by Drew Murray
Hostiles?
Stand by.
“Sir, are you here to see Mr. Oldham?” I hear Sally Park’s voice through the curtain. Crisp, professional, but the noise drowns out the response. “The line for Mr. Oldham starts here and ends over there. Oh, you have VIP? No problem, you are next, sir.”
The urgent voices continue at a rapid clip on the SWAT radio.
Command, Balcony Team. There are two, count two, hostiles in the bedroom with the hostage. Armed. Semi-auto pistols.
Roger that. Go to Plan C. Backup, send two.
Plan C is for the second team to climb around and make entry through the balcony door. With hostiles guarding her in the bedroom, an entry through the front door would be too slow. But officers climbing around ten stories off the ground takes time. Something we don’t have.
In a flurry of giggles, the preteen girl in front of Jerry leaves with her mother, making way for the VIP. Whoever it is must be eager because the girl’s giggles are still fading when I hear the handler offer a photo. While I can’t make out their response, I know what they must have asked for when I hear what Jerry says next.
“Oh sure, I have that right here.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
“It’s him, it’s Hicks,” I hiss into my radio.
“That was garbled. Say again?” Decker demands.
The shape of the handler, blurry through the curtain, reaches under the table for the sleek carbon fiber case containing the Unicorn. From his vantage point in the mezzanine above, Decker should be able to see it too.
We’re out of time. The SWAT team doesn’t have Amanda and the bidder; Hicks is here for the Unicorn. If he doesn’t get it, Amanda’s life is in danger. Do I protect the Unicorn, or do I let Hicks take it? If it makes it out of the building, I’m certain I’ll never see it again.
If I’m going to stall, I need to know exactly what Hicks is doing. Decker can only see his back, and Bradley said the cameras are no help. But if Hicks sees me, he’ll know we’re on to him. Sidling up to the curtain, I open a gap in the curtain just wide enough to put my eye to it. Just as my face reaches the fabric, the curtains fly apart, revealing the girl and her mother. They’re not supposed to come this way.
“Come on, Mom, I can see the sign for the bathrooms right there!” shouts the little girl. The crowd was too loud; I didn’t hear them double back on the thick red carpet.
Oldham’s leaning over to take the case from his handler. Martin Hicks stands in front of him with a phone to his ear. Sally Park is holding back the rest of the fans.
His attention drawn by the motion of the curtains, Hicks looks straight at me.
The SWAT commander’s voice, now impatient, rings clear over the radio.
Balcony Team, are you in position?
Two in position. Two on the way. Difficult climb.
The condo. Amanda. Her guard. Wearing a Bluetooth headset. Hicks on the phone.
“Bradley, tell Dana to breach now!”
Hicks frowns at first, processing. Then his eyes and mouth open wide in recognition. If he’s talking to the condo, there are only a few seconds left.
Shoving her mother aside, I push past the preteen girl, knocking her to the ground. My legs are agonizingly slow, like they’re numb with cold. It will take too long to draw my gun. And with a thousand people behind Hicks, too dangerous. Instead, I lock my eyes onto his chest. That’s where I’ll hit, with all the force I can muster.
Every muscle strains. No one else is moving. They’re all statues. In this instant, it’s just me and Hicks. His nostrils are narrowed. He’s taking in a breath. I have until his lungs are filled to get to him.
One, two, three steps and I launch myself through the air, over the table, slamming into his chest head-first, like a battering ram. His breath comes out in a grunt, rather than words. We topple over, landing hard on the red carpet that’s thinner than it looks. The phone flies out of his hand, bouncing away but still within reach.
There’s a new voice in my ear. Dana.
Command, Breach. We need to go now.
Almost there, Breach.
The message got through to Dana, but now there’s hesitation. I hate that. Why can’t people just do what I tell them to do, when I tell them to do it?
Hicks tries to fend me off, but I’m trained for this. Sliding my forearm up and onto his throat, I lean down. I don’t quite have the leverage to crush it, but I manage to stifle his cries into a sickly choking sound. One I hope isn’t heard at the other end of the phone.
Dana’s voice is on the radio again, her voice level.
Command, Breach. Code Black.
Dana invokes the code that means a hostage is about to die. It’s the best she can do in the shortest amount of time.
Focusing on my offense, I’ve left myself exposed. That corporate drone Hicks would be an easy, untrained target is a bet I would take over and over again. Unfortunately, I’m wrong.
He rams his knee up, connecting it solidly with my crotch. Dirty fighting, but as Sensei used to say, “When it’s for your life, all is forgiven.” Hicks believes he’s fighting for his life.
Spots flare in my vision as the pain hits. Gasping for a breath to fight through it gives Hicks all the opportunity he needs. His entire body convulses, finding the weak point of my leverage and throwing me off to the side. Instead of pursuing the attack, he rolls over and reaches for the phone.
The SWAT commander’s voice rings out loud and clear.
All teams, Command. Green light! Green light! Green light!
My teeth jam together, clenching so hard I feel like they’ll crack. While taking another breath in through my nose, I roll over onto all fours to lunge after Hicks. Landing a hand on his foot, I pull on it as hard as I can. He falls face-first to the ground, his hand less than an inch from the phone.
In my ear, there’s a jumbled roar of sound. Breaking glass. A crunching thud. Bangs so loud the earpiece speaker is a distorted blur. Shouting.
Hicks yanks his leg, but I hold on, using the momentum to propel myself forward onto his back. In the blink of an eye, I’ve grabbed his neck. But before I can lock the choke hold, he manages to shout out, “It’s a trap!”
The SWAT team is already in the condo and Dana along with them. There’s nothing more I can do but have faith that Dana won’t make a mistake, like I did with Bruce Sterling.
The years of frustration and pain for my role in what Sterling did pour into the choke hold on Hicks. He falls silent, and as long as I feel him fighting me, I keep the pressure on. His weekends spent at some mixed martial arts gym caught me by surprise, but I’ve got him now and I’m not letting go. His struggling quickly weakens and fades. A little harder, a little longer, and I can guarantee he’ll never hurt anyone again like Bruce Sterling.
But Hicks isn’t Bruce Sterling, and that’s not my way. My grip eases, allowing him to breathe.
As the roar of the tactical entry at the condo fades away, new and clearer sounds emerge in the earpiece. At first, I have trouble making them out around the shrieking and screaming of the confused crowd around me. Concentration brings out Dana’s voice, this time raised, almost shouting.
Command, Breach. Hostage is secure. Repeat: hostage is secure.
Roger that, Breach. Good job.
Whatever relief I have in mind is short lived, because Decker’s drill-sergeant-yelling is the next thing I’m able to make out.
“… Unicorn!!! Will! The Unicorn!”
Looking up, I’m just in time to see someone running away down the red carpet with the carbon fiber case, dressed in an anime-styled costume. Two crossed Samurai sword scabbards adorn their back overtop of motorcycle leathers and a helmet. Red and white leathers.
Dragoniis has the Fukushima Unicorn.
Something lands with a thud on the carpet beside me, smacking me in the face.
“Selfie!” says Oldham, holding up an iPhone. “Fighting crime with the FBI!”
The screen shows a live image of his
face next to mine. Emoticons flow across the bottom.
“Hold him down, don’t let him get away,” I tell Oldham, leaping to my feet.
“Got it, Will, you can count on me, buddy!”
“And stop livestreaming!” I shout back as I take off at a run.
“I’m behind the curtains, heading your way,” says Nassar between heavy breaths.
“I’ll cut him off at the escalators,” says Decker.
“Tell me where he’s headed,” says Griffon. “I’ll circle around.”
“Scrap that, Griffon,” I shout between breaths. “Tell the uniforms to shut down the building. Close all the exits!”
Dragoniis has a lead of only a few seconds, but it might as well be an hour. He dives into the crowd of thousands in the main hall, just one more cosplayer in a sea of them.
In a blink he’s vanished, along with the Fukushima Unicorn.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
Dragoniis has just disappeared with the Fukushima Unicorn into a crowd of thousands. People are packed tightly into two streams moving in opposite directions. If I pick the wrong way, I’ll never get turned around in time. I only get one chance at this.
“Bradley, have you got eyes on him?”
“Yeah, I’ve got him, Will. Fifty feet ahead of you. Angling left towards the front entrance,” he replies through the earpiece.
Starting into the crowd, I move as quickly as I can. But people keep stopping at random, forcing me to weave and shuffle around them. Decker would be shouting at everyone to move for the FBI, but I think that would only cause more people to stop in curiosity. The silver lining here is that Dragoniis is stuck in the same crowd and can’t be going any faster.
“I’m at the escalator,” says Decker over the radio. “Coming down now. I should be able to get ahead of him.”
A long escalator stretches from the main floor to the mezzanine far above the cavernous hall. I spot Decker at the top, but there are a lot of fans blocking the way in front of him. It’s going to take him time to get down.
“I’m out of it,” says Nassar. “There are a bunch of Stormtroopers marching in a line with a ton of people taking pictures blocking the way. I can’t get back to you.”
“Step it up, Decker,” says Bradley.
“I’m going, dammit!” Decker says. I see him look around in frustration before shouting at a pair of security guards below. “Stop that guy in red leather!”
“What?” they shout back, looking at the fans on the escalator.
“Wait, he’s stopped,” says Bradley. “Looking down at something. I can’t make it out.”
“Ah, forget this,” says Decker, pushing his way forward. The fans he plows by grab the railing in alarm, squealing indignantly.
With a wrenching clunk, the escalator stops abruptly. Some riders stumble and fall into those in front of them, creating a heap of bodies. A few scream. Accompanied by a loud buzzing, the escalator starts moving again, this time in the opposite direction, heading back up. Any chance Decker had of getting down to cut off Dragoniis is gone.
“What the hell happened to the escalators, Bradley?” I shout into the radio.
“Someone else is in the system!” Bradley answers amid pounding keystrokes. “It must be Dragoniis.”
“Well, get him out!”
“I’m trying, but I don’t know how he’s done it.”
“I’ll circle around,” says Griffon. “Where’s he headed?”
“Looks like he’s headed for the vendor hall,” says Bradley. “Decker spooked him.”
“I’m at a staff access hallway,” says Nassar. “I’ll use that to get around to the vendor hall and cut back towards him.”
Good plan. With five of us against one of him, the numbers are on our side. Continuing to work my way through the crowd, elbows jab me in the side, some of them accidental. But foot by foot I make my way deeper.
“Dammit,” Nassar grunts over the radio.
“What’s wrong?” I ask.
“Just as I got to the door, the light on the handle turned red. Now I can’t open it. Hold on, there’s another one down the hall.”
“Will, get a move on; he’s almost at the vendor room,” says Bradley. “The crowd’s thin out there. He’ll be fast once he makes it through the doors.”
A small circle of space appears in front of me, centered around a guy in elaborate space armor. Cutting between him and a row of people snapping photos, I’m a little too close and trip on his boots. Stumbling head-first, my face mashes into a guy wearing gray coveralls, a camera in his hand.
“Hey,” he says shoving me back on my feet. “I’m taking a picture here.”
The size of Decker, his coveralls provide ample space for an array of patches. One on his shoulder says “Bertane Gas” another on his chest says “Amos.”
“Dammit, the second one did the same thing,” says Nassar. “It just went red and locked me out.”
“It’s Dragoniis. He’s in there fucking around with us, Bradley. Get him out!”
“Now you’re talking to yourself. What the hell’s wrong with you, man?” asks Amos.
“Griffon, get to the security office,” says Bradley. “I need you there to try something.”
“On my way,” he answers.
“Sorry in advance,” I say with a tilt of my head.
“For wha—” Before Amos can finish, I step in and sweep his leg, dropping him to his back. Leaping over his prone form, I plummet back into the crowd.
The wall of humanity thickens, and I resort to pushing people out of the way, earning me angry comments. But no one else puts up a fuss like Amos, and I make it into the vendor hall.
“Which way do I go?”
“Boss, I don’t know,” says Bradley.
“What? You were watching him.” I start up the middle of the vendor hall while I wait for better direction.
“I was! He was just about at the doors, then he vanished. I’m blind!”
The blind spot.
Somehow Dragoniis found out about the blind spot. Systematically, he’s taken away our advantage, cutting our numbers one by one, adapting to keep one step ahead of us. And he’s got the Fukushima Unicorn. After being in my hands, it’s on the verge of slipping away again. Only this time, instead of vanishing into myth, it’s into the hands of an enemy. As long as we keep him on the run, he won’t have time to get around the handprint. I need to get that case back.
Cursing the waste of time, I work my way back to the doors. Dragoniis never came into the vendor hall. Using the blind spot route to stay off camera, he’s widened his lead. Bursting out of the vendor hall doors, I take a hard left past where the Godzilla statue stood.
“Will, I’m in the stairwell,” says Griffon. “Heading up to the—Hey, I know you,” he shouts, his tone turning dark. “FBI. Stoi! Stoi!”
“What’s happening?” Decker demands.
“That’s Russian,” says Nassar.
“Where is he?” Decker shouts.
“Southwest fire stairs,” says Bradley. “Not alone. Two guys. Griffon has them at gunpoint. They’re drawing!”
Two rapid gunshots ring out over the radio. Running along the blind spot path, my steps falter.
“One down,” says Griffon between heavy breaths. “But the other one took off. He’s gone up to the mezzanine.”
“I’m on him,” says Decker. “Headed your way.”
“I’ll go after him,” says Griffon, panting hard. “You keep on the Unicorn. I’m all right.”
“I still need someone in the security office,” Bradley says.
“Got it,” says Nassar. “I’m not getting anywhere on this floor.”
Leaning back into it, I move surprisingly fast. The blind spot path hugs the walls, out of the way of the crowds. Later in the day it’ll be lined with people sitting on the floor, but this early it’s smooth sailing.
“There he is,” exclaims Bradley. “Just hit the south lobby, right behind the girl with big fabulous wings.”
Rounding the corner into a wide hallway with blue carpet, I see the south entrance in the distance, sunlight pouring through the glass. Rising above the throng of people are an elaborate pair of wings, easily seven feet tall. I pump my arms in an all-out sprint.
Finally, I spot the red and white leathers. As I grow closer, I make out the sword handles crossed on his back, which must be foam props—otherwise security would have taken them away.
Griffon must have gotten word to the uniformed officers because they’re not letting anyone in or out. Dragoniis slows, walking toward an exit door while tapping the phone in his hand.
“Bradley, he’s up to something—”
A klaxon alarm rings out, accompanied by flashing strobe lights.
Everyone in sight stops what they’re doing to look around. Most modern fire alarms have a two-stage rhythm. Slow means prepare to evacuate. Fast means get the fuck out. This klaxon kicks off at a pace faster than my pounding heartbeat.
Two kids holding hands break for the doors first, and like a broken dam, the crowds surge after them. Hundreds of people in the lobby lunge for the same three doors. The uniformed officers can’t leave the doors closed in a fire alarm, and when they open, Dragoniis will slip right past them in the press of evacuees.
“Bradley, shut it down!”
“But, Will, what if it’s a real fire, oh my God!” Bradley screeches in panic. This is why he never goes into the field.
“If it is, you can turn it back on. But right now, turn it off!”
“Okay, okay!”
Dragoniis is almost at the doors when the alarm stops as abruptly as it started. The crowd immediately loses cohesion. Dragoniis doesn’t stop, continuing to the first door he can get to. If he makes it through, he and the Fukushima Unicorn will be gone forever.
“Police! Police! Police!” I shout.
Predictably, no one inside pays any attention, but I’m not yelling at them. I’m yelling at the cops outside, who turn around immediately. Waving my badge in one hand, I point with the other to the door Dragoniis is heading for. Frowning, not entirely sure what I mean, they move anyway to converge on that exit, cutting Dragoniis off.