by Alex Siegel
"Do you want me to send more men to the study?" the security chief said.
Walton had no immediate answer. He could only pull his own hair in frustration. He had counted on the mercenaries to be the ultimate answer to any problem, but now they were the problem.
"I need to talk to them," Walton said. "I'll remind them who pays their salary."
"But they turned off their headsets," the security chief said.
"I know! Send in one guy with a portable radio. Reestablish contact."
"Yes, sir."
* * *
"Fighting was all I knew!" a mercenary sobbed. "When they kicked me out of the military, I had to become a gun for hire. I hate my life!"
"Don't be so hard on yourself," Alfred said. "You're a product of your environment. You were raised in a house full of anger and violence."
"Yes. Somebody finally understands." The mercenary blubbered and wiped snot from his nose.
Sara rolled her eyes. Watching grown men cry like babies didn't entertain her, but it was better than being shot with machine guns. She would allow Alfred to do his thing a little longer before insisting they resume the mission. She wondered if Virgil and Lisa were making quicker progress.
A guard in a brown uniform walked into the study. He was carrying a portable phone.
"Mr. Walton wants to talk to you." The guard gave the phone to the leader of the mercenaries.
Alfred immediately took the phone away and set it down. "Don't interrupt, please," he said. "We're doing important work here."
The guard had a lost, confused expression.
"What's your name, son?" Alfred said. "Perhaps you'd like to join us? Did you have a happy childhood?"
Sara snorted.
* * *
"Almost got it," Virgil grunted.
He and Lisa were at the bottom of the elevator shaft. An elevator had blocked the way, but the two of them had found room to squeeze around it. A puddle of water which had a slimy feel covered the concrete floor of the shaft.
"Need help?" Lisa said.
"No."
Virgil was straining to force open the elevator door, but some kind of locking mechanism held it closed. He could feel metal flexing as he applied all his strength.
"Don't be such a typical guy," she said. "Let a woman help."
"I got this, really."
Virgil dug deep and pulled harder. He finally heard something snap, and the door slid out of the way. He and Lisa climbed out of the elevator shaft.
They found themselves in a wine cellar. Thousands of bottles of wine were stacked on wooden racks. Sealed glass enclosures around the racks had panels which showed temperature and humidity. Some of the enclosures had padlocks, and those bottles appeared older.
A surveillance camera was aimed straight at the elevator. Virgil realized the covert phase of the operation had just ended. He grabbed his gun and shot the camera.
Lisa drew her own gun and grinned. "We'll have company soon."
"I know. Let's find that security control room quickly before this situation gets out of hand."
They hurried off.
* * *
"How the hell did they get into the basement?" Walton yelled. "My security was supposed to be air-tight!"
"I don't understand it, sir," the security chief said. "They must've come down through the elevator shaft."
"Where is the other end of that shaft?"
"The roof, I guess, but don't ask me how they got up there. Maybe by parachute."
Walton regained command of his emotions. Throwing a temper tantrum wouldn't help the situation.
"Send every available guard to the basement with orders to shoot the intruders on sight," he commanded. "Tell our men to keep shooting until the enemy is nothing but a stain on the floor. That's not an exaggeration."
The security chief winced. "But...."
"But nothing! Those are my orders. If you're too squeamish to comply, feel free to resign immediately." Walton glared.
After a brief hesitation, the chief relayed the orders to the other guards in the control room.
Walton nodded with grim satisfaction. He left the control room and went to the armory next door. The security staff kept their weapons here including the illegal ones. He grabbed the biggest gun in the collection, a .50 caliber semi-automatic rifle.
The security chief joined Walton. "You know how to use that thing, sir?"
"I've fired hunting rifles many times," Walton said. "This weapon doesn't look too different."
"Except it can put a slug through an engine block."
"Which is exactly what I need. Do we have any explosive bullets?"
Walton looked at a steel door which provided the only access to the security center. The enemy would have to come through that door to get to him.
He would be ready.
* * *
"I think we should visit Mr. Walton together," Alfred said. "He needs to hear you state your grievances in your own voice. He probably doesn't realize how hostile your work environment is. I'm sure he doesn't appreciate how much stress you endure."
The mercenaries nodded in enthusiastic agreement, and so did three other guards who had wandered in.
Sara was impressed. Alfred had turned a room full of deadly adversaries into loyal allies. They would fight for him and maybe even die for him. Walton had made a critical error by allowing Alfred to open his mouth.
"He is down in the basement," the leader of the mercenaries said, "in security control."
"Lead on, my friend," Alfred said. "I'm eager to meet your boss. We have much to discuss."
* * *
Virgil looked around warily. He and Lisa were walking through a room full of wooden crates. Out of curiosity, he had pulled open a few crates and had discovered fine art inside. Walton kept his hoard of paintings and statues here.
Virgil heard soft footsteps in the next room. He made a hand gesture to Lisa, and both of them dived behind crates. He readied his PP-2000.
A couple dozen guards in brown uniforms ran into the room all at once. They had their guns in hand and were clearly looking for something to kill. The stacked crates forced them to bunch together, and most didn't have clear firing lanes.
Virgil had a dark, angry feeling inside. His demonic body was tired of playing nice and wanted to spill some blood. He was a warrior from Hell, after all, a creature made to inspire panic and terror. He decided to show Walton what that meant.
Virgil realized his submachine gun would run out of ammunition before he killed all the guards. Besides, just shooting them wasn't very sporting. He drew his combat knife from his belt. It never ran out of bullets.
He looked across at Lisa to make sure she was paying attention. With a wicked grin, she holstered her gun and grabbed her own knife. She silently counted down.
They rushed forward simultaneously. Staying low and moving very fast, they started killing before the enemy had time to react. Virgil didn't try to be fancy about it. He slashed throats and punctured stomachs as targets presented themselves. Gaps in body armor were doorways for his knife. He weaved between the closely packed guards, and spurting blood marked his passage.
The guards started firing wildly, but they accidently shot each other instead of Virgil or Lisa. Their comrades kept getting in the way. Virgil heard a couple of bullets whiz past his head, but none hit him. He wasn't worried anyway. A few bullet wounds wouldn't bother him. He wondered if silver bullets would be more effective. That's for werewolves, he realized.
He and Lisa came out the other side and looked back at their handiwork. It was a massacre.
"Umm," Lisa said, "maybe we should've given them a chance to surrender first."
"Do you think they would've?" Virgil said.
Some of the bodies were still moving, but they wouldn't for much longer. A pool of blood was spreading rapidly.
"No, but killing all of them wasn't very nice."
"They wanted to kill us," Virgil said. "It was a clear case of self-defen
se."
"It didn't feel that way. Come on. We have to keep moving."
They resumed searching for the security control room.
* * *
"How many more guys do we got?" Walton said softly.
"Seventy-five," the security chief replied in a shaky voice.
"Get them organized, and send them all at once. Make sure they have a better plan of attack than the first bunch."
They were watching the surveillance feed from the art storage room. Dead bodies were piled on top of each other, and fresh blood had flooded the floor.
The security chief spoke into his portable radio, "Everybody, back off. Clear the basement. I want no more engagements."
"Hey!" Walton said. "That's not what I told you!"
"Sir, it's time to call the police... or the FBI... or maybe the National Guard. This isn't a private security matter anymore."
"Calm down. It's just two people. We'll get them on the second try."
"Those aren't people," the security chief said. "I don't know what they are. Cyborgs or vampires or something. Did you see how they moved?"
Walton was forbidden from telling the truth, so he just nodded vaguely. "Regardless, we have to stop them. I'm their target."
"Sir, I'm sorry to say this, but I quit."
Walton gaped in dismay. "You can't!"
The chief didn't just quit. He took the two guards in the control room with him. The three of them opened the steel access door and ran out. Walton heard their frantic footsteps fade into the distance.
He pulled the door closed and locked it. He was alone.
Walton wanted to run after his men, but he couldn't. He had been ordered to stay and fight to the death.
He grabbed the .50 caliber rifle. It was loaded with rounds designed to tear away big chunks of meat. On a normal human, even a shot in the leg or arm would likely cause fatal shock. He hoped the bullets would be effective against demon flesh.
Walton lay down on the floor and aimed at the door. The first person who opened it would get a nasty surprise. He noticed a few grenades on a nearby shelf, and he grabbed one for good measure.
* * *
Virgil heard more footsteps, and this time, the enemy wasn't bothering to be quiet. Virgil also heard the metallic clink of weapons banging together.
He and Lisa immediately hid. They were in a room full of mechanical equipment such as boilers, furnaces, and air-conditioners. Finding a good hiding spot was easy.
"Virgil!" a familiar voice called out. "Lisa! Where are you?"
"Alfred?" Virgil cautiously stepped out of his hiding spot.
Alfred and Sara walked into the room, and they had company. Nine heavily armed soldiers and a handful of guards in brown uniforms followed close behind.
Virgil raised his eyebrows.
"Oh, there you are," Alfred said. "I knew you had to be around here. You made a terrible mess."
Lisa stepped out from behind a boiler. "It was self-defense."
"It looked more like you attacked them with a food processor, but we can have that argument later. I made some new friends. Walton hired these mercenaries to kill us, but I helped them find a better path through life."
Virgil studied the mercenaries. They certainly looked tough, and they were armed with real machine guns, not the lighter assault rifles or submachine guns most soldiers carried. Virgil's PP-2000 was wimpy in comparison, and he was a little jealous.
"They can be trusted?" he said cautiously.
Alfred nodded. "We had an extremely honest and open discussion about the unfortunate choices they've made. Now they want to talk about it with Walton. They're showing me the way."
"Good, because Lisa and I can't find him. We've searched the whole basement. We found a great bowling alley though."
"This man knows the secret location." Alfred patted one of the mercenaries on the shoulder.
The large group moved on. Alfred stayed closed to his new buddies, but Virgil, Lisa, and Sara hung back several paces where it was safer.
"Alfred really flipped all those guys?" Virgil whispered to Sara.
She nodded. "You should've waited for us. Butchering all those people back there wasn't necessary."
"It seemed appropriate at the time. They clearly had bad intentions."
She appeared doubtful. "That's exactly the kind of gratuitous slaughter I wanted to avoid."
Virgil refused to feel any guilt. He knew decisions made in a critical moment never looked as good in retrospect, but a questionable decision was always better than none at all. Hesitation in battle was certain death.
The mercenaries led the way to a room full of dusty, antique furniture. The collection reminded Virgil of the basement of Red Palace Antiques, except this stuff was probably authentic. Victorian and Art Deco styles were the only ones he recognized by name. A massive billiards table dominated the floor space.
The leader of the mercenaries went to a grandfather clock. He pushed the minute hand around like the dial on a safe, and then he yanked on the pendulum below. Virgil heard a hydraulic hiss, and a wall sank into the floor revealing a second wall behind it. That one was made of solid concrete. A steel hatch was the only way through, but there was no handle.
"How do we open it?" Virgil said.
"It can only be opened from the inside," the mercenary said.
"That's annoying. What is behind that door?"
Virgil noticed a small surveillance camera peering through a dusty stack of chairs. They know we're out here, he thought.
"The security control room and the armory."
"Weapons?" Virgil said.
The mercenary nodded. "Lots of them."
Another annoyance, Virgil thought. Whoever was behind that door would be well-armed and ready for a fight.
He remembered something Lisa had once said. When the door is too strong, try the wall. The concrete wall also looked tough in this case. The ceiling, on the other hand, was made of ordinary wooden beams.
"I have an idea. Come on." Virgil looked at the mercenaries. "Follow me, guys."
The mercenaries looked at Alfred, and he nodded in confirmation.
The whole group followed Virgil including the guards in brown uniforms. They went up a staircase to the first floor.
They ran into another group of guards patrolling the house. Everybody stared at each other with puzzled, anxious expressions.
Alfred stepped forward and said, "Hi, guys. I have news from the control room in the basement. Mr. Walton doesn't need you anymore tonight. The whole crisis was just a big security drill meant to test your readiness, and you passed. You can go home. Tell the others."
The hostile guards glanced at each other but didn't budge.
"Really," Alfred said using his ability at full power. "I'm a state trooper. The situation is under control." He showed his badge.
That did the trick. The guards walked off with relieved expressions.
"Move," Virgil said.
He did his best job of guessing the spot above the security control room. The guards knew the house better and helped him fine tune his estimation. The location turned out to be in the middle of a large ballroom. Crystal chandeliers hung from the high ceiling, mirrors covered the walls, and the floor tiles were black and white marble.
"We need a hole," Virgil said. "Give me one of those machine guns."
A mercenary gave a gun to Virgil. He recognized it as a variant of the classic M249 which dated from his own era. The beefy weapon felt good in his hands. He wished he had had a heart so it could beat faster.
He fired the machine gun at the floor. First marble chips flew, and then the cement floor beneath shattered. Everybody else moved way back. The effect was impressive, but he didn't expect to cut all the way through. The M249 wasn't a jackhammer. When he ran out of bullets, he had a nice hole the size of a soda can. Brass casings had sprayed all over the floor. He put the machine gun down.
"Grenade," Virgil said.
A mercenary unclipped a fragment
ation grenade from his belt and handed it over. Virgil placed the grenade in the hole.
"Get out of here," he warned.
Everybody but him fled the room. He pulled the pin on the grenade and dropped it in the hole. He ran across the room and squatted down.
The blast shattered windows and mirrors all around the room. Virgil was up and moving even before the reverberations died down. The hole in the floor had grown large enough to let him scrape through, but it was an awkward fit. He forced his body down anyway. He had to make his entry while the enemy was still stunned by the concussion.
Virgil dropped into a room full of cracked video screens. Dust limited visibility, and some of the lights were broken, but he could see well enough to confirm he had found the security control room.
He saw the barrel of a huge rifle pointed in his direction. He jerked sideways and barely avoided getting shot in the head. He recognized the cannon-like boom of a .50 caliber weapon. Hot gasses ejected from the muzzle teased his hair. He hid behind a desk and stayed down.
Virgil still had his PP-2000, and it was just right for fighting in close quarters, but he didn't draw the gun yet. Talking came before killing.
"Hey!" Virgil yelled. "No need for hostilities. Are you Ken Walton?"
"Yes," a man replied from the other side of a doorway. "Stay where you are!"
"Just settle down. I'm not here to kill you."
"What about all those guards you slaughtered?"
"That was self-defense," Virgil said. "Listen, we were sent for Daniel. If you help us catch him, we'll let you go. I'll even forgive you for trying to destroy me with a giant demon trap. I understand that was just business."
"Sure," Walton said. "I'll cooperate. Just poke up your head where I can see it."
"What are you trying to accomplish? You know you can't win."
"It's worth a shot."
"You're a very intelligent man," Virgil said. "Think this through. Do you want to end up dead? Your soul will go to Hell, and you made some enemies down there."
"I'm not quitting. I can't."
"Why not? Why did you stay here at all? You obviously knew we were coming for you."
Walton fired his gun again even though Virgil was still hiding. The slug went through the desk as easily as empty air. It blasted away a chunk of Virgil's ear.