by Rahul Sharma
It was the Straford boy. He prowled past the twins, without looking at them, down the corridor in front of him. Remus waited till he could no longer hear the footsteps before cautiously continuing towards the T junction. As they neared the well lit intersection of corridors, he heard the soft voice of his brother from behind him.
“I don’t like the looks of that kid. Seems fishy.”
“I know.”
“Did you hear it?”
“What?”
“The Straford kid, he was saying something”
“What?”
“I dunno. Couldn’t catch it, he was whispering to himself.”
“Probably just a prayer or something. Guy wouldn’t have expected such an event in the meeting. He was just sent to spy.” The whole conversation was held in whispers.
They had finally reached the intersection. Remus cast one look at the passage down which Neil Straford had gone- he was no longer visible- and shook his head. “I’m not followin’ that foul kid.” He muttered, and took a right at the junction, the direction Straford had come from, with his twin brother at his heels.
“What time is it?” Remus asked his brother, too lazy to check his watch. He no longer whispered as he knew he was out of earshot of anyone other than Romulus.
“Quarter to nine.” came the reply, “If we don’t find anything interesting down this-” There was a sharp gasp of pain and a thud. Remus whirled around.
His brother was lying on the floor, in a rapidly growing pool of blood, dead. Remus looked up to see his brother’s murderer, holding a silenced pistol, grinning.
“You!!” He spluttered, “You filthy-”
“There’s no point swearing, you’re already dead” smiled the murderer, and he shot Remus. The killer took one last look at the two brothers, identical dead bodies on the floor, and left.
**********
Alexander Font heaved a heavy sigh. Never in his life did he expect himself to be in such a position. He shifted his weight on to his elbows and continued to crawl down the air vent. He heard a distinct whirring noise in the distance- the central air conditioning. Font knew that once he reached the vertical central shaft he could access any part of the building. He expected that, if the central cooling system was in good condition (which he was quite sure it was), he wouldn’t drop like a rock down the vertical shaft.
The reason Alexander Font knew all this was because the entire Goodane plaza’s cooling system had been designed by Font ambience services. Alexander considered the Goodane plaza’s system his best work- subtle, yet powerful, and minimalistic on space. He had been given the pleasure of designing the entire ambience of the building. By “ambience”, one means the design, lighting, spacing, furniture, arrangement and so on. So, all in all, it could be said that Alex Font knew the building off by heart.
Crawling through the air vent was slow work. Despite having a small and light frame, Alex had to heave himself through the vents at a crawling pace. He was no longer in the prime of his youth. His handsome face had become lined, a large bald patch was on his head, and his bones were weaker than before.
It was because of his bones being weaker due to old age, that Alexander did not enjoy the ten foot drop from the vent onto the floor.
With an almighty crash, a panel below him gave way and Alexander collapsed onto the corridor below headfirst. Uttering a long list of profanities, Alexander heaved himself up and propped himself against the wall, checking to see if any bones had been broken. Once he had assured himself that he was fine, only a bit shaken at the most, he got to his feet and set off randomly down a corridor.
Alexander had been walking aimlessly for a few minutes when he heard the sound of running feet. The carpeted floor could not hide the loud thumps as they drew steadily closer to Alexander. Shaking with fright, Alexander drew himself against a wall, bracing himself. All of a sudden, a large suited figure hurtled around a corner and came at him. Uttering a small gasp of shock, Alexander fainted.
When he came to, Alexander found himself lying in the arms of one of his business partners, Carlos Mayo. Carlos seemed pale and frightened, unlike his normal calm self, but continued to earnestly fan Alex with his handkerchief. Once he realized that his friend was awake, Carlos heaved a sigh of relief.
Alexander got up and looked at his friend. He definitely seemed disturbed in some way. “What’s up?” Alexander asked Carlos feebly. Carlos shook his plump head, his normally rosy face dead pale. Carlos took a deep breath trying to calm himself, looking most unlike a media tycoon.
Finally, Carlos stopped gasping and spoke in a shaky voice, “Dead…All dead” he said. Alexander shook his head, trying to make sense out of his friend’s words. “Whose dead, Car? What happened? Why should anybody be dead?”, he asked rationally.
“Trent twins…dead. Colt….dead. All…dead.” Carlos gasped.
Alexander tried to follow, “They’re….they’re dead? How? Who killed them?”
Carlos shook his head frantically. “Dunno” he muttered.
Alexander stared at the wall in front of him, thinking. This seemed like some old horror flick he had seen. But why, the logical part of him mused, why should they be dead? Perhaps Carlos was a little dazed. Maybe he had fallen over or something and gotten hit on the head. That’s probably more likely to happen than people being randomly murdered, Alex concluded.
But Carlos continued with his narration, “Two meeting rooms, filled with dead bodies. Security people and Hospitality staff, all dead. Blood all over the walls. I freaked out. I wandered some more and I found Colt. Colt was knocked in the head pretty bad.” He said slowly, “both the Trent twins had been shot. Their bodies were still warm when I found them, right in the middle of the floor sixteen corridor. I was looking at them, I heard footsteps. I ran for it.” He uttered a low groan and fell still.
Alexander looked at his friend to make sure he was still breathing- he was. He began to stroke his beard, an act he always did when he was in deep thought. Perhaps Carlos was telling him the truth? He was not one who lied often. Especially in things like this. But who was this mysterious murderer walking around killing people? Was it one of the tycoons? Or was it some anonymous person. Perhaps it was one of the terrorist’s men. Yes, thought Alex defiantly, the crackpot on the P.A system sounded like one who’d do this.
All of a sudden he got up with astounding grace and speed. “Come on Carlos,” he said, giving a hand to lift up his bulky friend, “we better win this “game” and get out of here!!” With a grunt, he heaved his friend on to his feet. But before they could start down the corridor, a soft, composed voice played out from behind them.
“Congratulations gentlemen, you’ve just won the game!!” Both men spun around, pale with fright. A tall, muscular, blonde man stood in the middle of the corridor. His eyes were confident and his hands held a golden pistol, pointed at the two businessmen. “You’re prize,” continued the voice, in a calm and pleasant tone, “is an all expenses paid trip to heaven.”
With that the blonde gave a charming smile and shot a bullet directly at Alexander, whose frail body crumpled on impact of the bullet. Carlos Mayo gave a loud squeal any large pig would be proud to produce, and ran down the corridor, his large feet thumping on the carpeted floor. With evident ease, Jerry shot another bullet right into Carlos’ back, sending the large billionaire crashing down onto the carpeted floor.
Jerry pocketed his pistol and slipped back into the security room, talking into his walkie talkie as he went. “Font and Mayo down” he reported into the little black device, “thanks for lending me your voice.”
“Sure thing” said 6’s voice from the other end of the communication line. Jerry seated himself in front of the many monitors again, smiling to himself at the fact that neither of the two tycoons had noticed that the voice they heard had not come from him, but from his pant pocket.
**********
Officer Stephen Frost stalked slowly down the corridor, clutching his gun with both han
ds. He had heard the two silenced shots from the corridor in front of him, he was going to investigate. Just as he reached the corner, he heard loud, heavy footsteps. The runner seemed to be running away from him. Frost quickly bounded up the corridor and swung around the corner, his gun at the ready. He only saw one large foot vanishing around the next corner in front of him, but it was enough for him to guess that it was Carlos Mayo. But before he could run in pursuit of Mayo, he stopped at the sight on the floor.
Frost crouched over the Trent twins’ bodies, conducting a quick post mortem check. Having been in the police service for so many years, he had picked up bits of forensic science as well. After several minutes of examining, Frost stood up and heaved a sigh.
It was very obvious that the Trent twins had been shot. Frost concluded that Mayo had not been the murderer as the bodies had been shifted slightly. Remus Trent was lying on his side, a position which could not be his original position as he had been shot in his chest. Frost assumed that Mayo was just checking out the bodies, just as he himself was. He must’ve heard my footsteps, panicked and ran, thought Frost.
Steve was about to continue up the corridor, now looking for the murderer as well as the terrorist, when he heard footsteps approaching his location. Thinking quickly, he dived into one of the adjoining rooms, making sure the door was ajar so that he could keep an eye. The footsteps grew louder and Jay Edison trudged into Frost’s line of sight.
Frost heaved a sigh of relief, Jay was someone he trusted. Nevertheless, he continued to watch him without interrupting. Once Edison showed the same shock and alarm on seeing the dead bodies, Frost decided to reveal himself.
“Halo Jay.” He called as he suddenly emerged from his hiding place.
Jay jumped, “Good heavens Steve! You scared me! Did you see this?” he asked, indicating the two bodies. Frost nodded. Before Jay could complete his question, Frost replied, “I don’t know who did it. But I think we should stick together for now.” Jay nodded, “Agreed. Two floors above, Font and Mayo are dead too.”
Frost stared at his friend with shock. The old, lined face showed no hint of lies or jokes. His black shadowed eyes remained as serious and solemn as ever.
“It was a different gun,” Jay said, looking at the two bodies on the floor, “They were a lot messier. Blood all over the place.”
Frost nodded silently and indicated that they start walking. The two men proceeded walking in silence. Frost quietly suggested that they should ascend to the topmost office, Jay silently agreed. After knowing about the demises of their associates, neither felt like mincing words.
There was a loud “ding” from the elevator as the two men arrived on the topmost floor. A single closed door in the wall in front of them. The two men looked at each other once, nodded, and Frost threw open the door.
A thin figure stood silhouetted against the massive skyline of Goodane, the young figure of Neil Straford. Neil turned to look at the two men who entered the room. “Hey”, he said, “look at all this stuff I found here.”
He indicated the two laptops lying open on top of a table facing the view. Frost immediately walked up to the equipment and began examining the laptops and their contents, while Edison continued to stand at the doorway, staring at the young boy. Who was carefully reaching for his pocket
Suddenly, the room was rent with a loud cry, “STEVE LOOKOU-”
There was the “phut” of a silenced pistol and a loud thud as Jay Edison collapsed on the floor. But he was not yet dead. With a mighty groan, he heaved himself onto his feet, the hole in his chest bleeding profusely. He threw himself onto the young villain, hoping to distract him while Frost pulled out his gun.
But Neil was agile and he twisted out of Jay’s reach. Neil shot one more bullet into Edison’s body, killing him. He then nimbly dived behind the large, heavy desk which held his equipment as Frost began firing wildly, shattering the glass front of the luxurious room. There was a lull for a few seconds.
Frost took this time to flip a large couch onto its back and take cover behind it. Neil quickly reloaded his gun. The two quickly exchanged a few shots but neither was hit. During the next few seconds of silence, Frost peeked at the scene from behind his couch.
He could just see the top of Neil’s red head behind the desk. Firing a few shots into the desk, Frost called out, “Come out! You are under arrest for the murder of Jay Edison!”
Neil merely laughed. All of a sudden, he threw himself on top of the desk, scattering the equipment, and began to fire continuously at Frost. Muttering a prayer under his breath, Frost hoped that the couch was thick enough to protect him.
Phit. There was a small hole in the fabric an inch to his right; a hole the size of a bullet- the couch was not thick enough. Frost took one final deep breath to calm himself. It was a fight to the death. He would either kill, or die with honour.
Stephen Frost stood up, facing his enemy, who was perched on the desk. The two men pointed their gun at each other. Frost squeezed the trigger, bracing himself for the blast. ‘Click’. Neil rolled onto the floor in order to evade the bullet, but no bullet came. His gun was empty.
Frost swore. He knew his game was over. He was at his enemy’s mercy. He dropped his gun and waited for the final shot that would finish him off for good.
But it never came. Instead, there was a soft voice, “Go.” Frost opened his eyes, looking at Neil Straford. His face showed resignation, his gun dropped a fraction of an inch. “Go.” He repeated.
“What….?”
“Leave now!” Neil said, his voice sounding stronger now. “Go before I change my mind and blow your head open.” Frost didn’t care to say anything. Thanking his gods, he quickly scooped up his gun and proceeded out of the room. He took the elevator down to the ground floor and sprinted out of the building as fast as he could.
Once outside, he was greeted with the welcoming cries of his fellow officers, who had grouped anxiously around the entrance. Frost shook his head at all their questions, he was too shaken up. After a few minutes he finally spoke, “He’s still up there. Send in the copters. Open fire.” A few officers bustled off, obeying Frost’s commands. Frost threw himself onto a chair and took great gasping breaths. Stan, the young technician, approached him.
“Sir?” he asked cautiously, edging towards Frost with a pen and paper in his hand. “Did you happen to look at the terrorist? Could you describe his appearance?” Frost nodded, and attempted to smile.
“You know Julian Straford? His son, Neil, was the terrorist. Guy was like nineteen years old, about five eight, not very fat. He had red hair, grey eyes, glasses, a scar across his cheek, and a rather pointed nose.” Frost noticed the confused expression on Stan’s face. “What’s wrong?”
Stan shook his head. “Julian Straford has a son sir, as you said, around nineteen years of age. But the guy is called Mark. Not Neil. And he’s one of the fattest kids around” Stan looked at his senior with a worried expression. “You sure he said Neil?”
Frost nodded and continued, “I’d bet my right hand that he was the terrorist.” He violently smacked his forehead with his hand, “I SHOULD HAVE REALIZED!! I KNEW STRAFORD’S SON WAS CALLED MARK!! IT SLIPPED MY MIND!!” If only I had known then, all those tycoons wouldn’t have died…”
Frost looked up and saw everyone’s faces showing pure shock. He had forgotten that they did not know this. He quickly explained the rules of the game and its disastrous consequences. He watched as his listeners’ faces grew more and more aghast. “I’m still not sure why the kid let me go,” he concluded, “but I thank him and I thank my stars for that….”
Frost heaved a sigh of relief that this ordeal was over. But he knew, somehow, that he was going to see more of this mysterious young man.
**********
6 stood alone for a few moments in the topmost office. Only him and his emotions. He was still trying to figure out why he let the cop escape. Stephen Frost appealed to 6. He liked his style, his b
ravery and his attitude. He was a worthy foe for 6. That’s why I let him go, 6 thought, as he heaved a heavy sigh and pocketed his gun.
With a jolt, 6 realized that however much he admired Frost, police forces would be on their way up the building. He pulled out his walkie talkie and shortly commanded everyone to get onto the roof. He then began to run towards the roof himself. As he ran he whipped out his cell phone. He dialled a number within seconds. “Pilot,” he said urgently, “we need to leave. Now.”
Five minutes later, 6 along with his six team mates stood on the roof, gazing out into the bright sky. There was a low droning noise as a helicopter in the distance began to approach the Gates tower. “Quick quick quick!!” 6 muttered under his breath as he paced up and down the open roof anxiously. Sure enough, within seconds, a second, louder sound filled the air. The sound of another chopper.
A black police helicopter rose over the side of the tower, its two menacing machine guns pointed at 6 and his team. There was an instant, as the pilot of the chopper met eyes with 6. And then the guns began to blaze, filling the air with lethal bullets.
6 managed to dive behind an air conditioning vent before the bullets reached him. But, unfortunately, all his team mates were not as lucky. Jerry gave a roar of pain as a bullet pierced him in the shoulder. He dropped onto the floor in order to avoid any more shots. Another man in 6’s team, Lou, was hit squarely in the chest by a dozen bullets, dropping dead on the spot.
6 crouched tersely behind the vent and waited. He knew Lou was dead, but he couldn’t undo it. “Guys, stay low, Pilot’s gonna be here in a few seconds.” he called out.
Sure enough, the second helicopter rapidly approached the building. This helicopter, however, looked quite different. Two large barrel-like objects were on either side of its body. As the helicopter approached the building, there was a loud roar as a large black missile shot out towards the police helicopter from the belly of the chopper.
There was a loud crash as the police helicopter exploded, showering the five living men on the roof with shards of glass and metal. The second copter hovered low over the roof and the five men climbed in using the rope that dangled below the helicopter.
