Manipulate

by Wes Lowe

That was a mighty big ‘if.’ Success depended on Sam coming through with something...anything.

  The missionary’s kid threw up a silent prayer.

  Out on the ledge of the twelfth floor window, Abby and Olivia stood precariously by an open window. Olivia had Willie Mays’ gun in her hand and Abby had JJ’s metal stars in hers.

  “He’s right, you know,” said Abby.

  “Who’s right about what?” asked Olivia.

  “Noah was right to tell you off. I mean, wow! His being tough was kinda macho, kinda sexy.”

  “How can you think about that now? We’re seconds from killing or being killed.”

  “Exactly, which is why I’d rather talk about men. Takes me mind off a ghastly death.”

  “All right, Abby. Forget Noah and me. How about you and JJ? And don’t give me that ‘no Asian guys’ rule.”

  Before Abby could answer, a strong gust blew at them. They dropped their weapons to get firm two-handed grips on the window frame.

  They held each other’s hands as they pushed themselves right up to the wall.

  “Now what?” whispered Abby.

  Sam, seeing light shining through a grill a hundred feet away, crawled quickly to its source. “You’re the man, Sam,” he muttered to himself as he studied the room from behind the metal grate. It was the equipment room. He had picked the right direction when he hit the fork. He carefully removed the grill and jumped down.

  Now the real work could begin.

  Noah was right. The room was piled and crammed with lots of stuff, some useful, some junk, all of it disorganized. Sam found ten-thousand-dollar microphones shoved next to ten-dollar brooms; a double bass stood beside a pinball machine; a bag of marijuana was hidden in a guitar case. He pocketed that for himself. Catch me. I dare you.

  Then he smiled. He spotted two cases of compressed air used for blowing fine dust particles away from sensitive equipment and fifty bottles of isopropyl alcohol used to clean equipment and rejuvenate metal strings.

  Removing the aerosol cans from their boxes, he lined them a foot apart around the room. He pointed a dozen of them at the door. Then he quickly opened the bottles of alcohol and poured the contents over the cans, equipment, and the floor.

  Prep done, he hopped up on a bass drum and hoisted himself back into the air duct. He removed a book of matches from his pocket, courtesy of Willie Mays’ pack-a-day smoking habit. Lighting several individual matches, he dropped them onto the alcohol before igniting the whole matchbook and tossing it toward the equipment room door. As the fire spread, Sam scrambled away.

  The sound of explosions jolted Queenie, Byron, Kenny and the kids, who stood outside the equipment room. The blast blew open the room’s doors. The flying doors landed hard on them, knocking them to the floor, stunned.

  Thanks, Sam! JJ and Noah were prepared for something spectacular, so leapt the moment they smelled smoke.

  With flames creeping up on the children’s bodies, there was no time to waste. Noah and JJ each picked up a couple of them, one under each arm and rocketed to the boardroom.

  Dropping off the children, Noah told JJ, “Stay. Help Olivia and Abby with the kids.”

  Noah raced back to the studio and re-entered to rescue the last two child musicians.

  Queenie sat up, shaking the cobwebs off. She saw Noah throwing the kids out of the studio, then yanking the door shut.

  “I’ll never let you get them back,” yelled Noah.

  And then the sprinklers turned on. No gentle downpour, the driving water extinguished the fire and drenched everyone in the room.

  “Kenny, check inside the equipment room,” ordered Queenie. She then punched a number into her cell.

  Noah couldn’t figure out why Queenie wasn’t coming after him but, whatever the reason, it wasn’t good.

  JJ handed the kids to Abby and Olivia, then dashed back out to get the last kids from the hallway as Abby and Olivia gently lowered the other children to Willie Mays and Walrus on the eleventh floor.

  At the wall, Sam’s head popped out of the vent. “Hey, Walrus, come on and check something out with me. It’s awesome.”

  “For sure.”

  “Stay here, Gaylord,” ordered his father.

  “And miss the fun? No way!” Walrus scampered to the wall and leapt up to have Sam snatch him and yank him into the vent.

  “Come back here, Gaylord,” shouted Willie Mays. “I need help.”

  But Walrus ignored him and disappeared with Sam into the air duct.

  It took just scant seconds before JJ returned with the last two children. He assisted Olivia and Abby in getting them down to Willie Mays.

  After all six of the young musicians were safe, JJ took Olivia’s hands and lowered her to Willie Mays. Abby was next and, as he held her hands, Abby squeezed hard and said softly, “Please be safe.”

  “I’ll try.” With a grin bigger than an actor winning an Oscar, JJ gently let her down to the rotund donut eater.

  With all the kids, Olivia and Abby safe on the eleventh floor, JJ called to Willie Mays, “Ready?”

  “Anytime.”

  JJ jumped and grabbed Willie’s hand on his descent.

  49

  Winged Destruction

  Queenie smirked as she asked Noah, “Do you remember my father’s cranes?”

  Noah’s heart skipped a beat as his thoughts flashed to a few months ago. In Chin’s penthouse high-rise complex in Macau, Noah battled not only Chin, his henchmen and his ferocious tigers, but vicious, genetically-modified cranes. Putting on a face of bravado, he said, “They were a nuisance but no big deal.”

  “Well, compared to mine, those were baby chicks. Look outside, Noah.”

  Noah’s heart started pounding like a jackhammer. Flying toward his friends on the eleventh floor was a flock of hybrid red-crowned cranes.

  “I’ve bred them specifically to kill and die. If their talons and beaks don’t tear your friends to pieces, they’ll die from modified bacteria from Psittacosis, parrot fever, if it gets into their bloodstream. So, are you ready to make the transfer now?”

  “I need time to pull that off. That’s way too big an amount.”

  “Then that’s too bad because I’m not waiting any more. You have about a minute before they arrive. I can still call them off...they listen only to me.”

  Think, Noah, think.

  Noah ran to the second grand piano stored against the wall and pushed it. With its wheels unlocked, the instrument moved easily and Noah rammed it through the floor-to-ceiling window.

  JJ saw hatred and death in the eyes of the approaching cranes. Like the birds in his hotel room, the birds had been brutalized, tortured, and were diseased. There were too many of them coming and not enough time to evacuate.

  Then a gift from above.

  The grand piano fell on several birds as they were about to fly into the floor’s open space.

  In disbelief, JJ felt a glimmer of recognition as a loud, squalling call came from the floor above. Assessing for a split second, he realized his instinct was correct—the sound was the mating call of a crane. As part of his Hung Gar Tiger and Crane martial arts training, he learned the animals’ behavior, movement and speech.

  The calls could only come from Noah, who received similar training. JJ understood what Noah wanted. Noah wanted him to imitate the call.

  “Imitate me as best as you can. It’s our best hope for survival,” JJ said to Abby, Olivia, Willie Mays and the young choristers.

  Put that way, it was a convincing argument to act like lunatics.

  The diverse troop imitated JJ’s calls. To their absolute shock, the birds called back. As the birds’ squalls became more poignant, JJ followed with another surprise. He began to dance.

  Talk about bizarre. On the eleventh floor of a New York building were four adults and six kids honking like cranes and emulating a crane-mating dance.

  The birds were confused, but they did not attack as they landed by the human performers.

  �
��Be careful. They’re still dangerous,” said JJ as his ‘wings’ flapped.

  JJ mouthed a silent prayer, asking for forgiveness—he would be taking innocent, unsuspecting lives. Twisting his arm slowly toward the crane standing beside him, JJ’s hand shot out and grabbed the bird by its neck, then snapped it.

  Putting the bird down and acting as if nothing had happened, he motioned for Willie Mays, Abby and Olivia to move the frightened children to an empty iso booth, a solidly constructed room used to shield performances from leaking into the microphones of other musicians.

  After the children were safely inside, JJ ordered, “Stay with the kids, Willie Mays. Abby, Olivia, come with me.”

  The girls followed JJ, and the dance of death continued until JJ had taken the lives of another six cranes.

  The sharp-eared JJ noticed that the remaining cranes had changed their calls, as if they understood what JJ did to their brethren and were preparing for revenge.

  JJ, carrying three dead birds, motioned for Olivia and Abby to follow him into another partially-built iso booth. He shut the door.

  Abby burst into tears. “That was awful.”

  “It gets worse.” JJ wrenched off the heads of the birds.

  Abby and Olivia had no words for JJ. They were staring at the birds outside their small protective room, maniacally pecking and scratching at the thick soundproof glass.

  JJ sent a text to Noah and Queenie.

  WE’RE ALL ALIVE AND WILL STAY THAT WAY.

  Noah faced Queenie and Byron. “That’s it, Queenie. The birds didn’t kill anybody and I don’t care if I die, and you still don’t have any money. Give it up.”

  “Not so fast, Noah,” called Kenny from the equipment room. “Guess who I found crawling out of the air ducts?”

  The studio manager stepped out, holding Walrus and Sam by the scruffs of their necks. He dropped Walrus and kicked him over to Queenie’s feet.

  “I think we just secured our investment,” commented Queenie sardonically as Walrus grimaced in pain. “So let’s try this again. Get me a laptop.”

  As Byron left to fetch a computer, Kenny lifted Sam in the air, allowing him to dangle.

  “Let me go before I kick your ass,” said Sam, kicking and punching the air.

  Noah watched Sam’s act of foolish bravado. During the months he’d known him, he’d seen the transformation from young hoodlum to young ambassador. Was he overly cocky, a pain in the butt and too often irresponsible? Yes, yes and yes. But that was why the Chad Huang Foundation existed. To help kids like this and there was no way on Earth he could allow Sam to die.

  Byron was back in less than a minute and placed the laptop on the small table beside the conductor’s podium.

  Queenie handed Noah a card with numbers written on the back. “You know what to do.”

  Noah sat at the table. As he began typing in the numbers, he glanced at Sam and gave a quick raise of his eyebrows. Now!

  Sam whipped out a faucet he’d taken from an unfinished bathroom on the eleventh floor and bashed it against Kenny’s nose, breaking it. Screaming in pain, Kenny dropped him. Sam promptly launched the faucet at Byron and hit him in the middle of his forehead.

  With everyone distracted, Noah picked up the laptop and chucked it toward the open window.

  “No!” Unable to see properly, Byron lunged after the portable computer. Misjudging the distance, he overextended himself and followed the laptop out the window and down twelve stories.

  Kenny wiped the blood from his nose and grabbed Sam again. “You’re not getting away this time.” He began squeezing Sam in a bear hug.

  Sam retaliated with a flurry of fists against Kenny’s head. Walrus, now recovered, climbed on Kenny’s back, trying to yank his arms off Sam and biting at his neck.

  While the two computer-game-playing teens’ conditioning and strength were no match for battle-hardened Kenny’s, there was no doubting their heart.

  And, sometimes, heart wins. The constant barrage of fists and incisors piercing through layers of skin was having its effect.

  Kenny fell backward, the hard landing knocking the wind out of him. As he started hyperventilating, Sam kicked him in the head and knocked him unconscious. He and Walrus bound Kenny’s arms and legs with microphone cables.

  With a gritty, take-no-prisoners, kill-or-be-killed assault rage, Queenie slashed at Noah using cranes’ legs with sharpened talons, one in each hand. Noah, evading her onslaught by backpedaling, picked up a chair and threw it at her.

  The lithe acrobatic Queenie leapt into the air and kicked the chair away. In mid-air, she targeted the deadly feet at Noah.

  Noah dropped to the floor. Rolling quickly, he watched the razor-sharp claws embed into the floor.

  Relentless, Queenie pulled a handful of peckers from inside her feathered top.

  Only nimble footwork, ballet dancer-like flexibility and Shaolin-honed senses prevented Noah from being skewered as the pointed missiles flew at him.

  Byron’s dead. Kenny’s out. Noah’s faster and nimbler than a cobra… It’s time to change course.

  Queenie bounded onto the top of the grand piano and spread her arms like the wings of a bird. The left arm opened up majestically, but the right arm was crooked and moved awkwardly as if injured.

  Noah had no idea what she was doing…but the answer came soon enough.

  50

  Counterattack

  Noah gaped. Cranes were flying into the Skyscape studio and joining Queenie by the grand piano. They cawed loudly in an agonizing sympathetic chorus as she tried to move her “broken wing.” Queenie awkwardly pointed her damaged forelimb at Noah and squawked with even greater distress. Her message was obvious even to an untrained ear: This evil man hurt me. Do something.

  Queenie saw Walrus and Sam staring in horrified wonder as the cranes stretched their wings to their seven-foot wingspans. She discreetly removed two peckers from a pocket and hurled them at the boys. One of them inserted itself into Sam’s arm, the other into Walrus’ chest.

  “No!” Noah rushed at Queenie.

  But the Crane Lady was ready. She leapt at the charging Noah like Superwoman, spreading her arms out, then smacking her hands toward his eardrums.

  At the last millisecond, Noah ducked and wheeled around, but not fast enough. Her hands hit the back of his head and his cheek.

  Noah threw a hand at her head. She anticipated a thumb and index finger at her eye but Noah shifted his hand down, chopping at her windpipe, knocking her to the floor.

  Weaponless, he ran to the piano with Queenie in pursuit. He ducked under the piano while Queenie resumed her perch on the keyboard’s lid, with peckers ready to launch.

  Inside the sound-proof isolation booth, Olivia, Abby and JJ couldn’t believe what they were seeing—the cranes had stopped their attack and were flying away. As if human, they appeared both confused and compassionate.

  When they lifted themselves into the air and flew out the window, JJ opened the booth door and heard a distant pained, hurting cry of distress.

  JJ’s face dropped. “That’s the cry of a suffering mother calling for help. I’ve got to go.”

  He ran to the window and saw birds ascending and entering into Skyscape’s studio on the floor above. One crane, spotting JJ, swooped back down to attack him.

  JJ fell back from the window onto the floor, narrowly avoiding the bird’s sword-sharp talons. Seeing pus leaking from the crane’s body, JJ had to pay full attention to evading the bacteria-laden liquid. Who knew what diseases the bird had?

  Rolling from left to right, JJ barely avoided the bird’s storm of attack with its beak and talons.

  Suddenly, four hammers came hurtling. Two missed the crane completely but the third hit it on the neck and the last hit its body. The hammers inflicted no pain but the bird flinched a moment, startled at the unexpected offensive.

  That was enough time for JJ to leap to his feet, pick up a metal support beam and launch his own assault. Half a dozen blows to the crane
’s body and head and the bird was dead.

  Olivia and Abby, who had thrown the hammers, rushed to JJ and wrapped their arms around him. It was a harmless gesture of affection to them but it electrified JJ, the virginal ex-monk.

  He swallowed, “I’ve got to get upstairs.”

  “Of course,” said Olivia.

  “No more climbing up buildings for me.” JJ bolted from the room, up the flight of stairs to Skyscape’s floor and down the corridor to the main studio.

  He thrust the door open just in time to see Noah hiding under the piano and using a microphone stand to fend off cranes trying to attack him.

  “Get out from under, Noah!” screamed JJ as he raced across the room toward the piano.

  JJ jumped feet first toward one of the piano’s legs. As JJ’s thrust snapped the piano leg, Noah scrambled out from under the instrument’s frame. As Noah escaped, the piano toppled, crushing three cranes. Queenie lost her balance and plunged to the floor.

  Noah and JJ picked up the sturdy piano legs and used them to club the attacking birds into submission.

  The last few cranes, habituated to be carnivores, smelled the blood on Sam and Walrus’ bodies. They changed direction and flew at the boys, ready to partake of a carnal feast of fresh young meat.

  Noah and JJ rushed to the teenagers, shouting, “To death!”

  The cry of ancient warriors who would defend the city until death sounded corny unless you were fourteen. Noah knew that Sam and Walrus needed something to raise their spirits.

  Unfortunately, the bleeding had weakened the boys seriously. Noah worried that an abnormally fast case of infection or sepsis might be setting in. These birds were hardly sanitary and, with their blood splattered everywhere, serious infection was bound to happen.

  Noah leapt in front of a crane just before its beak skewered Sam. Noah bashed the bird’s head with the piano leg so hard its eyes bulged as it collapsed.