The Fourth Option

by Matt Hilton

  They reached the back of the hotel unchallenged. The elevator they’d earlier used to gain access to the upper floor was the most direct and fastest route out of danger, but Rink had no intention of cornering them in a metal box where they could be mown down with impunity by anyone waiting at ground level. He trusted Hunter to level the odds in their favour, but still, he wasn’t getting into a moving coffin. Sue apparently had the same idea: she went directly past the lift doors towards the fire exit at the back corner of the hotel. They’d still be in a precarious position descending the stairs, but it was better than the alternative.

  From a distance there came the hum of machinery. One of the guest elevators was on its way up. Hunter had warned that they faced as few as four hitters but as many as ten. He’d reported the arrival of two SUVs, one was outside reception, and one had stayed at roadside. The two men on foot had allegedly entered the basement parking lot, so it was unlikely that either of them was in the guest lift. Some of those from the SUV outside reception must have entered the hotel to spring the hit. He sucked his bottom lip over his teeth as he braced for contact. Of course, he couldn’t immediately shoot the second that a face was shown; the people riding the elevator could be innocent guests.

  Sue had gained the door to the fire exit stairs. She didn’t enter. She took care to glimpse through the small round window first. She gave Rink an earnest look. ‘Clear,’ she mouthed.

  He didn’t take his attention off the corridor for more than a second but it was enough for the dynamic to have changed. There was a ping to announce the arrival of the elevator at this level, but it was the stair door that opened just beyond it first and a guy stepped out warily. He was dressed in dark clothing, and had the peak of a baseball cap pulled low. He was toting a firearm. His attention was momentarily distracted by conflicting stimuli: the arrival of the lift, and also his attempt at reading the nearest room numbers to determine his direction. Rink backed towards Sue, even as he whispered, ‘Go.’

  She shoved open the door and entered the stairwell, but Rink was still seconds behind. The man at the other end of the corridor spotted him, and despite the intervening distance there was instant recognition. The guy’s pistol came up, and it triggered Rink into action. His Uzi blazed.

  Bullets tore holes in walls and the ceiling, and the gunman ducked back under cover of the doorjamb. Startled guests cried out in alarm. Rink understood the danger: any of the bullets he fired could cut through a wall and injure or kill an innocent, but he’d no other option. He fired another short burst of bullets, even as he backed into the stairwell. Sue’s eyes questioned him.

  ‘We can’t stay here,’ he said. ‘Get down to the next landing. Wait for me there.’

  She nodded and went down, her gun now extended before her in a two-handed grasp. The stairs switched back equidistant between floors. Rink waited until she was poised at the turn, checking below, before he again pulled open the door and leaned out a fraction into the hall. There were three gunmen now, spread out along the corridor, approaching tentatively. As soon as they spotted Rink, the nearest gunman opened fire, while the two behind sheltered as best they could in doorways.

  The man’s gunshots missed. His gun had a silencer, but in the echoing confines of the corridor, the reports were loud enough to set off another clamor as guests hid, or barricaded themselves inside their rooms. The snapshot Rink had taken of the three men’s positions told him this burly gunman must have been one of those that’d emerged from the elevator. The guy in the baseball cap was to the rear, which told Rink he was probably the one in charge. If he could’ve done safely, he’d have called out to the man by name, but he was uncertain if it was the one the narrow-faced son-of-a-bitch used these days.

  Instead, Rink called out, ‘You fuckers are in a shootin’ gallery, move another step and I’ll blow you all to hell.’

  His answer came by way of a volley of bullets. A window shattered at the very end of the corridor, and beside his shoulder bullets shredded the doorframe. Splinters flew and dust hung in the air.

  Rink didn’t show an inch of his head or torso. He stuck his hand around the corner and pulled the trigger on the Uzi, firing blind. Shouts greeted his action, but none of them sounded pained enough for his liking. Despite causing them to take cover, it would only be seconds before the gunmen came in pursuit. It would be apparent to anyone with any knowledge of gunplay that he’d spent the entire magazine in the three bursts of fire. They would expect him to reload. Under normal circumstances reloading the Uzi would take a matter of seconds, but Rink didn’t have a spare magazine. He kept hold of it; even empty of rounds it weighed approximately four and half pounds of metal, and was a viable blunt instrument. He folded in the stock to make it less cumbersome, as he set off after Sue. He got to the switchback and spotted her below. She was peering over the bannister, trying to get a look to the two lower floors. Rink went down, training the Uzi back up the stairs: the gunmen had no idea he was out of ammo, and the gun a visible deterrent.

  ‘I heard something,’ Sue whispered, and nodded below them.

  ‘The guys Hunter saw entering the parking lot.’ Rink assumed so, but it could also be guests fleeing the sounds of conflict above. He was tempted to take the pistol off Sue, but if she were the intended target it stood to reason she needed its protection most. He said, ‘I’ll go first, you follow after five seconds.’

  If she wished, she could push through the doors onto the second level and take her chances alone. It’d mean leaving Rink and Hunter to weather the storm on her behalf, use the distraction to escape while they got their asses gunned down. But he thought that old loyalties had been rekindled and trusted she’d follow instruction.

  He descended on cat feet, alert to movement from below. Shortly he heard Sue’s steps down the stairs and allowed a faint smile to tickle his lips. He reached the next landing. Only one floor to go and they’d be at ground level, and then, if his estimation of the building’s dimensions was correct, a single flight after that to the subterranean parking lot.

  Sue joined him on the landing. She stood near to him covering the stairs above; he could feel heat radiating off her in waves her back was so close to his. He checked the hallway to their left. At the far end there was movement, but it looked rushed and he assumed it was a guest or member of housekeeping staff making themself scarse. He contemplated using the hall as an escape route for no more than a second: Hunter had promised to clear a path to the Ford, and Rink wouldn’t waste his friend’s effort. If Hunter had already joined the fight, he was unsure. He hadn’t heard any hint of a battle, but it could’ve been timed while he was opening fire with the Uzi and therefore missed.

  From above sounded the scuff of a foot, and a tinkle of empty casings from the Uzi, kicked downstairs by a careless foot. Rink took a quick check upward, but could see nobody.

  From below he heard a knock. Sue was onto the lower sound in an instant, aiming her weapon. A figure emerged and she fired, but the bullet struck a bannister and whined away as a ricochet. The figure returned fire then immediately ducked out of sight. So did Sue, breathing heavily at the near miss.

  Gunmen above. Gunmen below. Perhaps the hallway to their left was their best hope of escape. But once again Rink discarded the idea. By now, the gunman he’d recognised above could’ve sent his two helpers across the hotel to come at them from the main stairs. He signalled to Sue to cover them.

  ‘Hey up there,’ he called. ‘Why not come on down, and let me rip you a new asshole?’

  Being out of ammo, it sounded as if he tempted fate, but he planned on the opposite. Acting ballsy might give the gunman upstairs more pause about trying to descend if he expected to face the full fury of the Uzi.

  A voice answered. ‘Hey, Jared Rington! Long time no see, old pal.’

  ‘You forget somethin’,’ Rink snarled. ‘I never was your pal. Never thought too fondly of you then and to be honest you ain’t winning any points with me now.’

  ‘Aww, man, that h
urts.’

  ‘Not as much as I’m gonna hurt you if you show your stupid face.’

  ‘Rink, man, you have to hear me out. I’m not interested in fighting with you. I only want the woman. Let me have her and you have my word you won’t be harmed.’

  ‘Your word amounts to a pile of steaming dog crap.’

  The gunman laughed, as if Rink was poking fun. He meant every damn word.

  ‘Come on, Rink. Leave the woman. Walk away. No hard feelings.’

  ‘Two things: only my friends get to call me Rink, and hard feelings are a fuckin’ given. Some advice for ya, you’re the one that needs to walk away, or be carried away in a body bag.’

  The gunman laughed again, like they were two old buddies shooting the shit.

  It had impinged on Rink that while he was in discourse with their leader, the other minions hadn’t attempted to assail their position again. Rink was under no illusion; the gunman’s words were equally a stalling tactic as Rink’s. People were jostling for position. Perhaps others from the SUV’s were on their way inside to help bolster the attack. An assault was imminent, because the stalemate couldn’t last; hotel staff and guests would have called the cops by now. Rink signalled Sue, touched a fingertip to his lips. ‘Get ready to move,’ he whispered.

  She nodded. Her eyes were diamond hard and her skin as pale as death as she moved incrementally for the stairs. She held the pistol in both hands, her tote bag jammed under one armpit.

  Without warning, Rink stepped forward, lifting his right knee. He kicked open the door to the hallway with such force that the door rebounded off the wall. The double impacts resounded through the entire hotel, and got the desired response. A fresh clamour erupted as guests hunkered in their rooms exclaimed in horror at the renewal of combat. Above them, the gunman swore, and Rink was certain he began a rapid descent of the stairs — to him he’d think his prey was escaping along the corridor — and below, it brought out one of the other gunmen who must have thought the same. Sue fired, her gun spitting a rapid grouping of three rounds. The gunman below grunted, and collapsed against a wall. His gun clattered on the floor. He wasn’t dead, only one of Sue’s bullets had hit, and it was high on the outside of the shoulder, but Rink took a chance.

  Rink was a scholar of martial wisdom. The famous undefeated swordsman Miyamoto Musashi once wrote “In battle, if you make your opponent flinch, you have already won”. Well, this fucker had surely flinched. Rink bounded down three steps at a time and launched at the man. Startled by Rink’s boldness, the gunman took a second longer to react than normal, and when he did it was with the wrong decision. He bent to retrieve his lost pistol. Rink slammed his skull with the Uzi, and bore the man to the ground. Dazed, verging on unconsciousness, the man was out of the fight, but only momentarily. Rink hit him another crushing blow with the Uzi.

  Rink dropped the empty Uzi, snatched up the dropped pistol and stood.

  Sue was by his side. They were on the final switchback, and open to fire from the remaining gunman below.

  Except Hunter had kept his word.

  13

  The fire exit door opened about ten inches before it jammed on the floor. The storm, and possibly the sea, had pushed sand and plant litter deep within the parking garage, and some of it had accumulated there, causing drag. I took a sharp glance inside, noting I was clear to enter, then squeezed through the gap. The door caught on the liberated gun stuffed down the back of my trousers, but I made it through. I secured the pistol a bit deeper, but the addition of a suppressor made it uncomfortable against my backside. I’d live with the discomfort for the sake of the extra firepower, I decided, and went on. Rink’s voice echoed down the stairwell telling somebody his word was equal to a pile of steaming dog crap. Corresponding laughter and then a reply was muffled by distance and echo, but caused me to frown. I’d swear I had heard that voice before.

  Rink exchanged more words with the man, but I ignored them. I went forward, slow and measured, watching the stairs above. A single flight of concrete steps gave access to the first floor of the hotel. At the top, I guessed there’d be doors into the hotel, and also access to the fire escape Rink had used to descend. The volume of Rink’s voice told me he wasn’t far above me now, and also that any intervening doors had been opened — most assuredly by the two gunmen that’d entered before me.

  I went up, cautiously, and as silent as possible. My SIG I kept trained above, ready to shoot.

  Two successive bangs echoed through the hotel, and following them it sounded as if the gates of hell opened and set loose the souls of the damned. Events were kicking off in dramatic style, causing me to climb that much faster and reach the first level. Subdued gunfire, a curse and a thud, were followed almost instantly by sounds of a brief scuffle that culminated in a heavy clunk of metal on bone. I saw shadows play on the wall, and realised that somebody was emerging from an alcove to my right. It was a man — one of the two I’d earlier watched emerge from the SUV — but for that instant his attention was fixed on what was happening behind a second set of double-doors, the egress to the fire exit. I brought my gun around towards him, even as his attention snapped on me. We were so close that our guns almost struck barrels. Then we were closer again, and I grabbed at his gun hand, even as he snatched at mine. I had a token edge over him — I’d been expecting him to be there, whereas my presence was a surprise. Even as we moved to negate each other’s firearm by pushing it aside, I stepped into his arc and headbutted him, my forehead flush across the bridge of his nose. He sagged, but didn’t fall. His life was at risk and it gave him the fortitude to keep fighting. I headbutted him a second time, and bore him backwards as his knees began to fold. He slammed into the alcove he’d emerged from seconds ago. In the dimness the blood flowing from his nostrils looked as black as oil. He was stunned, though still alive. He tried to twist round the barrel of his pistol, to shoot me in the gut, and I forced his hand back, even as I inched around the barrel of mine. He kneed at my crotch, but missed. I headbutted him a third and final time, and felt his cheekbone collapse under my forehead. He croaked in agony, but he was galvanised into desperate action, and he began pulling the trigger of his pistol. Bullets missed my side by inches, forcing me to wrench further around to avoid being hit, but this only strengthened my position, and now my SIG was inches from him. I jammed the barrel under his armpit and fired.

  A single bullet did the trick.

  His knees gave out, as did his heart, and I had to step back rapidly to avoid being taken down with him on top of me. He fell face first, arse poking up in the air, stone dead. I didn’t give his death a moment’s remorse — not then, though it might trouble my dreams next time I slept — because you couldn’t dwell on the actions you took if you hoped to survive an ongoing battle. I collected his dropped weapon; identical to the one I’d already taken from the woman in the parking lot. A gun in each hand, and one stuffed down my pants, I turned towards the fire exit doors in time to catch Rink’s face peering back at me through the narrow glass panes.

  Rink sent Sue to me first while he covered her. Her pale face, set against her dark hair, appeared almost luminous in the dimness. Her’s probably wasn’t the only face leeched of colour, I could feel the coldness in my own despite my brief but violent struggle. The loss of skin colour wasn’t down to fear as such, more to do with the body’s response to the endorphins flooding it in preparation for fight or flight. She glanced at the dead man, and gave a tiny shake of her head, but I doubted it was because I’d gone for the lethal option, more because she felt the man’s death was somehow on her shoulders. Rink shouldered through the doors, and from my position I got a glimpse of a man he’d put down too, sprawled on the half-landing above.

  Rink showed me three fingers, indicating there were three more hitters alive that he knew of. ‘You ain’t gonna believe who’s up there,’ he added. ‘You remember that A-hole called Vince?’

  I did believe, because I’d heard his voice.

  In hindsight, i
t was unsurprising that Walter had sent Stephen Vincent after us. Since last we’d come across him in Manhattan a few years ago, the son of a bitch had climbed highly in this incarnation of Arrowsake. He was a lying, deceitful, murderous, dangerous bastard; the perfect example of an operative they could field these days. The last time we’d worked together under an uneasy alliance, in a dual effort to halt a greater evil, but we’d never been friends. In fact, before we realised we’d have to work together the bastard had tried to choke the life out of me with a guitar string garrote, and I’d promised him that somewhere down the line there’d have to be a reckoning. Seemed like that time might have arrived.

  14

  Rink gunned the Ford up the shallow ramp with enough speed that the tires lost contact with the ground for a second or two. Hitting earth, and finding traction, the car kicked up a rooster tail of dust as it powered towards the road. Even as the Ford emerged, our enemies were charging to cut off his escape route. The SUV at the front of the hotel reversed, engine whining, to reach the main road and block the Ford. The second SUV, only a dozen yards from where Rink would reach the road, had also prowled forward, as if the driver was preparing to hit the gas and ram him. Two men on foot, and the dazed woman I’d pistol-whipped earlier, ran after him, looking pathetic, as if they thought they could grab the Ford’s fender and drag it to a halt. The woman limped with each step, her wounded leg on the verge of collapse. Rink hauled down on the steering, and the backend spun out so that the Ford hit the road parallel with the opposite curb. Immediately he stamped the fuel pedal and the Ford’s tires screeched and sent up plumes of black smoke. The Ford rocketed away.