, green sweater,’ Payne said as he pointed at his own clothes. ‘My partner’s a black guy in a beige coat. Tell them not to shoot us.’

  He nodded again. ‘White in green… black in beige… got it!’

  ‘What do we do?’ said a middle-aged woman on a nearby stool.

  ‘Get behind the bar.’ Payne quickly scanned the room, calculating how much space the

  ‘What about us?’ Megan asked.

  Payne ignored her and focused on Ulster. ‘Where is Sotheby’s located?’

  ‘What?’ he asked, confused.

  ‘The auction house! Where are their offices in this hotel?’

  Ulster pointed towards the other side of the building where some of the most spectacular auctions in Europe had been held. Over the past few decades, Sotheby’s had sold the celebrated jewels of the Duchess of Windsor, the princely collection of Thun und Taxis of Germany, and a pear-shaped diamond weighing over 100 carats for $16.5 million. In addition, they also auctioned art masterpieces and a variety of precious collectibles.

  Payne asked, ‘Do they have a walk-in vault where they store their treasures?’

  Ulster nodded, too panicked to speak.

  ‘Listen to me,’ Payne growled as he grabbed him. ‘You got us into this mess, now you gotta get us out.’

  Ulster blinked a few times. ‘How?’

  ‘I can’t fight the bad guys if I’m worried about you and Megan, so you need to take her to

  Megan overheard the instructions. ‘But what if—’

  Payne cut her off. ‘No ifs! You got me? There are no ifs when I’m involved! I will come to the vault and get you. That’s a promise.’

  Jones warned everyone in the lobby of what was headed their way and then dashed up the nearest staircase. He exited on the third floor and positioned himself in the back right corner of the atrium, lying on the carpet near a marble banister. From there, he had a bird’s-eye view of everyone who entered the plush atrium. Grand columns supported the surrounding walkways. Marble busts and tiny figurines filled the alcoves. A circular fountain, lined with flowers, sat in the middle of the tiled floor. Like the calm before the storm, the soft trickling of water would soon be replaced with the echoing blasts of gunfire.

  Three days earlier, Jones would have displayed tactical restraint, refusing to fire until he had been fired upon. However, he had learned a lot about his enemy in the past seventy-two hours. They

  Two men with buzz cuts crept across the deserted vestibule. Both carried F2000 assault rifles, manufactured by Fabrique Nationale of Belgium. The weapon has a unique ejection system where spent casings are ejected at the front through a tube running alongside the barrel. Gasoperated, the F2000 was capable of firing 850 rounds per minute. In the right hands, it was the type of weapon that could bring down a herd of elephants.

  As soon as Jones saw it, he knew he wanted one for himself.

  Armed with nothing but a Sig Sauer handgun — their larger weapons were locked in the SUV — Jones waited until both thugs were within range. They split up as they inched round the circular fountain, but as soon as they reunited, Jones fired his weapon with two quick bursts. The first bullet penetrated one gunman’s throat, severing his carotid artery and nicking his spinal cord. He staggered back from the bullet’s impact, and as

  The other gunman was far more fortunate because the second bullet didn’t kill him. Instead it merely struck him in the right cheekbone with so much force that it snapped his optic nerve, blinding his right eye. In a wave of agony, he pulled the trigger of his F2000, sending a random burst of rounds from his barrel. Marble and tile exploded and tiny wisps of debris filled the air. But the blitzkrieg ended a few seconds later with a third bullet from Jones.

  And this time, his shot was lethal.

  Payne was positioned near the entrance to the L’Atrium Bar, waiting for Jones to eliminate the first wave of intruders. As soon as the second corpse hit the floor, Payne peeked round the column and tried to spot the next batch of gunmen. As far as he could tell, no one was coming.

  ‘Hold your fire!’ he yelled to Jones.

  Tentatively, he moved deeper into the atrium, trying to get a better view of the surrounding corridors that spread throughout the hotel like a tangle of veins. The building itself occupied half

  ‘Am I clear?’ he shouted.

  Jones scanned the terrain and saw nothing. ‘Clear!’

  ‘Coming out!’ Payne hustled across the lobby floor and ripped the F2000 from the dead man’s hands. He quickly searched the guy’s pockets and grabbed two thirty-round magazines. Suddenly, he felt a whole lot better about their predicament. ‘Incoming!’

  Jones stood from his perch, and Payne tossed him their bounty. The magazines went first, one after the other, and then Payne sent the rifle skyward. It weighed roughly ten pounds, so it took some effort to throw it to the third-floor balcony. Jones snagged it cleanly, and quickly scrambled towards the left corner of the atrium where he repositioned himself along the floor, just in case some unseen spotter had locked onto his previous location.

  While Jones scrambled into position, Payne dropped to the floor behind the fountain, hoping to buy a few seconds of cover. He was highly exposed in the centre of the atrium, but he knew

  ‘Come on,’ he mumbled to himself. ‘Hurry.’

  ‘Clear!’ Jones yelled as soon as he was settled.

  Without delay, Payne leapt into the bloody water and fished out the rifle and as much ammo as he could find. While Jones covered him from above, he stuffed the thirty-round magazines into his cargo pants, then climbed out of the fountain, dripping wet. He quickly scanned the ground floor, searching for shooters that Jones might not be able to see. As he did, he heard a door open near the front of the hotel, followed by an army of footsteps.

  ‘Shit,’ he cursed under his breath.

  Whoever was out there was coming en masse.

  57

  Payne had less than a second to decide his next move before he was spotted. If he sprinted across the lobby and sought cover behind the front desk, he would risk being detected and possibly shot from behind. His Kevlar vest might protect his torso — although that was questionable with their advanced weaponry — but his head and legs woul
d be fully exposed during his flight. Worse still, he would be pinned behind a counter with a limited view of the room and no exits. On the other hand, if he stayed in the atrium, he would be exposed from all angles (including above), yet he would have a full 360-degree field of fire. Plus his partner could cover him at all times; something he found very comforting.

  In his mind, it was an easy decision. He opted to stay and fight.

  Without delay, Payne dived into the bloody water and pulled the corpse on top of him. The carved stone fountain was nine feet in diameter with a water depth of two feet. The curved lip of

  The enemy poured into the hotel in groups of two and three. All of them white, all dressed in black. Ten soldiers in total, armed with an array of weapons manufactured by Fabrique Nationale de Herstal. A few handled tactical shotguns, but most carried pistols. Strategically speaking, it made a lot of sense. Too much firepower in an enclosed space was a dangerous combination. Send in the big guns first to clear the path, and then send in the precise weaponry to clean up the survivors. Of course, their plan would have been a lot more successful if their opponents hadn’t taken the F2000s before they had done any damage.

  Jones twisted the fire selector on his new rifle to the letter A, which stood for fully automatic fire. As he did, he realized that his weapon had been outfitted with a lightweight under-slung grenade Star Wars than an actual assault rifle, yet he quickly figured out its technology.

  The launcher was a single-shot pump-action weapon, capable of firing a standard low-velocity 40 x 46mm grenade. When loaded with a HELLHOUND — a round from the High Order Unbelievably Nasty Destructive series by Martin Electronics — the launcher could stop a moving truck from 100 yards away. Indoors it was even nastier. Loaded with more shrapnel and explosives than a standard ordnance, the HELLHOUND had a ten-metre kill radius.

  Grinning like a butcher’s dog, Jones eased the barrel of the F2000 between the slats of the balcony and aimed at the soldiers as they stormed through the main entrance of the hotel. Quickly, he glanced into the atrium. Payne was still in the water where he was shielded by the fountain and the first casualty. In a matter of seconds, Jones knew there would be several more.

  Although Payne’s rifle wasn’t equipped with a grenade launcher, he had spotted the modification

  Hotel architecture be damned.

  An ominous pop from above announced the impending firestorm. Taking no chances, Payne took a deep breath and slipped completely underwater, knowing how lethal a HELLHOUND could be. A half second later, the wrath of Lucifer erupted in the lobby of the Beau-Rivage. There was a burst of light followed by a wall of thunder that surged across the tiled floor and up through the atrium like a geyser. Water rippled all round Payne from the impact, and shrapnel soared overhead, cutting through the advancing horde like a firing squad.

  One moment they were charging forward, looking for potential victims. The next they were sprawled on the floor in various states of disrepair. Some were missing limbs; others were missing faces. More than half were missing a pulse.

  The four who survived scrambled for cover. One got behind some overturned furniture. Another staggered to his feet and hid behind a marble pillar in the left corner. The third crawled towards his pistol, which had been knocked free thwap-thwap-thwap of automatic fire echoed throughout the hotel. The bullets shredded the lobby floor, one after another, until the strafing eventually tore through the soldier’s gut and chest, ripping him open like a hungry wolf.

  The final soldier made the mistake of seeking cover next to the fountain. He was so focused on Jones that he neglected to see Payne easing his head out of the bloody water. From a crouch position, the soldier fired a few shots at the third-floor balcony. Although they missed their mark, they were close enough so Jones temporarily stopped shooting. Gaining confidence, the soldier took a step forward to improve his angle, and when he did, Payne pulled his trigger.

  From close range, automatic fire wasn’t necessary; in fact, it would have been a waste of ammo. A single round fired from an assault rifle was more than capable of killing a man, especially if it caught him under the chin. Thanks to Payne’s accuracy, he hit his target with precision, blowing his brains through the top of his skull.

  One of the other survivors — the soldier who had hustled behind the pillar — saw Payne in the water and tried to clip him from the side. He

  Ignoring the sting, Payne turned towards the line of fire and spotted the gunman by the column. Both men pulled their triggers at the exact same time, but there was a major difference in the outcome. A single bullet left the barrel of the soldier’s pistol while multiple rounds left Payne’s F2000. A moment later, the soldier was dropping to the floor in tatters, his body mangled by multiple hits, and Payne was thanking the Belgians for making such a quality rifle and for being such poor shots.

  The remaining soldier, who was cowering behind an overturned table, tossed his pistol forward and raised his hands above his head. ‘Don’t shoot!’ he begged.

  Jones readjusted his aim, waiting for the guy to do something stupid. ‘Jon?’

  Payne stayed in the fountain, not saying

  With his rifle pointing forward, Payne stepped out of the fountain and went across the lobby. Bodies and debris littered the floor. After kicking the pistol away, he dragged the lone survivor to the middle of the atrium where Jones could keep an eye on him.

  Payne growled, ‘If you move, you die. Understand?’

  The guy nodded, then laid on his stomach in a submissive position.

  ‘Is anyone else coming?’ Payne demanded.

  ‘No! I’m all that’s left!’

  ‘If you’re lying to me, I swear I’m gonna—’

  ‘I’m not lying!’ he screamed. ‘He only sent us! I swear to God he only sent us!’

  Payne dropped to one knee and put the rifle in the man’s face. ‘Who the fuck is he?’

  The man gulped, trying to decide whom he feared more: his boss or Payne.

  And Payne sensed the hesitation. ‘Righty or lefty?’

  ‘What?’ he asked, confused.

  Payne got closer. ‘Are you a righty or a lefty?’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘I don’t understand!’ he whimpered.

  Payne took a deep breath, annoyed. ‘I’m about to shoot off one of your fucking hands, and I’m willing to start with the hand you use less. So, which is it? Righty or lefty? Or do you want me to take a guess?’

  ‘François!’ the guy shouted. ‘François Dubois! He lives in Bruges!’

  Payne smirked. The ruse worked every time. ‘What was your mission?’

  ‘To kill you and your friends.’

  ‘What else?’ Payne demanded.

  ‘Nothing! That’s all we were supposed to do!’

  ‘What about the letter?’

  ‘What letter? I don’t know anything about a letter!’

  Payne stared at him. He seemed to be telling the truth. ‘Your only goal was to kill us?’

  ‘I don’t know what you did, but François wants you dead!’

  58

  Jones remained in his perch until he heard the squawking of police sirens in front of the Beau-Rivage. Only then was he willing to stand and survey the scene. The front half of the lobby had been heavily damaged by the HELLHOUND. Not quite obliterated — because it was still structurally sound — but several levels beyond scarred. It would take more than a paint crew to whip it back into shape. The same thing with the atrium. Everywhere he looked, Jones saw blood and bodies, not to mention dozens of bullet holes and a few stray limbs.

  Simply put, the housekeepers were going to be pissed.

  ‘Hey Jon,’ Jones called from above. ‘I don’t want to pay for this shit. Let’s blame the grenade on them.’

  Payne nodded and looked down at their prisoner. ‘You got that, Lefty?’

  ‘It was François!’ he shouted. ‘François did it!’

  ‘That’s the spirit. Keep saying that, and we’ll get along fine.’
<
br />   ‘Speaking of cops,’ Payne said, ‘we should have Nick back our story. Can I borrow your phone? Mine’s kind of wet.’

  Jones shook his head as the Geneva police stormed through the front entrance. ‘I’ll call Dial. You handle the cops. For some reason, they always blame the black guy.’

  Payne laughed. ‘In this case, they’d be right!’

  Jones ducked into the stairwell and went up to the fifth floor. He figured the higher he was in the hotel, the more time he’d have to make his call before the cops found him.

  Sitting in his office at Interpol, Dial answered on the third ring. He was pleasantly surprised to hear Jones’s voice. ‘It’s about time you guys called me at a decent hour. Did you finally figure out the time difference?’

  ‘Nope. We’re actually in Geneva.’

  ‘Switzerland? I thought you were in Philly.’

  ‘We were, until someone tried to kill us. So we snuck over here.’

  ‘Define snuck.’

  Dial sighed. ‘Fine. Then why are you calling?’

  ‘Why? Because they just attacked us again. And this time, we hit back.’

  ‘How hard?’

  Jones did the maths in his head. ‘Eleven dead, one captured.’

  ‘You killed eleven? Any civilians?’

  ‘None that I know of. But I haven’t checked the wreckage yet.’

  ‘Wreckage? What wreckage?’

  Jones didn’t want to lie to Dial about the grenade, so he skirted the question. ‘Let’s just say the Beau-Rivage is no longer a five-star hotel.’

  Dial took a deep breath and tried to remain calm, but it was tough since he knew he was about to be pulled into this mess. He just wasn’t sure how. ‘What do you want?’

  ‘Surprisingly, not much. Maybe a few kind words to the Swiss police if they don’t believe our story. Other than that, I think Petr Ulster will be the only character witness we need. He’s considered royalty in these parts.’

  ‘Petr was there? Is he all right?’