by Ballan, Greg
“Do a visual check on Ms. Fahaad’s location. She is not responding to any hail. I cannot see her from my position.” Two of the Arab men acknowledged his request and soon he saw them on the staircase, heading toward the fourth-floor balcony.
“Paul,” he called over the radio as he waved him over.
Once Paul was close enough, he gave him instructions. “Follow the Arabs. Something is wrong; I can feel it in my bones. Report back to me immediately,” René said. He turned toward his other partner, “Jean-Luc, keep in constant contact with the other men. We may need to move at a moment’s notice.” He patted his colleague’s shoulder in a gesture of trust and friendship.
* * * *
Ralph Templar observed the movements of the security people.
“Shit,” he cussed under his breath. They already knew something was wrong. He radioed his associates as he approached a service elevator.
“Two Arabs are on their way to the foyer, followed by a Frenchmen. I’m heading up to my perch via the service elevator. These men cannot be allowed to reach the fourth floor.”
Templar entered the elevator and waited impatiently as it carried him to the third floor. As he stepped out, he took out his pistol, threaded on a silencer and discharged three rounds into the control panel, destroying it in an impressive display of sparks and charred circuitry.
He could now hear Monique LaSalle being introduced to thunderous applause. As per the pamphlet distributed to arriving guests, he guessed he had four minutes to retrieve his rifle, assemble the components and do a quick bore sight with the scope’s optics before the young lady would be escorted to the dance floor by her escort.
The clock was ticking and time was running out. Templar could only hope that his men were able to intercept the two Arabs and the Frenchman.
* * * *
Paul felt uneasy. His gut was rarely wrong. He advised everyone over the radio that he was changing location to the second floor. Once there, he felt his stomach drop to his heels like a rock. One of the Arab guards was lying in a pool of blood. He felt for a pulse; there was none.
“Damn it to hell!” he whispered.
He drew his service pistol and proceeded toward the third level stairwell. He heard the sound of muffled gunfire and saw the other Arab man discharging his weapon at an unseen adversary. Paul rushed forward and assumed a cover position, firing three silenced rounds in the same general direction the Arab had been shooting.
Ducked behind an overturned table, the Arab glanced at Paul and gestured with two fingers. He pointed toward the doorway that led to the third floor stairwell. Paul nodded and slipped closer to the Arab. As he moved, bullets flew over his head and by his arm. He dove, head first, behind the intersecting hallway, directly opposite his partner.
“Is there another way up?” the Arab asked.
“There is a service elevator about a hundred feet back around the next hall,” Paul provided.
“You know the grounds better than I do; go check it. I’ll cover you.” The Arab squeezed off two more rounds. A volley of return fire splintered the woodwork in the walls that served as cover for both men.
Paul retreated while the Arab laid down a full clip of cover fire. He ran like a gazelle, yelling into his headset. He turned to race down the last stretch of the foyer into the elevator. He felt no real pain as bullets pierced his shoulder and thigh, just a mild burning sensation. He reacted per his training and returned fire with a volley of six well-placed bullets. The assailant came into view, dropping like a weight.
Paul struggled over to the elevator and pushed the ‘up’ arrow. The button did not illuminate. He tried again, still nothing.
Paul screamed into his headset “René! The elevator has been disabled. We’re trapped on the second floor. Get her out of here, René. Get the girl out of here!”
Looking down at the body lying at his feet, Paul realized the assassin was dressed as a waiter. They’d been inside all along. They got through all the heavy screening and police, and had actually been watching them as they positioned themselves throughout the great hall. It has to be an inside job. He looked down at the dead body again.
“Burn in hell, you bastard!” He kicked the corpse hard enough to hear several ribs snap.
The sound of music reached him. Young Monique was likely beginning her dance with the American detective.
“Knight,” Paul began as he felt his grip on consciousness fail.
* * * *
Erik Knight’s heightened senses had gone off like a five alarm fire bell during Monique’s speech. His position on the podium in front of all these people prevented a retreat to investigate; all he could do was listen, hope and provide cover for Monique.
Then he reluctantly began his dance with Monique.
Knight. Paul’s voice came on weak with a hint of alarm to it. It’ll come during the dance, from above, somewhere from on the third…or fourth floor. Erik felt Paul slipping away. She’s in your hands, American, your hands. Paul Barlowe went quiet, and never spoke again.
Erik tightened all of his muscles while covertly scanning the upper balcony for any sign of movement.
Nothing.
Monique held him close and rested her head gently against his shoulder as they moved together to the slow music. “You are distracted, Erik. What’s wrong?” she whispered through a false smile.
“I don’t know yet,” he whispered. Monique tensed up.
Both kept on posing for the cameras knowing something was occurring in the background that might endanger them both.
Erik knew that René, Paul and the other Arab guards were engaging a small force somewhere on the second floor and that the service elevator had been disabled. The other French operatives had been effectively locked out of action. Somebody had evidently done their homework. Erik sensed the threat honing in on Monique and he looked up toward the third and fourth floor balconies. His eyes instantly spotted the assassin aiming his rifle.
“Oh shit; this is going to hurt,” he swore underneath his phony smile.
“What?” Monique asked, panicking. “What’s happening?”
“Just relax and move with me.”
Erik focused his senses on the assassin’s thoughts, allowing part of his Esper DNA to surface. The exact instant the man pulled the trigger, he swung Monique around and put his back between her and the oncoming bullet.
The bullet tore through his skin and collided against the large bones of his shoulder. His hybrid skeletal structure withstood the impact of the bullet and absorbed the spent projectile’s energy. He winced at the great deal of pain his body was subjected to.
The impact forced him forward, and he stumbled slightly. His senses detected the second and third round as they left the rifle muzzle and he felt more sharp stabs as the rounds entered his back, but he continued to shield Monique. When the third bullet sliced through his back, he faltered heavily, feeling the life drain from his body.
He stumbled, leaning heavily on Monique for balance. He had to change into his Esper persona or eventually black out, no longer be able to protect his charge.
* * * *
Monique heard the first distinct thud, felt the flinch from Erik’s body and instantly knew what had happened. She raised her head and sought Erik’s face. Simultaneously, she saw the pain reflected there then caught sight of the spray of blood emerging from his back as another bullet seared its way in Erik’s back.
She screamed, and as her hands became moistened from Erik’s warm blood, she stared up at her protector, supporting him and praying that he would survive his injuries.
Eyes that had comforted her earlier were changing into inhuman orbs that burned with an unknown power.
* * * *
There were screams of panic as the crowd realized what had just occurred. For Erik, time seemed to move in slow motion as his mind jumped into an accelerated state. Nerve endings transmitted impulses and commands far above a normal human body’s capacity. His enhanced metabolism was already at work, sealing wha
t he now knew was a severed artery. While his body worked feverishly to expel the foreign objects that had precipitated such distress, Erik called to his staff tucked neatly beneath his cummerbund.
Protect the girl, shield her from harm. With these words, he telepathically cried out to his primary weapon. Erik sensed the staff’s reluctance to leave its master, but the weapon complied. It leapt from its confinement and formed a protective, silver blister around them both. For the first time since Erik owned the weapon, it exhibited independent will and thought, by taking into account both the girl’s life and his life. His sentient staff was truly alive. His weapon acted of its own volition. For that he was thankful.
Well done! He projected gratitude to the weapon. The staff hummed with appreciation like a dog that had just been praised by its owner.
I must go; protect the girl!
Monique was trembling with fear and was covered with his blood. He lifted her chin with a finger. “Listen to me, Monique, you’ll be safe inside this bubble. The staff will protect you from harm. Nothing can hurt you as long as you stay put. I must get the person who did this. I know you’re scared, but we’re both fine. We’ll make it; trust me.”
She looked up at him, her eyes streaming with tears. “How?” she asked. “You were hit three times. How did you survive?”
He gave her a weak smile. “I’m different, remember?”
She nodded.
“We’ll talk later. Now I need to get to work.” With his last words, he gave her a quick hug, feeling terrible. No one at her age should have to endure what she just did. Whoever did this would pay and pay dearly.
* * * *
Ralph Templar withdrew from view, stunned. The bastard had seen him, from all the way down on the dance floor. Even more amazing was that the guy had intentionally taken three bullets to protect the mark. Templar chanced a glance then stared in disbelief at the silver blip that now encompassed the pair. His last remaining two shots at the blip had been deflected into open space. How had the man accomplished this feat? What manner of weapon was this?
Monique LaSalle was unreachable as long as she remained inside that silver canopy. A good assassin knew when to cut and run, and now the time had come.
“Fall back!” Templar ordered his team. “Use the explosives for cover.” Then he heard a loud commotion coming from the dance floor. When he looked down, the man he had shot was outside the silvery canopy looking up at him, seemingly unharmed. Templar tried to resist, but he couldn’t help himself; he wanted one more crack at the man. Templar lifted his rifle and bored in on his target.
“Right between your eyes, asshole… I’m gonna place this next slug right between your eyes.”
Shanda Kerwin-Knight felt agitated, angry, but she hadn’t the foggiest idea why. Her son kicked and fussed inside her; then she realized that she was sensing her infant’s emotional state. Through her child she felt a tiny spark of the link to her husband that was being neutralized by the null fields surrounding her prison.
Her baby was picking up on his father and transmitting those feelings to her. She detected the distinct pattern that was clearly her husband’s and she knew intuitively that he was under some kind of stress.
Shanda had already accepted the fact that she could not communicate with him. But where she had failed, perhaps Erik’s son could succeed. If the babe could feel and detect his father, it should only be logical that the process would work in reverse. She realized one flaw in her thinking; her son was not human. He was an Esper warrior.
Would his father have to be in his Esper warrior form in order to detect his child? To her knowledge, Erik hadn’t transformed for several months. Her husband had uncovered abilities and latent powers he didn’t know how to cope with, and she knew they actually frightened him. Since those discoveries, he’d buried that part of himself and had opted to develop the talents he possessed while still in his human form.
Shanda had nothing to lose. She concentrated and focused her telepathic abilities on her unborn son, praying that the infant would comprehend her intentions.
Call to your father. Let him know that we need him. Call to your daddy my sweet baby boy.
* * * *
Erik read the assassin’s thoughts, his body instantly reacting as the man squeezed the trigger. With superhuman reflexes he avoided the speeding projectile. The bullet buried itself in the dance floor amidst more screams from terrified guests. The sniper turned to flee.
While the conflagration erupted around him, the rest of the security team was involved in their own firefight.
Erik wanted this sniper, alive. It was a risky leap – even for him – but if he changed, the jump would be nothing. Despite the many witnesses, he gathered his remaining strength and crouched; with a mighty heave he launched himself into the air. He flew over fifty feet. He grabbed the lower balcony rail and using the remaining momentum, he catapulted himself over the railing.
The sniper turned around. Both men reached for their pistols. Erik was quicker; he had both his Wilson combat pistols pointed at his quarry before the sniper could draw his gun.
“Take it out nice and slow. If you even think about shooting off a round, I’ll drop you where you stand,” Erik hissed.
Ralph Templar grinned as he produced an explosive device from inside his jacket. As he did an explosion shook the foyer.
“The explosives are potent, wouldn’t you agree? This one, unlike the others, is programmed to go off on impact. All I have to do is drop it,” Templar’s eyes wandered over the balcony. “You have a choice to make. You can kill me, which I’m sure you’re just itching to do, or you can try and save them. You’d have to jump over the balcony and catch the grenade, forcing it to explode before it hits the ground. You’ll die, of course, but you’ll have saved all those pathetic fools down there. I’m sure they’ll all be grateful for your sacrifice.”
“Don’t do it,” Erik warned. “Just disarm it and you can walk out of here, free. You and your associates have already done enough damage.”
Templar grinned wickedly. “Be a hero!” he whispered and tossed the explosive over the railing.
Erik swore while firing two rounds into the assassin before he dropped his guns and dove over the railing. He had no choice but to change; he willed the metamorphosis and felt his body grow and expand while he plummeted the sixty feet toward the unyielding dance floor.
His Esper hybrid form reached out, plucked the explosive from the air and cradled it into his body smothering the bomb with his armored skin. The device detonated as both Esper and bomb fell to the floor with a horrid crash. The sound of the explosion was deafening, and the great hall filled with thick black and gray smoke. Guests screamed as the smoke rose higher. Beneath the smoke two aqua blue eyes burned bright with an inhuman intensity. In his hybrid state, Erik stood apart from the crowd, unscathed by the powerful detonation. His expensive tailored clothes hung in shreds from his massive body.
Erik reached out his hand, beckoning for his weapon. The protective blister that enveloped Monique LaSalle flowed back into the shape of a cylindrical staff. It flew across the floor and settled into its master’s powerful hands.
Still in his hybrid state, Erik glanced over the crowd. The guests were stepping further back, staring at the silver warrior in awe. He projected a message to Monique. You’re okay. Come over here to me. I won’t hurt you.
“Erik?” she asked. She recognized the voice inside her head as his. “Oh my God, it’s you!” She ran to him, and he wrapped his arm around her waist.
We’re going back up. Hold on tight. He leapt up suddenly and easily ascended over the top railing to where the hired assassin lay wounded in an ever-expanding pool of blood.
Ralph Templar looked up at the massive silver being and shrieked.
Erik picked the assassin up with one hand and dragged him over to Monique.
Look at her, you son of a bitch! He shouted the words into Templar’s mind.Look into the face of the girl you so eagerly want
ed to kill.
“Why?” Monique asked the assassin in frightened whispers. “Why do you want to kill me?” Monique looked confused, sad.
“Money,” the sniper replied, his voice losing strength. “A great deal of money – nothing more and nothing less.”
“Who paid you to kill me?” Monique asked, anger surfacing in her voice.
“I cannot tell you, child.”
“You must tell me.” The assassin remained silent. “Please I have no desire to live my life with a bounty on my head.” The assassin still didn’t answer but averted his gaze. Monique glanced at Erik, who nodded. He had the information he sought.
The threat was not coming from the Arabs, or from anywhere in France; it was coming from somewhere inside the United States’ government. The culprit’s name was vaguely familiar, but not enough that he could trace it to a direct source.
Erik heard the approaching footsteps of their security team. He was about to change back to his human form to keep his secret safe when he detected a subtle presence; one he’d never felt before. The Esper part of him responded to that presence with confusion, yet his human half seemed drawn to it.
Erik shook his head from the distraction and looked around. He spotted René, Jean-Luc and three of the Arab operatives. The five men stopped in their tracks as they spotted his silver form. Two of the Arabs raised their weapons and spoke in panicked Arabic.
“Put your guns down!” René ordered.
Erik released Ralph Templar then rushed for the only open window – but his massive frame was too big for the opening. The warrior punched his way through the wood and brick then leapt out forty feet to the next rooftop. He quickly vanished into the Paris night.
* * * *
René and Jean-Luc approached Monique.
“Child, are you all right?” René asked.
“I’m fine. He saved me, René. He saved all of us. He withstood three bullets that were meant for me and then that bomb.”