“Fire! Fire!” came a moment later from Mazzie, followed by the distinct snap of a suppressed weapon outside the office. Moving simultaneously, they extended their weapons through the doorway—Decker’s compact HK416 high, Pam’s Mossberg 930 SPX low. Three rapid, earsplitting explosions from the semiautomatic shotgun drowned out the six five-point-five-six-millimeter bullets fired from his rifle.
They both dropped flat on their stomachs after shooting.
“Two targets down!” said Mazzie.
Decker immediately shifted his rifle’s aim to the stairwell entrance. Just as the red holographic reticle settled on the opening, two hostiles charged through, firing suppressed weapons on automatic. As bullets snapped through the air above him and pounded the doorframe, Decker pressed his trigger repeatedly until both targets crumpled to the floor.
“Mazzie! I need you to check the two in the middle of the hallway,” said Decker.
Her drone zipped across the lobby and hovered directly over the bodies.
“The one closest to the elevator! He’s still—”
Before Mazzie could finish, Decker adjusted his aim and fired twice at the man’s exposed head, splattering the wall next to him with blood. Pam was up and through the door in a flash, forcing him to scramble after her. He peeled left to check his first target, finding a very dead man slumped against the wall next to the door. Not bad for six blind shots.
At least three of the six bullets he’d fired had struck home. One of them had punched through the bridge of the guy’s nose. A quick glance over his shoulder revealed an even more gruesome scene. Pam’s target had taken a blast directly to the face, erasing most of it.
He could hardly believe their luck. Four down in the first engagement. Only five to go inside the building, assuming APEX didn’t bring in more people once they took over the cameras. It was probably better to keep that thought to himself right now. Speaking of the cameras—he snapped off a quick shot at the small black reflective dome in the ceiling by the elevator door, instantly shattering it.
“Good call,” said Pam.
“Make sure we hit the building-controlled cameras in the stairwell,” said Decker, before motioning for Harlow to bring everyone else forward.
He stopped them at the door.
“Keep a tight formation without falling over each other. And don’t look to your left or right when stepping through this door. It’s not a pretty sight,” said Decker. “Josh. Any movement on the stairs?”
“No. But I located a team in the parking garage. Two, possibly three, hostiles hiding inside a vehicle with clear lines of fire to the elevator and stairwell doors.”
“Not a problem,” said Decker.
“Plus the team on the second floor somewhere,” said Harlow.
“I have a plan for that, too.”
“I’m starting to think that’s your new answer to everything,” said Harlow.
“Me too,” said Pam.
“Me three,” mumbled Katie.
“That’s part of the plan, too,” said Decker, stepping off. “Stay close.”
They didn’t get far before someone started retching. Dry heaves from the sound of it.
“Someone looked,” said Harlow.
Through a sputtering cough, Sophie responded. “Most of his head was missing.”
“Do I need to say it?” said Decker.
“No,” said Harlow.
“What?” asked Katie, taking the bait.
“Decker—” started Harlow.
“I gave her the heads-up,” he said.
Pam stifled a laugh, followed by Katie.
“That was a good one,” said Sandra.
“I’ll be performing here all week,” said Decker, focused on the stairwell door as they walked across the elevator lobby.
He halted them next to the door.
“Mazzie. You’re up,” said Decker. “Full stairwell sweep.”
“Got it,” she said.
Decker opened the door far enough to let the drone through before pulling it shut. Several seconds later, Mazzie confirmed what Joshua’s camera network told him. The stairwell was clear on all levels. So far, so good.
“I want two weapons covering the stairwell doors at all times,” said Decker. “Talk to each other.”
After they murmured agreement, he led them into the fluorescent-lit stairwell, shooting out the camera on the third-floor landing the moment he stepped through the door. Two reciprocal sets of concrete stairs led to the second-floor landing. Decker paused the group on the first set, just out of sight of the landing, before firing a single bullet through the camera above the door. He waited for a response, not at all surprised when no attack materialized.
“Katie. Can you hand Pam one of the flash bangs?”
“Sure thing,” she said, digging into her satchel.
Once the flash bang was in Pam’s hand, he let everyone in on the plan.
“Did you just make that up?” asked Pam.
“Pretty much,” he said, before slipping around the corner.
Decker and Pam pressed against the stairwell’s outside wall and quietly made their way to the landing, where he knelt about six inches back from the door. A quick nod to Pam set things into action. Pam pulled the pin on the flash bang grenade and released the spoon.
When the plastic handle clattered to the concrete, Decker jerked the door open far enough for Pam to toss the flash bang through. When the grenade vanished, he slammed it shut and lay flat on the polished concrete floor, his body jammed against the door. He was instantly rewarded with several repeated attempts to push the door inward. Panic.
Decker held firm—his one-hundred-eighty-pound, body armor–encased frame keeping the door in place—even as a burst of several bullets punched through the metal a few feet above him. A second round of bullets immediately followed the first, striking much lower, the closest hole just inches from his head. He’d just started to rethink his plan when the flash bang detonated, putting a sudden end to the struggle coming from the other side.
“Open. Open!” yelled Pam, already on her feet.
Decker pulled the heavy door inward, clearing the way for Pam, who crouched in the opening and fired her shotgun twice in rapid succession.
“They’re done,” she said, starting down the stairs.
“Hold up,” said Decker. “Mazzie. I need the drone.”
“We need to speed this up, Decker,” said Pam, taking the moment to reload her shotgun. “The police will be here any minute—complicating matters.”
“Not to mention more APEX reinforcements,” said Harlow.
“I haven’t forgotten that we’re on a timeline. It’s just that we know this floor is most likely clear of hostiles,” said Decker. “And my plan kind of involves the elevator.”
“The elevator?” said Pam. “Are you kidding me?”
“I’m not getting cornered in an elevator,” said Katie.
Harlow just gave him that look—and slowly shook her head.
“Just hear me out,” said Decker.
Pam aimed her shotgun down the stairs. “Please make this quick.”
“We catch them in a cross fire—split their attention and firepower. It’s the only way this works,” said Decker. “I’ll ride the elevator down from this floor when everyone is in position on the parking garage level. Josh. Do you still have eyes on the three hostiles waiting for us?”
“Yes. Same vehicle. A black Mercedes SUV. G-Class. Eleven o’clock position, if twelve is looking straight out of the elevator. Can’t miss it.”
“The same could be said of the elevator,” said Harlow. “Are you sure about this?”
“I don’t see another way to do this,” said Decker. “We can’t walk out the front door. We need to be in vehicles, racing away from here in the next few minutes. They’ll pick us off one by one if we try to leave on foot.”
“Then let’s get this over with,” said Pam, starting down the stairs. “I’ll text you when we’re in position.”
/>
Decker nodded. “Don’t open the stairwell door until I’ve emptied at least half of my first magazine. Then let ’em have it with the shotgun and the two Scorpions. Empty your weapons. I’ll be back up and shooting before you finish. Watch for my hand signals after that.”
Harlow gave him a quick kiss on her way past. “Don’t do anything stupid.”
“I’m not making any promises,” said Decker.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Brooklyn kept Riley close as they dashed through the last stretch of hallway toward the bank of doors at the opposite end of the school. Thanks to a series of creative shortcuts identified by Riley from the very start of their unauthorized journey, they’d managed to bypass any Crossmount security officers. The last thing Brooklyn needed right now was a pointless confrontation that would cost her precious time and—more importantly—her pistol.
“How far away are your grandparents?” she asked.
Riley relayed the question over her phone, coming back with an answer right away. “Three minutes. They’re halfway through the UCLA campus, on Gayley Avenue.”
“Remind them of the pickup location,” said Brooklyn.
“They know where to go,” said Riley.
“Please remind them,” she said. “We’ll only get one shot at this.”
“The pickup is on Charles E. Young, somewhere just past the Westwood Plaza intersection. After the athletic fields,” said Riley. “We’ll flag you down.”
The door loomed dead ahead. Brooklyn placed her shooting hand inside her bag and gripped the Sig Sauer P320 XCompact—just in case APEX had already figured out they had made a run for it.
“Ms. Cohen! Ms. Decker!”
The familiar Scottish accent originated behind them. Riley slowed, but Brooklyn pressed forward without looking back. Murray McDonald, the school’s head of security, would undoubtedly hold them up.
“Ms. Cohen!”
“Keep going,” she said. “We’re almost out of here.”
She pulled Riley along, entirely absorbed with the job Decker had entrusted her to execute. Less than twenty feet to go and she could focus on the next obstacle.
“Ms. Cohen! The least you could do is afford me the courtesy of your attention for a moment!”
Dammit. The accent made his request sound infinitely more reasonable than she knew it to be. Brooklyn stopped just short of the door to face McDonald.
“Quickly. Please,” said Brooklyn. “I’m dealing with a time-sensitive matter.”
“I figured that to be the case, which is why I arranged for you and Ms. Decker to arrive here unmolested,” he said. “So that I could have a word with you.”
“I’m walking through that door in five seconds,” said Brooklyn.
“Right. I need to know if the threat to which you’ve responded extends to any other students. In other words—”
“The threat is limited to Ms. Decker,” said Brooklyn. “Though I’d strongly suggest you take a very close look at anyone on your staff or the school’s who could grant vehicle access to the secure parking lot. My intelligence strongly indicates that they are not working in the best interests of the students you are charged to protect. Ergo—my unauthorized transit through the school.”
“Understood,” said McDonald. “Shall I summon the police?”
Brooklyn removed the pistol from her bag. “That’ll only complicate matters.”
McDonald raised an eyebrow. “Godspeed to the both of you.”
“You might want to move the students and staff away from any windows facing Sunset Boulevard,” said Brooklyn. “Just in case.”
“How long do I have?” said McDonald.
Brooklyn raised the phone in her other hand and pressed “Send” on a text she had already composed.
“Not long,” she said, before bolting through the door marked EXIT, with Riley in tow.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Avi Stern studied the hostile black Suburban from his new position closer to the school guard’s shack. The four operatives appeared to be caught up in an animated argument. No doubt debating what to make of Brooklyn’s conspicuously long absence. If they made any attempt to leave the parking lot before she contacted him, he’d put his plan into motion.
Given the elapsed time, he wondered if she’d managed to sneak away unobserved. For her sake, he hoped that was the case, even if a part of him wished the bastards in the Suburban would give him the opportunity to do something more than sit on his ever-expanding ass and collect a so-so paycheck.
Crossmount parents paved their prodigies’ paths forward with gold bricks but tended to skimp on the less cosmetic aspects of the “keeping up with the Joneses” stuff. He was underpaid and generally treated like shit by his principal. Avi couldn’t say the same about the kids’ parents. He’d never met any of them, which spoke volumes about the value they placed on his job. Not that they were wrong. Until just a few minutes ago, he’d felt the same way. He’d been convinced that not a single kid at the school required a bodyguard and that his job was entirely pointless—reflecting the harsh reality of his newly formed life in America. Now he wasn’t so sure.
His dashboard LCD screen displayed the text he’d been waiting for.
On the move. U better make this worth dinner.
“It’ll be worth it,” he muttered, shifting the SUV into drive.
Stern’s armored Lincoln Navigator lurched forward, closing the distance to the parking lot control point within seconds. A quick glance in the rearview mirror confirmed that he’d made the right decision to change positions in the parking lot. The black Suburban quickly closed the distance, headlights flashing to urge him out of the way.
He drove past the guard shack, nodding at the retired police officer who checked his ID every day, and immediately turned left—effectively blocking both the inbound and outbound lanes. Avi briefly considered abandoning the vehicle and clearing the area but decided he would be safer inside the Navigator. As soon as he screeched to a stop, the guard rushed out of the shack.
Avi opened his window. “Get in the back seat or the men in that Suburban will kill you!”
Incredibly, the guard didn’t hesitate. He bolted for the rear driver’s-side door and piled inside. With the window on its way back up, Avi drew the pistol from his shoulder holster and discreetly aimed it through the front seats—just in case the man was allied with the Suburban’s occupants.
“Friends of yours?”
“Are you shitting me? McDonald told me to wave that truck through. I didn’t know it was carrying a Marine fire team,” said the guard. “Is this thing armored?”
“It can withstand a fifty-caliber hit or two,” said Avi.
He sent a quick text to Brooklyn, using the SUV’s touch screen. Block in place. MCDONALD DIRTY. You owe me dinner. Movement to the left, in the outbound lane, drew his immediate attention.
“Hang on,” said Avi, shifting into park.
“What do you—”
The SUV shuddered, knocked a few feet sideways by the Suburban, which had picked up speed passing the guard shack—but not enough to dislodge his vehicle from its blocking position. Nothing short of a bulldozer could get through this choke point with Avi’s Navigator locked into place. Bullets cracked against the driver’s-side windows a few seconds later, the volume and caliber posing no immediate threat.
“We need to get moving!” said the guard.
“They’re not after us,” said Avi, dialing 911 against Brooklyn’s wishes.
By the time police units responded, she would either be long gone—or dead. Regardless of the outcome, he had every intention of making this as complicated as possible for the people who had perpetrated this mess. Including the school’s head of security. With that thought in mind, he added to his previous text.
And a new job.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
The words MCDONALD DIRTY sent a jolt of adrenaline through Brooklyn’s already-overamped sympathetic nervous system.
“Shit,” sh
e muttered, scanning the street.
She had no idea how Avi had come to that conclusion, but if McDonald was APEX’s insider at Crossmount, the odds against them surviving the next few minutes had just skyrocketed. She kept them moving down the concrete stairs toward Sunset Boulevard.
“What?” said Riley.
A gray sedan pulled out of a parallel parking space about seventy-five yards away and slowly cruised in their direction.
“Nothing. Stay right on my ass,” said Brooklyn.
“Doesn’t sound like—”
The screech of metal crunching metal reached her next, focusing all her attention on the sedan. Full house—all four seats occupied. Here we go. Brooklyn pulled Riley down behind an SUV parked on Sunset Boulevard and drew the microcompact Sig Sauer P365 from her ankle holster. She handed it to Riley.
“Just in case. There’s a round in the chamber. All you have to do is pull the trigger,” said Brooklyn.
Distant gunfire erupted, and Riley took the pistol without hesitation, immediately settling into the grip they’d practiced at the firing range. Brooklyn slid the spare magazine out of the holster and handed it to her.
“Stay here. I’ll be right back.”
“Where are you going?” said Riley.
“To buy us some time,” said Brooklyn, before sliding between the parked SUV and the sedan behind it.
Staying low, she leaned a few inches past the front bumper to catch a glimpse of the sedan. Automatic gunfire slammed into the side of the car by her head and peppered the liftgate of the SUV behind her. She dropped to the pavement and inched past the front tire, quickly acquiring the target that had unleashed the unexpected fusillade as pieces of safety glass rained down on her.
A bearded man wearing yellow shooting glasses leaned out of the front passenger side, his face mostly concealed behind a suppressed rifle. He registered her new position a fraction of a second too late, his head hammered back from the two tightly spaced bullets she’d fired before he could press his trigger. She shifted her aim to the driver’s seat, but the sedan swerved sharply left before she could fire, exposing her to one of the gunmen seated in the back of the sedan.
Skystorm (Ryan Decker) Page 7