by LC Champlin
Holding the paper in the screen’s light, Albin made out JCONNOR and 11Torry1995 in a scrawl that indicated haste and, judging from the pen puncture, a soft writing surface. It composed yet another mystery to add to the growing collection.
Albin input the credentials.
“Confirm on my mark. Go.”
FINGERPRINT SCAN NOW.
“Thumbprint.”
The scanners flashed over the two thumbs almost simultaneously.
EJECT BACKUP MEDIUM?
“Hit enter again.”
A panel on the center server dropped open to reveal a black data storage device three centimeters across. “Hah!” Birk reached toward it, but he couldn’t match Albin’s reflexes. Years of snatching phones, papers, and keys before Mr. Serebus could wreak havoc with them created viper speed.
“This remains with me for safe keeping, Doctor,” Albin announced, whipping it out of range as Birk attempted acquisition.
“Safe keeping?” The researcher straightened his shirt in annoyance. “You’re all paranoid.”
“We’re your last, best hope, remember?” Josephine smirked, leaning against the doorway. “I think Mr. Conrad has the right idea.”
With a growl Birk turned back to the console and began to flick through menus.
“This isn’t all the data?”
“What? Oh, yes, but I just need . . . to . . . secure this.” The stilted delivery of the distracted?
Albin leaned left enough to glimpse the screen: CONFIRM DELETE? A hand over the keyboard stopped the researcher.
“What’s the matter?” Josephine asked from the doorway.
“Doctor.” Voice low, Albin locked eyes with the other man. “Does this device,” he raised the external storage device, “represent all the critical data, for both you and the terrorists?”
“All that’s necessary.” Then Birk curled his lip in a sneer: “You might also like to know that it’s encrypted, and I’m the only one around right now who can—”
“Very nice. You swear this is all the data for which the terrorists could come?”
“I do.” The steady stare and even breathing bespoke sincerity.
“Then carry on.” Albin stepped aside.
Chapter 55
Desperate Measures
Meet Me in the Dark – Otherwise
Twilight engulfed Nathan as he helped the door’s hydraulics with his back shoved against it. To the left, E lighting strips ran under and over the sink bank along the wall. To the right gaped five standard stalls and one handicapped, each with glow-in-the-dark strips across the lower edges of the doors. Two feet of clearance remained between the ceiling and the stall walls.
He lunged toward the last door, the handicapped, pulled it closed. Skidding back to the first stall, he ducked inside and shot the bolt.
He hooked the extinguisher handle over the wall for safekeeping. Now . . . Right foot to toilet, left foot to toilet-paper dispenser, like a perverse game of Twister. More scrambling and a hop brought him to the top of the stall wall. He bent his right leg and wedged the ball of his left foot against the wall, all while balancing his torso atop the door.
The extinguisher joined him on the wall. Avoiding gunshots trumped the ease of kills, as the noise would draw other gunmen. If worse came to worse, he’d have no choice but to fire the .38, which resided in a carrier pocket.
Now the waiting game. Maybe he should radio Albin—
Twin beams lanced through the murk as the restroom door flew open. He squeezed his right eye closed to save night vision. AKs, then their wielders appeared in classic entry formation. Weapon-mounted lights swung across the stalls, flashed in the mirrors. The gunmen came level with Nathan, close enough to touch if he leaned.
Desperate measures. “Do not press a desperate foe too far,” counseled Sun Tzu.
Hssst! White powder washed over them. Particles obscured the beams and settled over portions of the light strips.
“The fuck!” one yelled.
Go! Leg out and over.
“He’s in here!”
Nikes hit tile and Monnex. Opening his right eye with its night vision, he cocked the extinguisher. Blood roared in his ears as adrenaline skyrocketed.
The nearest man spun, AK leveled and light blazing. Nathan hit the tile on all fours. Gripping the extinguisher handle with both hands, he swung like a major leaguer.
Crack! Mush, resistance. “Gaaah!” Knees don’t bend that way.
Thud. A body hit a stall support. Rifle and flashlight went wide.
“Aah! Son of a fucking—”
“Where is he?”
Speaking. Big mistake.
Bang! Miss. The shock jarred up Nathan’s arms, turned them nerveless.
Scrabbling noises. Light slashed across him. “On the ground! I got him!”
Howls sang in his ears. Using upward momentum, extinguisher vertical, hips low, he swung it across his chest. Metal struck metal in the dark as he body checked the bastard like an enraged winger. Armor plate impacted his shoulder as his quads strained.
The gunman hit the floor. Nathan dropped all his weight on his knee, driving it into the vulnerable underbelly. Finish it! Extinguisher horizontal over his head, he brought it down in the general area of the enemy’s skull. It met something hard, vertical. And now broken.
“Aahg! G’ th’ fucker off me!”
Nathan reeled for balance as something slammed into his right shoulder.
“You’re dead!” Light blazed as the second gunman got a bead on his foe.
Dead? Hardly. The extinguisher flew toward the second gunman. Move, block, or get hit. Block; the light swung up. Nathan yanked the extinguisher back by its nozzle as he rolled toward the sinks.
Up to a crouch, cylinder handle in both hands like a bat, he came in low and hard. Fuck! The man leapt back, apparently wary after his partner’s fate.
Nathan couldn’t risk going for the .38 and losing the initiative.
The enemy tried to get an attack off with the AK’s butt, but Nathan closed for a shoulder-check.
Empty air greeted him. He tucked his chin and angled his torso in time for a forward roll.
Light flashed in his eyes. Light meant a rifle barrel. He lunged for the nearest stall.
“Shoot him! Shoot!”
Nathan army-crawled into the next stall.
“He’s—Shit, stay still!”
Legs under him, Nathan launched toward the injured terrorist’s knees. The man leaned against the sink, holding the AK awkwardly in his left hand. Nathan collided with the lower extremities, yanking them up as the fucker hit the ground again, knocking into his comrade to send him crashing into a stall. The AK skittered across the tile, into a stall.
Red blurred the edges of Nathan’s vision as he clawed his way up the man’s body, covering the distance in half a second. Kill him. Crush him.
A blow rammed Nathan’s midsection, dislodging him for a second.
“Raaaaaah!” Crush the head. The irresistible urge washed over him. Both hands closed around the skull, even as the prey battled him. Spittle flew as Nathan panted through his teeth. A punch caught his center of mass. He reared back but kept his grip, taking the future corpse with him.
“Gaah! The fu—”
Screams and struggles only frenzied the wolf. Yes, scream. Scream like a pig.
Thunk. “Aaah!” Some give, but no crack. Dazed terror swam in the dark face that stared back at him.
Nathan heaved up and back, slammed the skull down against the edge of the stall wall again. Crack. Warmth flowed over his hands.
Not soft enough yet. More. The body spasmed, tried to get a knee and arm up.
“Fucker!” A silhouette loomed.
Light blinded Nathan for a moment. He hauled the half-conscious terrorist to his knees in front of him while rolling back into a squat. Like a riot officer ramming with his shield, he heaved forward, every muscle straining.
; BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM!
A deafening auto burst tore into the ceiling, left Nathan’s ears ringing even as he drove on. Shots fired, stealth lost. Reinforcements would be on the way.
The upright foe struggled for balance for a moment, rifle butt up. Rightward pivot back, all instinct. The stock slammed into the human shield’s upper back.
Get the .38! Nathan reached and found—nothing? Fuck! Must’ve fallen out during the struggle. If he could just get to the AK in the stall, he’d have a chance. Cold metal dug into his forearm. Right hand went to investigate and found a combat knife on the terrorist’s vest.
Abandoning his rifle, the other terrorist lunged for him. The man grabbed his partner and yanked. Nathan released, causing the man to stagger back with the deadweight.
“Thank you,” Nathan breathed. Seven inches of steel glinted in the E lights, free of the sheath.
“Allahu akbar!” the human shield gurgled the battle cry.
Understanding darkened his fellow’s face. Goddamned suicidal fucktards!
Nathan swiveled in time to receive only a glancing blow from the sacrifice the other terrorist shoved toward him. Now a semi-auto glinted in the bastard’s hand, its death-eye glaring.
A sidestep took Nathan into a stall—where he grabbed the wall for balance after stepping on something long and hard, and now kicked into the other stall. The AK!
He squeezed against the door-side wall just as the pistol appeared around the corner. The towel pushed against his face. Yes! He ripped it free, half balled it, then hauled the door shut while tossing the towel over the barrier. He only needed a second of distraction.
Diving under the wall to the AK stall with a speed a rat would’ve admired, his hand brushed something small and cold. The Taurus. He grabbed it, rolled, and fired. The report roared through the confined space like a dynamite detonation.
Chapter 56
To the Victor
Chasing the Rapture – 10 Years
Albin turned on his heel and started toward the exit. “We need to leave.” He unclipped the radio from his belt as he thought aloud: “If the terrorists are watching the CCTV, they’ll be arriving shortly.”
“Because we have the data now,” Josephine concluded, now abreast of him. She carried a handful of power cords she had procured from the lab equipment.
“They don’t have the cameras,” Dr. Birk whined, spreading his arms in attempted honesty. “We’re better off waiting here. Maybe Mr. Hotshot will come back with reinforcements.”
“That’s not why he went, Doctor,” Josephine responded. “He’s going to find the camera room and guide us out.”
Albin paused at the end of the counter. “Ms. Behrmann, did you find anything besides cords?”
“Afraid not,” she reported as she proffered the roll of lines.
“No pipettes?” Dr. Birk snorted. “Come now, you never know when you might need to precisely measure fluid quantities.”
Albin nodded. “Passable.” The cords went into the pack.
If only Mr. Serebus would report in, they could embark with confidence.
++++++++++++
The mirror shattered amid a spray of blood, brain, bone. Light glowed through the hole in the still-standing corpse’s skull. Death caught up with the muscles, gravity with the carcass: the body pitched forward.
Nathan scrambled to his feet. One beast more to take down.
“Naser Wahid,” a voice crackled over the terrorists’ radios. Oh shit—
Pistol up, knife in hand, Nathan edged around the corner.
More Arabic or other Middle Eastern language followed.
The other terrorist, half-sitting, lolled against the stall support. In his left hand wavered a semi-auto. Blood ran into eyes deranged with a purpose beyond his own life, a cause worth murdering and dying for. With his other hand he fumbled for his shoulder mic. “Fucking infidel!” No accent. An American?
Nathan lunged, knocked the weapon from the bastard’s grip. Catching the mic hand and executing a wrist lock, Nathan bared his teeth in a predatory grin at the pain that flickered over the man’s face. “Do you want to reassure them the gunfire was a false alarm?”
The man pursed his lips, sucked his tongue. Nathan’s elbow snapped out to catch the filth’s temple before he could spit.
“No?” Harder on the wrist lock. The prey choked back a yell as his wrist bent in the wrong direction. He aimed a left hook, but Nathan blocked it and caught the wrist. “You must want this one broken too. You won’t help me, but that’s fine.” Nathan adopted an impassive expression as he increased force. “I can’t trust you to tell them the right thing once I let you have the HT.”
“Fuck . . . you!” the terrorist choked, wincing a defiant smile.
“Useless.” All the lives these godforsaken bastards snuffed out over the last two days, not to mention the last two millennia, burned in Nathan at the sight. A growl rumbled in his chest. Snarls and howls drowned out the blood that hammered in his ears. “I’ll give you your peace, piece of shit.”
The combat knife flashed. In and out, as smooth as making a jack-o’-lantern. The body shuddered like a gaffed fish, then went still. The corpse’s pant leg lent itself to clean the blade.
Nathan stood back. “May God damn you to Hell.” He clenched his fists to still the tremors. Copper, iron, and bile saturated the air, clawed at him as he took a breath. One, two, three, four.
The carcass stared back at him with one eye. Blood streamed from the other like tears.
“Get on with it.” Nathan’s own voice returned him to the present. The murdering motherfuckers would investigate any minute now. He slid the knife into the empty sheath on his carrier, then holstered the enemy’s semi-auto, a Sig Sauer .40 P250.
This little spat consumed most of his five minutes, which left . . . Phone out, wake up. It left minus one minute, making him fashionably late.
He took another deep breath as he keyed the H777 mic.
++++++++++++
The radio crackled: “Albin, do you copy?”
Late. Mr. Serebus valued punctuality. Albin keyed the PTT. “Yes, sir.”
“I’m leaving you a gift in the women’s bathroom in the hall before the security control room. This place is impressive. The damn overhead must be considerable here.”
“Quite so.” Mr. Serebus had once again risked his life but emerged victorious. Moreover, he had salvaged equipment, if Albin understood the veiled meaning behind gift and damn overhead. The profanity indicated the statement meant more than it appeared. “We need to discuss your definition of ‘scouting.’”
“Plans and contact with the enemy.” Victory’s energy crackled in his words and would fortify him, provided he kept it in check. “I’ll signal when it’s all clear. Be safe.”
“You also, sir.”
“Is he going to try to rescue the others?” Ms. Behrmann asked, her shoulders back in defiance, anticipating a negative answer.
Albin adopted a condescending smile. “That would depend on how important he deems them. If they are more valuable than our lives and his life, then certainly he will storm the gates and die a heroic death. Then perhaps flying pigs will swoop down and resurrect him.”
“No question, that fellow’s a regular Bruce Willis,” Dr. Birk put in, lounging against the end of the counter and twirling a flask clamp. “Why, I’m sure he’s found a rocket launcher or two—”
Ms. Behrmann rounded on him. “Doctor, I don’t see you showing any concern for the people who tried to rescue you. Two men already died in the attempt. Do you want to see more lives lost today? When do you plan to start caring about their sacrifices?”
“When?” he sneered. “About the same time I decide to stop beating my wife. When do you plan to stop asking loaded questions?”
If not for the accursed data, Albin would have accompanied Mr. Serebus. Terrorists made for better company than these children. With a sigh he waded in: “The wisest course
is to reach the Armory and alert the professionals so they may resolve the hostage situation, assuming the terrorists did not simply gun down the others.”
“They could die in that amount of time,” the newswoman returned. “But I don’t suppose we have much choice. Wait.” She held up a hand as if to stop her own train of thought. “What about this gift Mr. Serebus mentioned?”
The gift comment did not deserve a reply. “The Armory is two kilometers south-southeast and easily reachable on foot. Dr. Birk, if you have your keys, we will use your vehicle, further shortening the time.”
The researcher wrinkled his nose in a wince.
“Is there some difficulty, Doctor?”
++++++++++++
It required a bit of manhandling and maneuvering to remove the armor from the freshest corpse. The Monnex and blood on the floor complicated Nathan’s effort. As for the death-by-stubbornness meat bag . . . body armor came off with less hassle. The first plate carrier went under the sinks with the aid of duct tape. The second vest he slipped over his existing gear.
With a grunt, Nathan hoisted himself onto the sink. Up went a tile of the drop ceiling, in went an AK across the supports. Head Hole’s Beretta 92 pistol and a full mag followed.
So all the eggs didn’t go in one questionable basket, he hopped down and jammed the radio from the first vest into a toilet-paper dispenser.
The second radio crackled with a string of Arabic. Time to move.
After stocking his carrier pockets with extra magazines for the rifle and Sig, Nathan shouldered the remaining AK. Armed again, he couldn’t help grinning.
One, two, three—Door open. Once again the world slid by on the other side of an iron sight. LED light cut a path through the dusk. Clear.
He slipped into the hall and moved to the intersection. A quick glance either direction showed empty linoleum. If he never saw another hall in E-light ambiance, he’d die a happy man.
