“Fuck. Will you take it easy?” Young complained.
“You got everything?” he said, reaching out to grab Young by the shirt collar.
“Two laptops, Blackberry, some kind of crypto-key fob, wallet, cash…Mr. Young is ready to roll,” Jessica replied.
While she hiked a dark brown leather satchel over her left shoulder and made a last second adjustment to the straps, he pulled Young in close.
“Listen to this woman, and don’t think for one second that you can escape us. Is that clear?” he said, shaking Young’s collar. “Things will get hectic on the way out of this hotel. If you try to run, you’re a dead man.”
He winked at Jessica behind Young’s back. “Keep him low and behind cover. How’s your hand?” he whispered in her ear, kissing the nape of her neck.
“It’s fine. Do I really have to babysit him?”
“I agree. I’d feel more comfortable with someone else,” Young interrupted, without turning around.
“Shut the fuck up,” Daniel said.
Turning toward Jessica, he said, “You’re not exactly dressed for a running gunfight. Sorry.”
She kicked her high heels onto the floor. “Next time I’ll wear a track suit.”
Jessica was dressed in a sleeveless black turtleneck dress, cut at mid-thigh. Not exactly the best outfit for urban escape and evasion, unless you planned to take refuge in a chic nightclub. He wished they had brought a more practical pair of shoes for her. Running barefoot through the streets of Buckhead on a Friday night wouldn’t be a pleasant experience. He smiled at her.
“Ready?”
“After you,” she replied.
Daniel moved Young out of the way and paused at the door. He replaced the magazine in his pistol with a fresh magazine from one of his inside jacket pockets, giving him thirteen rounds. Glancing through the doorway, he saw Munoz and Melendez crouched behind the corners of the recessed hallway vestibule outside of Suite 1811. Munoz covered the elevator with his suppressed TMP submachine gun, and Melendez watched the long hallway leading to a set of stairs toward the far end of the hotel. Daniel decided against taking the furthest set of stairs. The elevator vestibule was closer, giving them access to a stairwell that led right into the lobby and a quick exit onto the street.
“Stairs by the elevator. Munoz first, then me. Package in the middle. Melendez covers the rear. Move out,” he said and stepped into the hallway.
Munoz burst into the hallway with his weapon trained in the direction of the elevators, followed closely by Daniel. They hadn’t taken five steps before the elevator bell rang.
“Cover,” Daniel said, bumping into Jessica and Young as he stepped back into the vestibule.
The elevator doors opened, and the carriage appeared empty for a moment. A head poked out from the right side, quickly followed by an unsuppressed automatic weapon. Daniel didn’t linger long enough to determine what the figure had fired at them. The rounds tore into the drywall and wooden framing around the vestibule, showering the floor and Daniel with fragments. Bullets snapped by as the staccato hammering of the gunfire pounded his ears. Munoz and Petrovich dropped to the ground, simultaneously leaning out to fire their weapons. Their bullets caught the shooter in an attempt to sprint clear of the elevator, throwing him back into the carriage amidst a cascade of mirrored glass shards. Daniel noticed a steady bright red spray pulsing into the air above the body.
A second shooter sprayed bullets down the hallway from a position outside of the elevator, shattering light fixtures and damaging more drywall. Daniel wasn’t sure if this shooter had exited the elevator or joined the fight from the stairs. Munoz caught the shooter’s head with a short burst of fire from his TMP, dropping the figure to the ground along the left corner of the hallway.
“She’s down. Head shot,” Munoz said.
The words caused him to glance back at Jessica in a moment of panic.
“Jess is fine. Shooter was female,” Munoz said.
“Targets from the rear,” Melendez said, immediately firing three rounds down the long hallway.
Daniel jumped to his feet and pressed his body against the wall, moving to the opposite side of the vestibule to reduce his exposure to fire from the other direction. He kept his aim centered on the elevator hallway. Munoz shifted positions across the hallway, barely avoiding a fusillade of bullets. He reloaded the TMP as Daniel watched several bullets puncture the drywall and splinter the painted wood immediately behind both of them. Nothing moved in Daniel’s sector near the elevator. Munoz’s TMP cracked to life, spitting several tightly controlled bursts at their new assailants. Munoz expended thirty rounds in less than five seconds and pulled another thirty-round magazine from the top of his backpack.
“I hit one of them. We need to make a move, man,” he said.
“Flashbangs. Both directions. We make a run for the elevator,” Daniel said.
Another torrent of bullets pounded their position, missing them by inches and causing them both to hug the wall. Melendez responded with his pistol, but the suppressed snaps of his well-aimed shots sounded pathetic compared to the explosions blasting at them from the end of the hallway. Munoz opened his backpack and removed two black cylindrical objects. He tossed one of them to Daniel, amidst another burst of gunfire. One of the bullets grazed the top of his hand during the throw.
“Motherfucker,” Munoz said, grimacing.
“You all right?” Daniel yelled.
“I’m fine. Let’s get this over with. Pull!” he said.
They yanked the safety pins out of their flashbang grenades at the same time and threw them in opposite directions. Daniel’s landed in the middle of the elevator vestibule, and Munoz’s landed somewhere near the closest shooter down the long hallway. The M84 stun grenades had a time delay fuse of 1 to 2 seconds. By the time the grenades had landed and stopped rolling, they were milliseconds away from exploding. Daniel didn’t wait. He reached inside Suite 1812 and pulled Young into the vestibule. Young fought him, trying to hold onto the doorframe, but Jessica hit his hand with one of the pistols she had grabbed from the bathroom floor. Young let go, and they nearly tumbled into the hallway as the flashbangs detonated. Everyone sprinted toward the elevator as Munoz unleashed a long burst from his TMP into the cloud of smoke billowing from the far end of the eighteenth-floor hallway.
Daniel reached the elevator vestibule first, sweeping from left to right with his pistol. Through the thin haze produced by the flashbang’s magnesium/ammonia nitrate pyrotechnic mix, he saw nothing beyond the corpse at his feet and a bloody lump inside the elevator. The reflective polished copper elevator doors repeatedly opened and closed when they encountered the pair of lifeless legs protruding out into the hallway.
“Clear!” he said.
He walked swiftly toward the illuminated exit sign, turning his head once to confirm that Young and Jessica were following him closely. Munoz and Melendez ducked into the elevator lobby, taking cover behind the corner, while firing controlled bursts down the hallway. Their disciplined gunfire was immediately returned by a wild, three second hammering from one of the opposing submachine guns. Both of the operatives moved back from the corner as 9mm rounds slammed into the elevator doors and skipped off the walls. Munoz signaled with his hand for Daniel to proceed into the stairwell.
Daniel dropped the magazine from his suppressed pistol and replaced it, staring at the door leading into the stairwell. Anything could be waiting for them on the other side. Fuck it. They needed to keep moving. Police would hit the lobby within minutes, if they weren’t already on-scene. They needed to be down these stairs and merging with evacuating guests immediately.
“Move to the side,” he said, directing Jessica and Young to the wall next to the door.
Once they were clear of the opening, he pulled the door open, pointing his weapon forward. He instantly saw two men turn the corner at the bottom of the stairwell leading up to the door. They were armed with pistols and moving too quickly for him to apply any rules of engagement. His
left hand flashed to meet his HK USP, and the gun kicked repeatedly as he rushed forward through his own shell casings.
His first rounds hit the first man center of mass, knocking him back into the second man. He heard one of their guns discharge in the tight stairwell, as he adjusted his aim while still firing. The remaining rounds from his pistol connected with the second shooter, splashing the painted concrete wall behind the man with a disturbing scarlet pattern. When the slide on Daniel’s pistol locked back, indicating that he had expended the magazine, he realized that the first shooter was still alive and well. The man had been spun around by Daniel’s bullets and dropped to one knee, but he hadn’t collapsed.
His mind flashed with options, none of them good. He could stand his ground, reload and fire; try to close the remaining distance down the staircase and physically disarm the man; or retreat and hope that the man is too stunned to hit a moving target. Already halfway down the stairs, with his momentum moving toward the shooter, retreat was no longer a viable option. Stopping to reload didn’t seem realistic either. The shooter’s pistol hand was free from the limbs and body of his partner, already extending toward him up the stairwell. The grimace of pain and determination on the man’s face sealed Daniel’s decision. He charged down the stairs, trying to stay outside of the shooter’s pistol arc.
A deafening boom pounded his ears as he collided with the man, viciously hammering the shooter’s head into the concrete wall with his left hand, while pinning the pistol against the wall with the other. He felt the man’s pistol tumble along his arm and hit his leg on the way to the carpeted floor. The shooter suddenly lurched upward and kicked out at Daniel, in a last, desperate attempt to survive. The kick caught Daniel off guard, striking his left hip and knocking him clear. The two men scrambled for the closest pistol, which teetered on the edge of the stairs.
Before either of them could reach it, the shooter’s head snapped backward and hit the bloodstained concrete with a sick thud that could be felt over the ear-splitting echo of the gunshot. He glanced up and saw Jessica aiming down the stairs. A shell casing tumbled down one of the carpeted stairs in front of her and stopped. He really hoped these weren’t cops. Jessica didn’t deserve to have blood like that on her hands. The burden of unintentionally killing an off-duty police officer two years ago in Silver Spring, Maryland, still haunted him.
This type of mental reflection didn’t fit the psychological profile identified by days of testing and interviews. The stone-cold, pathologically practical covert operative thought about the consequences of pulling that trigger nearly every day. Officer Samantha Rockwell had been executing her duties as a sworn law enforcement officer when her path crossed Daniel’s. She’d caught him by surprise at the worst time possible and had been unceremoniously killed in a grocery store parking lot. It was unintentional…collateral damage. Not that it mattered to her husband and three children. Maybe the government psychologists had been full of shit from the very beginning, or maybe an “extremely functional sociopath” can have an emotional breakdown from time to time. Whatever the cause, he needed to convince himself that he hadn’t killed another law enforcement agent.
Once again, there had been no time to assess the situation. He’d applied basic rules and assumptions before entering the stairwell. He didn’t think the police could have reacted this quickly. If anything, a pair of uniformed officers would reach the scene first, and they would be unlikely to head toward the sound of automatic gunfire. If they’d run into these two on a lower level, most of his assumptions would have been different, along with his reaction. He quickly searched their torsos for badges or identification, finding nothing along their belts or attached to their shirts. He turned one of the bodies on its side and retrieved a wallet, flipping it open. Nothing. If these were cops, they weren’t carrying identification.
“Keep moving!” Jessica yelled at him.
He looked up and watched her reach through the doorway to pull Benjamin Young into the stairwell. She didn’t seem to have any reservations or concerns about killing these men. He needed to snap out of this funk immediately. He couldn’t afford to get tangled in his guilt again tonight. Getting through the lobby might get messy.
Daniel retrieved his HK USP Compact from the snarl of legs and arms slumped against the wall and reloaded his magazine before proceeding to clear the next level. He moved quickly but cautiously down the stairs, paying close attention to corners and doors. Jessica dragged Young down each staircase as he cleared them. On the fourth floor, Melendez rushed past Jessica and caught up with him.
“We took down the last shooter on the eighteenth. Munoz has our back. He told me to give you this. Said we might need it soon.”
Daniel took his eyes off the next landing long enough to see what Melendez had pushed against his left shoulder. An olive drab cylindrical object with “M18” etched in white on the side. Munoz certainly didn’t disappoint. A smoke grenade was exactly what he needed to ensure the success of their escape plan.
“Keep that close by. We will need it soon,” he said, continuing downward.
“What’s your plan for the lobby?” Melendez asked.
“Something that will hopefully preclude us from shooting our way out.”
“I can’t wait.”
**
Officer Paul Anthony tried to calm the guest services manager and the two front desk agents that had been called to an impromptu meeting in the far recesses of the lobby, away from the growing mob of new checkins. One of the front desk agents had remained behind the lobby counter, politely telling the guests that the computer system had experienced a glitch. This had been his idea and the only thing that appeared to stop the flow of checkins without creating a general panic. Judging by the size of the line and the desperate looks flashed at them by the young black woman behind the marble counter, the computer glitch story had a two-minute lifespan. They needed to think of something quick. There was no way they could let anyone head up onto any of the floors.
Dispatch had received a single phone call from a frantic woman on the eighteenth floor, claiming that a gang war had broken out in the hallway. The dispatcher confirmed an incredible amount of background noise coming from her phone, though the woman’s screaming made it nearly impossible to determine what she was hearing. Anthony and his partner, Officer Sandra Kingston, had been located less than a minute away, having just turned north onto Lenox Road from Wright Avenue. By the time they arrived at the hotel, two additional calls had hit northern zone dispatch, confirming automatic gunfire on the eighteenth floor. SWAT was ordered to mobilize a response.
One of the calls had been placed by the guest services manager and was still in progress when they walked through the revolving lobby door. The dark-haired woman handed the phone to one of the agents and scurried to meet the officers. She explained that calls had started to flood the front desk and she didn’t know how to proceed. He gave her the computer glitch idea and asked her to bring two of the agents to this quiet corner where he could work out a plan that would keep guests safe until SWAT could take control of the scene. A second pair of police officers pushed through the leftmost set of mahogany-encased, glass swing doors and entered the lobby. He waved them over.
“More officers are on the way. The two of you need to instruct guests to stay in their rooms and lock the doors. Both locks. For their own safety, they need to remain behind locked doors until further notice. Don’t give them any details. Let them know the police are taking control of the situation and move on to the next caller. Get another agent to help you with this. Do you have an automated system that can leave hotel-wide messages?”
“Yes. We use it for emergencies. I can access it from the security office,” the manager said, looking dazed.
“I think this qualifies as an emergency. I need you to record a message informing guests to stay in their rooms until further notice. Start sending the calls immediately. We’ll handle the checkins. Where are your security people?” Anthony asked.
“Recall them to the lobby immediately. Are they armed?”
“One of them. Maybe. I think he took something from his locker,” she said furtively.
“Get them back here now. They’ll get themselves and other hotel guests killed if they try anything crazy. Tell them this is a police order, and if they argue with you, come get me. All right, let’s get this place locked down for SWAT.”
Officer Anthony examined the luxuriously appointed lobby and made a quick assessment of the situation while the hotel staff swarmed the front desk. He counted three elevators in the elevator lobby adjacent to the front desk. To the left of the entrance to the elevator lobby, an unmarked mahogany door stood next to a fire alarm, resembling the most likely stairway exit. Discreetly placed illuminated exit signs situated deeper in the lobby indicated a second exit accessible from the lobby level.
“Hey! Do the elevators reach the parking garage?” he yelled.
“The one on the right, but guests can’t take it directly to the garage. They have to use the other two to arrive in the lobby, then change elevators,” the manager replied.
“Is that the front stairwell door?” he asked, pointing to the inconspicuous wood-paneled door.
“Yes. The other stairwell is beyond the shops and past the side entrance.”
He nodded and greeted the two arriving officers. “Here’s the deal; we have multiple reports of automatic gunfire on the—”
His sentence was interrupted by a double klaxon sound that echoed through the lobby and was followed by a soothing, recorded female voice. Harsh white strobe lights competed with the soft glow of the lobby’s ceiling tray lighting.
“May I have your attention, please? May I have your attention, please? There has been a fire reported in the building. Please exit the hotel using the nearest exit stairwell. Do not use the elevators.”
“Shit,” he muttered, just as the high-decibel double klaxon penetrated his ears again.
Black Flagged Apex Page 32