Chapter 52—Good Place to Die
Heather aimed her pistol directly at Rooke’s head. Mark didn’t doubt her accuracy, but he did doubt that she could squeeze off a shot before Rooke blew her to smithereens with the RPG. As for Mark and all his bravado earlier, he was unsure if he could withstand an explosion. He hadn’t attempted to survive anything like that so far.
They could conceivably run to the side rooms. But how large was the weapon’s kill radius? So Mark stayed in one place, keeping an eye out for an escape to present itself.
“Where did you get that?” Mark asked.
“Emeryl brought plenty of toys. He didn’t mind me helping myself to some. I like this one the best.” Rooke tapped the side. “Has very clear instructions. With little pictures too. Now drop your weapon,” Rooke said, pointing his RPG at Heather’s pistol. Reluctantly, she dangled her gun on her finger. Then she flicked it aside. “And the walkie-talkie.” She tossed that away, too. “Very good. I understand you two have been trying to interfere with my plan, and that just won’t do.”
“But you’re going to wipe out the whole city,” Mark said.
“So?” Rooke asked, turning the end of the tube toward him. “I slaved for this city. For people everywhere. I poured my heart and soul into my work, trying to help others. What has this city ever given me? What has anyone ever given me?” He looked at them expectantly. “Nothing. Absolutely nothing. And because I dedicated my life to helping others, I couldn’t help my father. I’ve failed. Failed him.”
“You did all you could,” Mark said, glancing at the discarded pistol.
“No! I could’ve done more! I gave everyone life, in hopes that my father would be spared. But no good deed goes unpunished.”
“It doesn’t work like that,” a voice said from the entrance to the staircase room. Mark turned around. Finster was standing there, rifle in hand. “Expecting things to happen like that is like expecting a bear not to eat you because you’re a vegetarian.”
“Stay back!” Rooke shouted. He rattled his weapon. Mark’s stomach dropped and a chill raced down his spine. “You don’t understand. It’s simply time to take back my gift from these people. The gift that was snatched from my father: life. And it will commence in twenty-five minutes. Oops, make that twenty-four,” he said, noting a clock on the wall.
“You’re not the humanitarian you think you are,” Heather said. “You could have done more. You were greedy to the last, even pouring in resources toward a cure for Leonard. Resources from research for my own cure,” she said, gritting her teeth. She dared to venture forward, but only a step. “I saw your computer.”
“Well, I guess I couldn’t keep the secret forever,” Rooke said. “Still, I kept you going for three years.” He shrugged. “Not bad.”
Heather curled her fists. “When Whyte hears about this—”
“Whyte?!” Rooke threw his head back and laughed. Finster took one step closer, but Rooke regained his composure. “Uh-uh,” he said, waving his weapon at him. The large man halted in his tracks.
Rooke returned his attention to Heather. “Whyte. Let me tell you a little something about Whyte. He knew that I was diverting funds from your cure. Oh, yes. Didn’t know that, did you?” he asked, grinning at Heather’s startled expression. “Why cure someone who is desperate, desperate to kill as necessary, when you can hold onto them by dangling the ever-elusive carrot in front of their face? Use their unique power without dealing with the side effects yourself? No, Whyte thought you were too valuable to give up. How did he put it?” He tapped his chin thoughtfully. “Ah, yes. ‘I’ve never seen a better combination of desperation and talent, all in one package.’ ” Mark thought it was a poor imitation of Whyte.
“You,” Heather said, growling as her body shook. “You, you—”
“Me, me, what?” Rooke asked. “Go ahead. Say whatever you’d like. It won’t change the fact that we have a short time left. I have one word for all of you: traitors. I gave all of you homes and jobs. This is how you repay me?”
“When you’re trying to kill all of us, yes,” Mark said. “It wouldn’t be the first time you’ve tried to do that.”
“Are you still sore about the gun? What about how I saved you?” Rooke asked. “Or have you forgotten Kirk? Forgotten how I rescued you from the government and your dead-end life?”
“That was only because you used him as bait,” Finster said.
Rooke frowned. “Is that true?” Mark asked him.
Clucking his tongue, Rooke rolled his eyes. “Oh, very well then. Let’s just lay all the cards on the table. Yes, I used you as bait, Mark, to draw out the BEP Division. Whyte has been dying to know where their base is. So you’re throwing in your lot with Whyte, who’s willing to use anyone. Heather and Finster were in on it by the way.”
“It was your plan, not Whyte’s. You were trying to get in Whyte’s good graces. We also had his back,” Finster said, inching his rifle around the corner. “We were the ones who saved him.” Mark turned to Heather and Finster. They were nodding at him and he returned the gesture. He believed they had been on his side since then.
“Stay back or I shoot!” Rooke screamed. “So what? That makes you brothers-in-arms? Have each other’s backs through thick and thin? I sent you two to help him. Guess that doesn’t count for anything. Oh well. I would say it’s been a pleasure, but to be honest, it really hasn’t.”
There didn’t appear to be any way around Rooke. Mark closed his eyes. Think, think! Somehow, they could weasel out of this predicament, couldn’t they? He had to find a way to get past Rooke and find the code. Otherwise, the SN91 would release, and he knew they wouldn’t survive that.
A realization popped into his head. The code. Heather’s words echoed in his mind. Something significant to Rooke. He looked around. They were at a funeral home. Why did he pick this place over his protected office? Over anywhere else in the city? Then it hit Mark why the funeral home’s name seemed so familiar. He had seen it before.
Had Rooke taken his deluded revenge for Leonard’s death so far, it had consumed all aspects of his mind? Including his choices in significant numbers? Mark turned to Rooke and posed the question. “Why did you choose to stay here?”
“What do you mean?” Rooke asked.
“Well, you chose this place over anywhere else: your home, your office. It’s not safe or conspicuous. So why choose it?” He paused, letting his question sink into everyone’s mind before he closed in with his next inquiry. “This is the place you called to take Leonard, right?”
The RPG wavered in Rooke’s hand. “So? What are you getting at?”
“Everything today, you’ve done for your father,” Mark said. “You want everyone to remember him and suffer because he died. So everything has revolved around his death, hasn’t it?”
Rooke’s eyes flickered for a moment. An imperceptible flash of fear but one that everyone caught. Finster took out his walkie-talkie and backed away from the stairs. Rooke chuckled. “Good job, but you’ll never figure out the exact code in time.” His laughter grew, becoming more frenzied. Then he aimed the RPG at Finster. “Yet I can’t take that chance,” he murmured.
Heather grabbed Mark’s shoulder and they dove under the staircase. The subsequent explosion shook the building’s foundations. A stream of gunfire erupted from Finster’s weapon. Heather retrieved her pistol and shot at Rooke. The three leapt up the staircase, guns blazing at the spot where Rooke had stood just seconds before.
“Rooke! I will kill y—down!” Heather yelled to the others.
Rooke stood on the left side of the second-floor hall. He aimed his RPG squarely at them. They fled down the stairs. Rooke blasted another hole in the wall below. Then he picked up a rifle out of a duffle bag near a window and fired away. He raced down the stairs after them.
On the floor below, Mark, Heather, and Finster scattered, diving into different rooms. Heather leaned out and fired at Rooke. He ran for cover into a side room. Clicks resounded through th
e building as Heather and Finster reloaded.
“Finster!” Heather called. He stuck his head out of a doorway up the hall. “Call the mercenaries!”
“I can’t!” he said. Finster pointed toward the staircase. His walkie-talkie was buried underneath plaster rubble. It was closer to Rooke.
When Rooke realized their predicament, he took careful aim at the walkie-talkie. “Sorry, but that’s not happening,” he said. Finster shot at him, but he had no clear view on the man and missed. Mark scrambled out of cover, running for the walkie-talkie. But he wasn’t fast enough. Rooke fired on the rubble, hitting the device.
“Just sit back and relax,” Rooke said, pulling out a grenade from his pocket. He ran up the stairs, dropping the grenade on the bottom step. “In a short while, it will all be over.” The grenade exploded, destroying several steps and Heather’s walkie-talkie. Mark’s stomach dropped. That had been their last chance to stop the incoming mass slaughter and they had failed.
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Halfway Heroes Page 96
