Didn’t that happen in a movie he’d seen recently?
Which one?
Hell, it didn’t matter. He just didn’t want to be that guy.
Course, just worrying about stumbling guaranteed that it would happen, and it did.
At the landing to the seventh floor he grabbed the hand railing, started to spin himself around the corner and head up the next flight of stairs, but he caught his toe on the lowest step. His body sailed forward as his feet dragged behind. The famous sack of potatoes. He tried to slow his fall, grabbing at the railing at the last possible moment, but he went down harder. His shin and knee hit the concrete steps with a sudden, nauseating thump. He had a mental image of the bone inside turning bruised and purple.
Don’t think about it.
Shake it off.
He got back on his feet, his leg screaming at him. Up another level, grab the rail, spin, and up again.
Then there he was.
Slumped against the wall in the middle of a mess of debris: Agent Ransom, who sat there, his gun held high, aimed directly at him.
Brick’s eyes were half shut. They were red and running with tears, but the face behind the eyes didn’t match. His expression was set, the features held in one cold, stony arrangement.
“Who. Goes. There?” Ransom asked.
“It’s me.”
“Oh good, the rescue squad.”
Blood burped through Luke’s fingers as he pressed them, clawlike, against the bloom of shredded skin that burst from the fabric of his pant leg. The pain was almost bearable at the moment, which scared him. He was probably in shock, or slipping into it very quickly. A pattern of bullets rippled the wall above his head, leaving the plaster and concrete torn to shit. Glass tinkled to the hospital floor around him.
Gomez stood just down the hall to the left side of the lab entrance; that was as far as he’d gotten since the assault began. Things had not gone smoothly, not from the get-go. They hadn’t planned on going in firing, but that’s how it had played out. Tim’s, or rather Griffin’s guys had been ready for them. The moment they set foot on the floor the bullets had come blasting through the glass, which made Gomez think that wired doorway had a bit more to it than just serving as the electrical match to a keg of dynamite. They must have had some sort of alarm hooked up, too.
Gomez pulled a two inch square mirror from his pocket, lifted it towards the door’s shattered window, then turned it at an angle to catch a glimpse of the lab. He could see about seven guys in the front room, none of them wearing masks, all of them armed. At least two other figures paced the back room, training their guns on something, probably the hostages. Luke was down the hall from him, sitting under a six foot long window, circled by a fringe of glass shards. Luke looked at him and Gomez held up four fingers, once, then curled them in and opened three again. He jerked his thumb towards the window.
Luke nodded and held up three fingers.
Ten Guys.
Luke gave another nod, then he was on his feet, face screwed up in pain. He lifted his gun over the edge of the window and fired off seven rounds — aimed, fired, aimed, fired — then he hit the floor again.
Gomez spun up to his feet, aiming through the door’s broken glass, firing shots at the three remaining figures. Either the others had been hit, or they’d hit the deck. A wise move.
Boom!
The first shot hit one of the men in the side of the neck, slicing through the tendon that kept his head from wobbling free. It wobbled, and blood sprayed out like ketchup from a diner bottle.
Gomez fired again.
The second shot took off the guy’s head.
A twist of the gun and a turn to the left, and the next shot hit a second guy square in the face.
By the time the gun had turned again, the third man was gone.
Smart guy.
The glass crunched under Luke’s bloody boot as he stood again, the muzzle of his weapon once more pivoting on the window’s edge. He waited, leaning his weight against his right shoulder, which he pressed into the wall for support. He angled his rifle up and over the edge of the window, spraying the floor inside with a shower of bullets. Then he hazarded a look inside and damn near lost his head for the trouble. Three bullets tore through the wall beside him-
Thoom thoom thoom!
Gomez dove to the other side of the door, glass tinkling against his leg, one piece slicing through his pant leg and ripping into the flesh. He clenched his teeth, shuffled to the bottom left corner of the window, then bobbed up.
Bam! Bam!
He hit the guy in the corner of the left eye. Bullet hit bone hit eye, and POP, the whole side of the guy’s face ruptured and rippled down the front, even as the next bullet whizzed through the mass of falling flesh and blood, and ripped into the guy’s throat, sending his arms and leg shooting straight out to the sides as he fell backwards, stiff as a board.
Gomez dove to the floor as another man emerged from behind a lab bench. Gomez aimed, fired, and got him perfectly. Like his associate before him, the man’s arms and legs went straight out to the sides as a spatter of blood bloomed at the center of his forehead, exactly at the point where Luke fired another single, clean shot.
Thoop.
The body tumbled to the floor and the room fell silent.
Gomez sat on the ground, breathing deeply.
Luke was crouched on one knee, shaking from the adrenaline. He lowered himself to the floor, propping his body up with one arm.
Then the door in the back of the lab opened, and one by one, men and women dressed in lab coats and carrying backpacks began filing out. They murmured softly to one another, their voices barely whispers, many of them uttering only prayers.
Luke turned to Gomez, his brow crimped in the middle.
Gomez lifted a hand to shield the glare from an overhead light that now dangled from the ceiling, spinning a lazy fluorescent twirl in the draft from the ventilation system. He looked past the crowd moving out of the lab, now filing out into the hallway, and through the crowd he could just make out the figure of a little man. A man with a moustache and a tense, drawn-up body, who stood near the door of the backroom, holding a canister in his hands and shouting something to three more gunmen, who stood in the back corner, their guns slung over their shoulders, their hands raised in the air.
The little figure turned to the doorway to see the progress of the captives as they slipped away to freedom; then he redirected his attention to the men in the back, and lifted the canister a bit closer to his chest.
They made it through the rest of the building without incident. At least, without Ransom setting any more explosives off in his own face. Since Nick had banged his leg up on the stairs, and since a blinded Brick was something less than agile and quick, the trip through the medical facilities could be looked at as one long incident. But, they had made it. In the main tower they found a functioning elevator and they took it. They were in the elevator now, rising swiftly up to the roof, perhaps a bit too swiftly for Nick’s comfort. The doors would open at any moment, and more likely than not, they’d be dead center in the middle of the action.
“Don’t shit yourself, kid.”
Nick looked at him. “Don’t blind yerself, pops.”
Brick smirked. “Getting fresh. I like that.”
There was silence.
“I didn’t mean that in a, you know, sexual way,” Ransom added.
“Jesus,” Nick muttered. “I know.”
The floors dinged by.
“You been to this landing pad before? Do you know the layout?”
“Nope,” Nick replied.
“Great. Well, I guess just get your gun ready, and we’ll make it up as we go along.”
“Same plan as usual then.” Nick said.
“Yep. Oh, and kid, this could get a little crazy. Try not to go apeshit with that gun of yours.”
Nick took a deep breath.
Bing.
Nick and Ransom lifted their weapons as if on
cue.
Nick watched the joint between the two metal doors. Light glowed dully on the brushed-metal surface. Then the doors pulled open with a wheeze. Sunlight streamed inside and the roar of a helicopter engine engulfed them.
Ransom blinked his bleary eyes.
“Shit, it’s bright out here!”
“That mean you can see?”
“Hardly.”
Nick took a cautious step out of the elevator, which opened onto a covered metal platform. A series of metal stairs climbed up from the platform to a catwalk above, which then crossed over to a raised platform. From the sound of the helicopter rotors above, and the gusts of air roaring over the edge and down over them, it appeared they’d come to the right location.
“Can you at least make it up some stairs?” Nick shouted in Ransom’s ear.
Ransom nodded.
Nick grabbed the man’s shoulder, leading him towards the metal railing. Ransom put his hand on the metal bar, feeling his way onward. Nick took the first steps up, glancing back at Ransom as he slowly followed behind.
Nick held his gun at the ready, hoping to God he’d flipped off the safety. At the top of the stairs, he got a clear, but somewhat protected view of the helicopter as it sat on the platform. The side door was open, and he could just make out the figures of two people inside, along with two other men still standing on the landing pad. They were loading something into the main cabin. Metal containers of some kind. There were dozens of them.
“Can you see ‘em?” Ransom asked.
“Yeah, they’re loading something.”
“Metal canisters?”
“Yeah, how’d you-”
“Shit,” Ransom said. “Who all is there?”
“Two gunmen, a pilot, and a guy in a torn-up suit.”
“Don’t hit the guy in the suit, whatever you do!”
“And what are we doing?”
“No idea, kid. They look like they’re taking off?”
They’re fixing to,” Nick said matter of factly.
No sooner did Ransom speak, than all hell broke loose on the platform.
* * *
Jeff was totally thrown by the sudden appearance of this stranger as he worked in the cabin to secure the canisters. He’d planned for a much different scenario, one in which he knew the character and motives of his accomplice, his right-hand man (in the air at least), Mike. Now there was this new guy in the pilot’s uniform, clearly a fed, who gave him a weak nod, which briefly comforted Jeff, until he realized that any misguided heroics would get them all killed.
Maybe this guy worked with Tim and Simon, but most likely he didn’t. From the subtle flash in the man’s eye, and his way of observing Jeff’s captors, Jeff guessed the guy was FBI. From what he’d seen and heard in the past, he figured the presence of this stranger in his midst gave him at best a 50/50 chance of survival. Maybe that was the best he could hope for under these conditions.
He’d been put in the cabin first thing, and now he sat in a chair, calmly observing the situation.
Tim’s man and the pilot were quietly loading the last of the canisters, which, along with their Styrofoam padding, were fitting perfectly in the walkway between the back seats. Jeff stole a peek at them as Tim conferred with the pilot.
Next thing he knew, they were preparing for takeoff.
That’s when everything changed.
The pilot closed the main cabin door, then walked around the side of the aircraft. He had just opened the door to climb inside, when Tim lifted his handgun and fired two shots into the man’s chest. The pilot was thrown backward, pulsating in the air, once to the left and once to the right. The man stumbled backwards, tripping over the landing skid and landing on his back with a thud.
Tim climbed into the copter and locked the cabin door behind him.
“Friend of yours?” Tim asked.
Jeff shook his head. “Never seen him before in my life.”
Nevertheless, lets play it safe,” Tim responded, before reaching over and fastening Jeff’s wrist to his seat arm with a thin pair of handcuffs.
* * *
Raj was shouting something, but his excitement, combined with his poor mastery of the English language, made translating and comprehension difficult. From where Luke and Gomez were standing, they could see him, his moustache dancing like a corpulent lip-dwelling caterpillar, shouting to the men with their arms raised at the far end of the room.
“Don’t move! Don’t move! Don’t move!” he rattled off.
The men stood frozen in place.
“You move and I flip the switch,” Raj continued, raising the canister for emphasis as the last of the hostages squeezed past him.
“Hurry!” he shouted to the group. “Hurry.”
Men, women, students, all went past him, some casting an appreciative look in his direction, others lost in their own worlds of panic and shock.
Raj’s fingers slipped on the edge of the canister. He glanced down at his hands. He had never set one of these things off personally. Hopefully the diagrams his lab flunkies had prepared for publication had been accurate. His hands went cold and clammy at the realization of what was happening. He looked around, then looked at the faces of the gunmen on the other side of the room.
What was he planning to do?
What had he been thinking would happen all this time?
Nothing good could ever have come from this bastardized research.
This wasn’t science. This wasn’t an experiment.
This was weapon building.
This was terrorism.
The last of the hostages walked past him. Raj felt the panic of a passenger racing to leap into the last dinghy on a sinking ship.
One of the gunmen locked eyes with him.
Raj recognized him suddenly. This guy had been one of his lab techs last year. He’d been hired ‘cause he worked cheap, for next to nothing, save for a work visa.
Raj sighed. Guess his accountant had been right. It never pays to be cheap, something in the long haul always comes back to bite you in the ass!
“Close the door,” Raj said softly.
The man nodded and pulled it closed behind him.
The other gunmen started for their weapons as Raj flipped the switch on the canister.
He started walking towards them.
From where Luke and Gomez were standing, they saw only a whirlwind of confusion as the gunmen lifted their weapons and opened fire. Raj was hit in the shoulder and chest, blood spraying out in puffs of pink vapor. Then, in a brief slow-motion hiccup of time, the metal canister in his hands erupted, sending out a cloud of gas. Just as quickly as it happened, the windows of the back room were covered in blood.
The room fell silent.
“Let’s get these people out of here,” Luke whispered.
Gomez pulled his hands from his eyes, shaken, and nodded his head slowly.
* * *
Murray fell from the helicopter, hitting the ground hard.
The bullets had broken at least two of his ribs, but hell, he was still thankful for the government vest, and glad that Halliburton hadn’t gotten all of the government’s last equipment contracts. He lifted his head to look up, but the wind had been knocked out of him. He gulped for air, seeing stars and flickering images as the door on the copter swung closed. He watched through the glass as Tim climbed over to the controls.
Inside the cabin, things were really getting interesting.
“Close the doors,” Tim shouted to Simon.
Simon stood, preparing to follow orders.
Nick stood around the edge of the stairs, describing the scene to Ransom.
“The pilot’s down.”
“I think my vision’s coming back,” Ransom responded.
“Can you see what’s happening?”
“Someone’s coming out of the copter!” Ransom shouted, lifting his gun suddenly.
“Caref-” Nick started, but was cut off by the sounds of Brick’s handgun.
BLAM!
BLAM! BLAM!
Three gunshots rang out.
The first bullet flew past Simon’s ear, ripping into the headrest of the front passenger seat.
Simon spun to the side and down as the next shot ricocheted off the side of the copter’s frame.
The third bullet hit Jeff Pepper in his left shoulder. Jeff winced in pain, trying to pull his hand up to the wound, but his wrist was strapped to the armrest.
“Stop!” Nick shouted. “You just hit Pepper!”
Brick’s heart sank. “Is he okay?”
“He’s still moving. But yeah, you hit him.”
Brick raised his gun again. “He knows me, it’ll be okay.”
Nick put his hands on Ransom’s arm, shaking his head.
“Someone’s firing on us!” Simon shouted. “Get us in the air!”
Tim shook his head furiously from side to side. The sounds of the engines changed pitch as the blades shifted their angle and the copter’s skids lifted away from the platform. Simon moved for the doors as two more shots rang out, neither one of them hitting the copter as it twisted in the air.
The copter started moving faster.
Up, up.
The landing pad below moved away in jerky twists and lunges.
“You trying to knock me out of the fucking thing?” Simon shouted to Tim.
“It’s been a while,” Tim screamed back.
The chopper pulled clear of the building, the platform disappearing from Jeff’s sightline as the ground 12 stories below moved into his frame of vision. Simon stepped toward the edge of the cabin. His hand reached out for the door handle, just as Jeff leapt up from his seat and pivoted to the side, throwing his hip around, and with it his foot, which spun out in a wide arc, hitting Simon squarely in the back. The man fell forward, out of the helicopter, and into free air.
The copter lurched to the side as Tim looked back to see what had happened.
Simon’s arms pinwheeled in the air. He locked eyes with Jeff as he seemed to hang in place momentarily. Then he turned, just as his head caught a sharp whack from the helicopter skid.
Jeff saw the man’s eyes go dead, even before his body plunged like a rock to the ground below.
Tim lifted his gun, firing at Jeff, who crouched to the floor as two bullets flew wildly astray, one hitting the back of the passenger seat, the other shooting straight out of the cabin.
Billionaires, Bullets, Exploding Monkeys (A Brick Ransom Adventure) Page 15