Christmas Tango: A Soldiering On Novella

by Aislinn Kearns

  “We’ll figure it out,” Mandy told him firmly, anger flashing through her. A defeatist attitude wouldn’t help.

  The man scoffed. He looked like he would say more when a man over the other side of the room stood up. He was probably in his sixties, and had the arrogant bearing of a man well used to his privilege.

  “How do we know this isn’t some game and you’ll really do what you say?”

  The leader turned towards him, presenting his back to Mandy, a tautness to his posture that hadn’t been there before. He tilted his head, as if considering the man. Then, with a studied calmness, he pulled out the revolver at his hip and shot the man directly between his eyes.

  The body crumpled to the floor.

  The woman that had been sitting next to him let out a squeak and then slammed her mouth shut. The whole room went utterly still.

  She heard the long-suffering sigh from the leader all the way across the room. “Are there any more stupid questions?” he asked the room.

  No one was reckless enough to answer.

  Chapter 3

  Duncan flinched as the bullet tore through the man below. He’d found his way to one of the balconies on the upper floors where he now crouched so he could assess the situation from a safe vantage point. Unfortunately, the situation wasn’t a good one. Five Tangos, heavily armed with AR-15 assault rifles. Based on the firing pattern he’d heard earlier, he had to assume that the guns had been illegally modified to fire fully automatic rounds.

  Mandy was half-hidden from his view by the awkward angle of the balcony, but he could see enough to know she was alive. The flooding relief that filled him at the knowledge she was safe probably required closer examination at a time when the circumstances wasn’t so precarious.

  Provided they both got out of this situation alive.

  Duncan reached for his cell phone, intending to alert the authorities, but whispered a soft curse as he remembered the battery was dead. Maybe Mandy was right, and he needed to up his phone game. Not that he’d tell her that.

  He had to find a landline, but he was loath to leave Mandy. He needed to keep her in his line of sight. He couldn’t bear it if anything happened to her. She was his responsibility, after all.

  Shaking the sentimental thought from his mind, he pushed away from the balcony and crawled back the way he’d come. His leg already pained him from the jog up the stairs to the second floor and the uncomfortable position he’d just been in.

  He needed to focus on what was best for the mission, and the best thing he could do for Mandy and those people downstairs was to find a phone.

  He opened each door he came to. All appeared to be either empty or used for storage. He kept moving, methodical in his actions. He forced his mind to focus on the task ahead and not what might be happening to Mandy.

  Eventually he found a room with a desk. A good sign.

  He pushed into the room, not bothering to try the light switch, since the power was out in the whole building. Thankfully, the window allowed enough moonlight for him to make out vague shapes, and he spotted the landline phone easily enough. Perfect.

  He reached the desk and picked up the receiver. No dial tone. Shit. He knelt, wincing at the pain in his knee, and double checked that the cables were all plugged in. They were, which meant that these assholes had cut the phone lines to and from the building. They had definitely planned ahead.

  If he couldn’t call for help, that left it up to him to save these people and he had—he checked his watch—just over two hours to do it. Christ.

  He took a deep breath, calming his mind.

  First step would be to acquire a weapon. The only people that seemed to have any firepower were the bad guys, so he’d need to find a way to separate one from his gun.

  Duncan couldn’t take on the bad guys while they were around the hostages. He’d risk getting someone killed. So he had to do it away from the group. Only, the bad guys hadn’t split up yet.

  Once he had gun, he needed to figure out how best to use it. He couldn’t just fire indiscriminately at the men in the centre of the room. He’d hit a hostage. Or, worse, Mandy.

  He shook his head. Weapon first, then he’d figure out the rest.

  So far, he had the advantage, since as far as he knew, none of the bad guys were aware that he was here. He had to keep it that way, otherwise he would have used diversionary tactics—like a small fire or explosion away from the civilians—to draw the enemy out. But he couldn’t do that and keep his presence a secret.

  A noise sounded around the corner, just a light swish of air. But Duncan recognised that distinctive sound of a stealthy human approaching. He pressed himself against the wall, inches from the corner. He slowed his breathing and heart rate, listening for the perfect moment to make his attack.

  A tall, solid blond man came into view. Duncan held still. Going by the large assault rifle in his hands, he was definitely one of the guys Duncan was looking for. Fortuitous. Duncan waited until the man’s head turned back in his direction before he struck. He leapt forward before the man could turn fully around, one hand grasping the gun to keep it pointing forward, the other arm around the man’s throat.

  The guy was big, almost as big as Duncan. But Duncan had had the element of surprise. He locked his arm tighter around the man’s neck, holding him still while he tried to twist out of Duncan’s grip. The man twisted once, then again, and Duncan realised that he’d taken out a knife.

  Duncan let go of the gun and reached for the hand holding the knife, trying to keep the blade away from him. His other arm was still locked around the man’s neck. The man must be running out of air, but he was going down fighting. Duncan could admire that.

  The man flipped the knife unexpectedly. Duncan reached out to grab it, to push it away from him, but the angle meant that the only way to stop its descent into one of his vital areas was to close his hand around the blade. Duncan grunted, the shock of pain in his hand made him loosen his grip on the man’s neck.

  Duncan’s opponent pushed free and spun to face him, his chest heaving with gasping breaths. Duncan let him go, transferring the bloody knife to his right hand, gritting his teeth to suppress the pain in his left. At least now he had a weapon.

  He bared his teeth at the man as they faced each other, squaring off. The other man produced another knife out of thin air. Jesus. They stared each other down.

  “Come on,” Duncan whispered beneath his breath.

  They both launched at the same time, quick furious strokes of the blade in the other’s direction. They blocked and swiped, both evenly matched, never getting close.

  But Duncan was determined. He pushed forward aggressively. A risky move, but one that paid off. With a slashing cut, he managed to get a good blow to the man’s arm, loosening his grip on the blade. Duncan pressed his advantage with a few more darting strokes of the knife. Until, finally, he managed a clear shot to the man’s neck.

  Blood gushed out over the knife as the man collapsed, his eyes blank.

  Duncan worked quickly, tearing the man’s shirt up to clean up the dripping blood. He wanted minimal droplets on the faux-Persian carpet to disguise what had gone down. As soon as he’d staunched the flow of the blood he hauled the body over his shoulder and carried it into the office he’d come from. He dumped it behind the desk, out of sight of anyone that might peer into the room.

  His tuxedo was too restrictive for any further fighting, so he slid out of his jacket, bow tie—thank fuck—and his shirt. He folded his cummerbund in half and used it to wrap his still-bleeding palm. He hesitated over his dress shoes, but the need to be silent trumped protecting his feet and he slid them off. Now left in dress pants and an undershirt, Duncan felt far more like himself.

  He stripped the dead body of its gun and slung it over his own shoulder. He also collected the second knife, a walkie talkie, a spare clip for the automatic weapon, a cigarette lighter, and a few other odds and ends that might come in handy later. Then, he covered the dead man with
his tuxedo jacket, further hiding him. Mandy would kill him when she found out what her expensive custom-made tuxedo had been used for, but at least it gave him an excuse to never wear it again.

  With that, he was ready.

  One down, four to go.

  Chapter 4

  Panicked voices were crowding the ballroom, talking over one another to the point of incomprehensibility. A headache brewed just behind Mandy’s eyes. She had to calm the group down; otherwise, they might all get killed. The leader’s patience obviously wore thin, if his pacing and scowls were anything to go by.

  The irritable man in front of Mandy from before went to stand, obviously itching to join the argument, but Mandy grabbed his shoulder before he could get upright. “Be smart. Don’t get involved.”

  He turned towards her, fire flashing in his eyes. “Well, someone has to. Otherwise we’ll all still be arguing when the clock runs out.”

  He had a point. Someone had to take the lead, make the decisions.

  She looked him dead in the eye. “Let it be me.”

  The man hesitated, torn. Eventually his common sense won out over his desire to join the fray.

  “Good luck,” he told her with a nod. She swallowed. Why had she agreed to do this?

  Mandy pushed to her feet. She drew in a deep breath, wrapping her confidence around her like a cloak. “Enough!” she yelled, somehow loud enough to silence them all. Everyone turned to look at her in unison. A pin could have dropped in that room and been heard by each person there.

  She took a deep breath and pasted on her most confident smile. “Here’s what we are going to do. I have some pen and paper in my bag. I’m going to go around to each person, and privately hear the amount of money they can afford to contribute to the pot. I will ask people to be generous, since we all know the total we need to reach. Once I speak to everyone, I will count the numbers. If we have enough, we will get started on proceedings. If not, then I will come back to you all, one by one, and ask you to revise your offer until we have the correct amount.”

  A man in his sixties, with the bearing of an upstart king, took a few steps towards her. “Who put you in charge?”

  Mandy smiled at him. “As my friend here rightly pointed out, we could be arguing for hours. I, for one, don’t want to still be squabbling over a few dollars each when that timer runs out in,” she checked her watch, “one hour and forty-five minutes.”

  “And why should we trust you with our personal finances?” a woman asked from across the room. Mandy turned towards her.

  “I am the Chief Financial Officer of my company. I’m good with numbers and discreet. If you would rather nominate someone else, then that’s fine. But somebody has to take the lead on this.”

  The woman’s eyes darted around the room, eventually settling back on Mandy. She shook her head, almost imperceptible in the dull moonlight.

  The mood of the crowd shifted to one of acceptance. Mandy grabbed her clutch bag and dug out the small notepad and pen she kept there. Never knew when someone would want to give her their phone number for networking.

  She began to work the room, talking to each person individually and asking them to name a number. It was a long shot, but she had to try, even if this just kept the hostages calm, feeling like they were doing something.

  Most people wrote comparatively low numbers, a few hundred thousand at most. Though a few people, more panicked and desperate, with wide eyes, gave higher amounts in the millions.

  Clark and Loretta didn’t offer much, only apologetic smiles. The man that had been sitting in front of her could only promise a hundred thousand. She tried to keep her surprise off her face, but he must have seen something.

  “It’s all I can spare.”

  Mandy nodded and moved to stand but he gripped her arm. He leaned forward, lowering his voice. “We aren’t going to make it to a hundred million. Not this quickly.”

  Mandy didn’t contradict him, just gazed at him steadily and let him finish.

  “We need to figure another way out of this.”

  “I know,” she replied. “I’m buying some time and keeping everyone calm. You keep thinking of ways out.”

  The two shared a look of understanding, and Mandy got to her feet.

  As she made her way around the room, Mandy was careful to keep the leader in her sights. He watched her, dark eyes following her around the room. Whatever he was thinking, he kept it from his expression.

  The catering staff and a few other people that clearly weren’t guests were huddled together at the back of the room. Mandy knelt in front of them, prepared to tell them that she didn’t expect anything from them.

  “I’m a college student,” said one young guy before she could get a word out. “I don’t have one dollar to spare, let alone a million.”

  A few of the others nodded, looking at her with wide, fearful eyes.

  “It’s alright. We’ll get out of this. I promise.” She tried to give them a reassuring smile, then cleared her throat. “If, however, any of you are secret millionaires, now would be a good time to let that cat out of the bag.”

  She shrugged apologetically when no one laughed at her pathetic attempt at a joke.

  “I better write your names down, just in case. I’m trying to get an accurate number of how many people are here.”

  There were ten of them in all. Eight wait staff, and two people who turned out to be the owner of the building and the party planner. The college kid who’d spoken first was called Jerry, and the pretty girl sitting next to him was his girlfriend, Paula. Their hands were gripped together tightly, and Mandy briefly wished for someone to comfort her, too.

  Manuel, the owner, leaned forward and gripped Mandy’s hand, so hard she could feel the bones crack. “Why did this have to happen? I’m not yet finished renovating for my children. This place is their inheritance. And now bullets are destroying it.” Tear shone in his eyes, devastation not for him, but for those he cared about.

  Jenny, the party planner, put a comforting arm around his shoulder. “It’ll be alright, I promise. We just have to follow all their instructions and they’ll spare us. You’ll get home to your kids. They’ll have their father on Christmas day.”

  Mandy said goodbye and left them to comfort each other, moving through the room. She pitied that group most of all, swept up in something far beyond their control and no means to get out. Their fate entirely rested on the choices of the wealthy people in the room.

  She spotted Charles in the crowd and made her way over to him.

  “How are you doing?” she asked, as she crouched in front of him.

  “This is a disaster,” he hissed.

  “We’ll be okay,” she reassured him, almost automatically.

  He glared at her. His hair was a mess, as if he’d run his hands through it in stress. He’d untied his cravat, and was sitting on his crumpled tuxedo jacket. Given that his usual look was one of polished perfection, this was the first time Mandy had seen the cracks in his façade.

  “At this point I don’t care if we get out of this mess alive.” There was a desperation in his eyes.

  Mandy tightened her hand around her pen. “What?”

  “I needed this auction to go off without a hitch.”

  “You can reschedule. It was a nice thought to raise money for the children’s hospital at Christmas, but there will be other opportunities.”

  “You don’t get it,” Charles spat, disgust clear.

  “Fine,” Mandy said, not going to waste more time on him. An itch at the back of her neck told her that the leader was staring at her, no doubt wondering why she was taking so long.

  “How much can you offer?” Mandy asked. “As much as you can spare, please.”

  Charles stared at her for a long moment. Her pen was poised, waiting.

  “Two dollars,” he said eventually. Mandy went to write, then paused.

  “Two hundred thousand?” she asked.

  “No.” Charles didn’t elaborate further.


  “Charles, if you don’t have any money, how could you have possibly thrown this party?” Hot anger crept over her at the man’s selfishness. He was one of the richest men in the country, and he wouldn’t even part with his money to save lives—including his own.

  He leaned forward, glancing left and right to see if his neighbours were listening. “You’re looking at the last of my money.”

  Mandy blinked. “You’re broke.” She’d never suspected a thing. “And you used the last of your money to throw a charity auction for a children’s hospital?” Maybe Charles wasn’t as awful as she’d thought.

  “Something like that,” he muttered. His eyes slid away from hers.

  “Charles,” Mandy began, horrible suspicion creeping over her. “You were going to give the money to the children’s hospital, weren’t you?”

  Before he could answer, the leader yelled behind her. But the look in Charles’ eyes gave her an answer.

  “What are you two talking about?” the leader asked.

  Mandy stood, and swivelled. Her legs wobbled alarmingly at the sight of the leader hefting his weapon in intimidation. “We’re old friends. I was just making sure he was okay,” she told him.

  “Better get a move on,” he told her. He smiled, but it wasn’t a nice smile. “Time’s running out.”

  Mandy shivered and nodded. She continued on until she reached the last person and took his details. Then, every gaze in the room on her, she began to count. It was tough without a calculator, but she kept copious notes. Eyes followed her every move, so she wandered further away in case they distracted her.

  “Stay here!” a voice barked. Mandy jumped, her heart in her throat. She slowly turned towards the leader. His frown was thunderous as he strode towards her. She hadn’t realised that she’d been moving out the door. She’d been concentrating on the numbers.

  He stopped inches from her, crowding her personal space. Threatening.

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered. Then, she cleared her throat and tried again, louder. “I’m sorry. I just need to concentrate. Unless you have a calculator?”