“Thank you,” the older man replied. He ran the fingers of his right hand through his sweaty hair, took a deep breath, and limped towards the door.
“Be careful,” Jeff said as he passed by.
Renoir sighed softly and left the room.
The guard closed the testing room door behind them, and the group watched through the glass as Renoir walked towards the lab exit.
A wave of tension hit the room.
Jeff felt nauseous. This was not going to end well. Whatever was happening, it was not going to end well.
Tim nodded his head towards the door, barking an order to the man with the gun, who nodded in agreement.
Renoir stared straight ahead of him as he limped on his injured leg.
That’s when it happened.
Nothing showy.
No sudden movements.
Jeff wasn’t even sure how it went down. He was watching one moment, and in the next, in a blink, Renoir had pulled something from his pocket, held it in his bloodstained hands, and pressed a switch on top.
A blue light winked on.
It was one of the canisters.
Tim had turned his head away.
The guard was oblivious as he reached for the doorknob.
Renoir scanned the room, then crouched to the ground, reached out his arm, and rolled the canister along the concrete floor towards Tim’s feet.
The metal housing must have made a noise when it hit the ground. As the canister rolled within six feet of Tim, he spun around, and in one swift movement, pulled a gun from his side, crouched to one knee, and shot a single bullet straight into Renoir’s forehead. Then he reached out, picked up the canister, and reset the switch.
The blue light went out.
Renoir’s arms and legs went slack as he crumpled to the ground and lay still.
Jeff turned away as two of Tim’s men walked over, grabbed each of Renoir’s arms, and dragged his body out of the room.
Tim got to his feet, shaking his head from side to side in disbelief. Jeff watched Tim’s hands closely as he ran them up and down the sides of the canister, then reached behind his back, and tucked the monstrous little weapon into a pocket on the back of his coat.
Simon walked over to the entrance to the testing room and flipped a switch on the wall. The power lock on the metal door clanged shut.
* * *
So far so good.
He hadn’t seriously disabled himself or anyone else yet.
His worst injury was a jammed index finger on his left hand, and that wasn’t his trigger finger, so he was good. Luke and Gomez hadn’t even seen it happen, which was also good. No need to raise concerns on their part. It wasn’t like the same thing couldn’t happen to anyone. Hell, they’d just finished rappelling down through the center of a nine-story stairwell, and it hadn’t exactly been a clean drop! It was one of those setups where the space between the railings on either side was only about two feet apart — if that — arranged to discourage suicide attempts probably, maybe accidents, but most likely aimed at quashing the self-snuffing tendencies of students, particularly foreign students in the science programs, who were known to crack under the pressure of maintaining a 4.0 GPA in the study of mollusk formulations and the extraction of what, clam juice, for the betterment of society, dental health, and enamel durability. Something ridiculous like that. Who the hell would kill themselves over failed clam juice-extraction? That’s what Brick was thinking to himself as he sailed down the center of the shaft, swinging ever so slightly from one side to the other, left to right, dodging the metal railings as he whispered down to the floor.
Course, then another thought had flashed into his head, the thought of that girl Morgan, the drop-dead knock out who was dating that kid inside.
Brick got an image of Morgan’s legs as she sat on the stoop outside, waiting for news on her beau.
Her beau.
Jesus! This jackass better be one smooth daddy-o, cause there are few people on earth worthy of a roll in the hay with a girl the likes of that Morgan chicky.
That was Ransom’s first mistake -- wistful thoughts of college sirens. One reminiscence of those sweet, perfect, supple legs, and he’d forgotten all about what he was doing at the moment -- rappelling down nine stories in a two foot clearance area, between countless, undoubtedly merciless metal safety bars -- a feet which unfortunately required a bit of focus. He swung out just a bit too far as he got to the bottom, so much so that he didn’t quite make it back to the center of the shaft as he approached the first floor, and his hand paid the price. He twisted his body, trying to shift direction, but had only gotten about halfway through the corkscrew before he put out his left hand, and the force of his plummeting body did its best to drive flesh and bone through paint and steel. The flesh and bone was his finger, which got tweaked sharply to the side and in.
Holy shit!
Brick did his best to swallow the resulting scream of pain as he landed on the first floor and shuffled back and out of the way as Luke and Gomez came swooping in behind him.
Neither of them hit their hands on anything.
Goddammit.
Luke flipped open the printout of the building layout, looked around to get his bearings, then gave Brick a quick chin nod, and started for a side corridor. Gomez followed suit, the two of them pulling out their handguns as they approached the doorway. Brick massaged his left hand with his right, then reached over to his side and slipped his own gun from its holster. At least his shooting hand was all right.
Stop! He thought to himself. He needed to stay focused!
“Fuck it,” Ransom muttered.
Gomez turned to him questioningly.
“Let’s get in there and get this done.”
Gomez nodded, then leaned back and kicked open the door.
* * *
You motherfuckers, Jeff thought to himself.
You miserable sons of bitches.
The world was filled with decent folks, just trying to get through their days, dealing with asshole bosses, impossible odds, and crooked governments, each hell bent on finagling them into work while fleecing them of their money and leaving them with only a few dollars for hooch and cable.
Why then did the big man upstairs feel it necessary to sprinkle around a handful of truly evil bastards to make things that much worse?
Maybe it wasn’t the man upstairs, maybe it was the other guy, if you bought into all that. The whole battle of the fates, struggle between good and evil. Now Jeff had seen a clear display of the evil. The rotten, miserable scum of the earth. He was willing to bet good odds that roughly of a quarter of the world’s shitheads were gathered in this room, and no, he didn’t mean researchers and medicinal chemists, though that would make for a good line. He meant Tim and Simon and their other miscreant fuckhead accomplices.
There was a pool of drying blood in the center of the room, with a streak of red, like a brushstroke, pulling away from the pool and making an almost graceful arc towards the doorway. That was the way they’d dragged Michel Renoir’s body from the room. Just like that, in a flash, the old man was here, and then he was gone. All he’d ever said, all he’d ever done, the years in school, playing as a child, raising his own family, the talks with his grandchildren at the dining room table, talcum powder, shaving cream, the smell of aftershave. All that stuff. Everything that somehow collectively made a man, all of that had just been shot in the face for attempting a noble act of heroism. And now, where was that man? Pulled into a back corner, his still warm body trickling blood.
“Motherfuckers,”
Jeff looked at Tim, and felt his own blood shiver with resignation. Time for payback. Time to start turning the screws.
“Something bothering you, Mr. Pepper?” Tim asked suddenly.
Jeff stared at the man coldly. “What is this all about? Are you ever going to tell me that?”
“There’s no big ideal behind it. Not really.”
“Then why do it?”
Tim glan
ced at his watch. “Because someone needs to, and if I don’t step in and run this operation my way, then someone else will come in and do it the wrong way.”
“So, you’re just a guy out there doing whatever it takes for a paycheck?”
“Up to a point,” Tim responded.
“What point?!” Jeff spat. “You’re a goddamn terrorist.”
Tim shook his head as though pained by such a simple label.
“Look,” Jeff was feeling shaky. “I have money. I have a lot of fucking money. How much will it take to get us out of here?”
“You and I both know that no amount of money is getting me or any of my men out of here. You can sign a check, or wire us a payment, but if we want to get out of this building, we’re going to have to deal with the people outside who don’t want us to leave.”
“Then let me talk to them. I can get them to listen. I told you, I have a chopper on the roof, we can leave from there. If they know that I’m on board, they’ll let you take off, no question.”
“But how do I know they’ll let us land?”
Jeff’s upper lip curled. “Don’t you watch the news? I’m the third-richest man in the world, the second wealthiest voter in the United States; that’s clout the government doesn’t mess with. If I say I need a tax cut, or I mention a way that sneaking illegal workers into the country could help the economy, I get my way. No questions asked. They’ll certainly listen if I make some demands about where my personal helicopter sets down.”
“I don’t want you on board. I go alone.”
“Then I can’t help you. My pilot only flies when I’m aboard. If he doesn’t see me there, he won’t go.”
“Then I go anyway- he’ll hand over the controls.”
“Yeah, and the military will shoot you down. Simple as that.”
A moment of pissed-off, angry deliberation.
“And what do you want in return?” Tim’s voice was growing quieter.
“You’ve gotta let these people go.”
Tim cleared his throat, then nodded his head. “What do we need to do?”
“I’ll have to speak to the folks you’ve been chatting up outside. Make sure my pilot is at the controls and they won’t swat our little puddle jumper out of the sky.”
Tim pulled the handset from its cradle on the wall and handed it to Jeff. “Make the call.”
* * *
Where were they?
It had been too long since they’d told him they were coming in, and Nick was starting to get that creeping feeling in his stomach again. There hadn’t been anymore gunfire or explosions. No more voices down the corridor. No more muffled exchanges between armed men in the halls. Just the sounds of a building where all was not right. The smell of burning wire hung in the air. Occasionally, he could hear a door somewhere in the building being kicked open or slammed shut, and he could tell from the directions of these noises that the people who’d taken over the building had moved everyone to the basement, down to Raj’s labs.
Wow. He’d taken this job for all the right reasons, or maybe the wrong ones: Medical, dental, steady pay, a decent work environment, and here he was, holed up in a basement, armed killers on the loose, breathing in smoke from a scorched building. He might as well have gone to L.A. and tried his hand on the misery of a film set, or enlisted in the army. He was pretty close to getting killed, he was certain about that now.
At least someone out there was probably thinking about him.
“Morgan.”
The name hovered in the air before him, then the sounds of shuffling feet outside the door caught his attention. Nick ducked back against the wall, holding his breath. “Jesus.”
Someone outside the door was whispering something. Nick heard a hand take hold of the doorknob on the other side. The door swung open slowly as the end of a gun barrel crept through the crack. Then it swung open all the way, and three men entered the room. The one in the lead lunged forward, weapon at the ready.
“You Nick?”
“Yeah.”
“Brick Ransom.”
Brick shot out his hand for Nick to shake it. His grip was quick and hard.
“We’re gonna need your help on this part. Let’s get going. You know how to use one of these?” Ransom reached around his waist, pulling a handgun from a pocket on his lower back.
“No.”
“It’s pretty simple, you’ve seen the movies. Point, squeeze the trigger, and shoot. Don’t let the little fucker jump out of your hands.”
Nick nodded and took the gun.
Ransom watched him warily. “You know, just for safety’s sake, keep that thing tucked away unless I tell you to use it.”
Nick slipped the gun into the pocket on his cargo pants.
Brick motioned towards his team members. “These guys are agents-” he faltered. “Hell, they go by Luke and Gomez.”
“What’s up, kid?” Gomez nodded.
Luke shot Ransom a look.
“All right, enough chit chat,” Ransom continued. “We better get going. Any idea where they’ve taken everybody?”
“My guess is downstairs, Raj Gupta’s lab.”
“Can you take us there?” Luke asked him.
Nick stammered. “Oh, I uh, thought we were leaving.”
Ransom shook his head. “Not yet.”
Nick swallowed. “Okay then, yeah, I can get you there.”
Ransom stepped back and let Nick lead the way out into the corridor. The lights down the length of the hall had begun to flicker.
“Power’s fucking up,” Gomez said.
“Not surprised,” Luke responded.
The four of them hurried through the hall, with Ransom stepping up the pace and walking alongside Nick. At the end of the corridor, they reached a doorway that was propped open. Brick held up his hand for the group to stop, then lifted his gun in his right hand, pressed his back against the wall, and reached out to the door with his left. A twist of his elbow and the door swung open. Ransom lunged around the corner, sweeping his firearm around the stairwell.
Gomez leaned forward, whispering in Nick’s ear, “Keep an eye on where he’s pointing that thing kid, he’s been known to have some accidents.”
Nick’s eyes darted to the side. He nodded. The group followed behind Ransom as he made his way down the concrete steps.
* * *
Phelps picked up the phone as his eyes scanned the building. “Ransom, you there?”
“Brick Ransom?” a voice from the handset asked him.
Phelps turned his attention to the voice. “Who is this?”
“This is Jeff Pepper,” the voice responded. “I’m calling you from inside the building.”
“Mr. Pepper, we were afraid you might be in there-”
“Let me be quick about this,” Jeff interrupted him. “I need to know if my pilot is still on the roof.”
“That I’m not sure of, Mr. Pepper.”
“Then find out. If he isn’t, then make sure he gets there. I’m going to be leaving the building in the next 10 minutes, and I need my pilot to be waiting for me when I get to the roof.”
“Is it just you we’ll be looking for?” Phelps asked.
“No. I’ll be leaving with a couple of the men from inside, and I’ll need your assurance that they’ll be allowed to leave safely alongside me.”
What was this all about?
Pepper had to be making this call under orders.
Phelps watched Murray’s expression. The other agent looked at him closely.
“Of course, we’ll let you all take off without incident,” Phelps replied. “And Mr. Pepper-”
“Yes,” Jeff asked expectantly.
“Is everything all right? Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” the voice responded. “Just make sure Michael is on the roof when we get there-”
The line went dead. Phelps turned to Murray.
“You still know how to fly?”
Murray blinked. “I haven’t been at the controls in ye
ars, but it should come back to me.”
Good, cause Pepper’s requesting that his helicopter pilot meet him upstairs, and there’s no way I’m letting these guys use that guy to get out of here scott free.
“Just get me a uniform and send me up there.”
* * *
“We’ll be heading upstairs shortly with Mr. Pepper.”
Tim was standing in the corner addressing Jason, Simon’s right-hand man. He was still holding the phone receiver, twirling the ragged phone wires from when he’d pulled it from the wall at the end of Jeff’s call.
“As soon as we’re airborne, I’ll radio down and tell you what we’ve worked out,” Tim continued.
“And what will that be?” Jason asked.
Tim’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t you trust me?”
“Just want to know what to expect.”
Simon stepped forward, putting himself between Jason and Tim. “We’ll tell you when it’s final.”
Jason hesitated, “That’s fine.”
Tim reached towards Jason, pulled a gun from the man’s side holster, looked him in the eyes, then walked away. Simon clenched a hand around Jeff’s elbow and pulled him out of the room. They stepped out into the hall as the doors slammed shut behind them. As they walked away, Jeff caught a glimpse of Nina’s face, staring after him, her mouth set at a very unusual angle. She was worried.
* * *
They were at the top of the glass-enclosed stairwell on the building’s south side when they heard someone coming, actually, several people coming. The footsteps were muffled, the voices hushed, to the point that Ransom damn near kept on going. Then one of the men coughed and Brick’s eyes shot open. The four of them rushed back up the stairs and slipped out of the stairwell on the first floor, where they prayed the oncoming group would continue upstairs.
Ransom leaned his head against his shoulder, squeezed the talk button on his radio, and wheezed into the radio, “We’ve got movement in the south stairs, can you give me an ID?”
There was a pause, then a voice responded, “Give us two seconds, Brick.”
The group waited, and the footsteps came closer. Two of the men were talking, arguing about how many “canisters” they could take on board with them. Then the voices stopped at the door to the first floor. Nick’s heart shivered. His three companions tightened their grips on their weapons. The radio on Ransom’s shoulder coughed feedback and he quickly held his hand over the speaker. Then the voices moved on, rising and falling with the sound of men carrying something heavy.
Billionaires, Bullets, Exploding Monkeys (A Brick Ransom Adventure) Page 13