Battle for America

by Maloney, Mack;

He used the grappling hook to secure his rope to one of the fence’s concrete posts, making sure it was tight. Then he stood on the edge of the building’s roof, turned the safety off on his M-16, and flipped back his night-vision goggles.

  “Easy as hell,” he said aloud, wrapping the other end of the rope around his hands. “Skyscraper. Handcuffs. Middle of the night. Just like last time—except the fire.”

  He jumped into the abyss. Three seconds later, his rope went taut. Head down, arms in, boots up, he crashed through the thick plate-glass window.

  The noise of the breaking glass alone was deafening. He hit the floor, rolled twice, then bounced up and assumed a classic shooting stance, all in one fluid motion. His M-16 was ready to fire at anything.

  But the grand entrance had been for naught.

  Not only was the room empty, when he flipped his night-vision goggles back down, he realized he wasn’t even in a bedroom, but rather what was obviously an enormous bar. With no lights on anywhere, a few overturned martini glasses, and some sputtering candles, this place dominated the entire southeast corner of the penthouse. And because the fires were burning so fiercely outside, the place was aglow with bizarre, shifting shadows.

  He slumped to one knee. That vision of Dominique’s being held here as a prisoner or a sex slave, helpless to defend herself until he came crashing through the window to free her and to slay her captors? That all went poof!

  To have her rush into his arms. To make a grand escape. Same city, different skyscraper?

  Not to be. Not in this room, at least.

  It was the goddamn rope. He’d measured it twice, twenty and twenty, when he’d meant to do ten and ten. But had he gone too far out and come in too low? Did he crash into the wrong floor? Or was he just a few rooms off? Or both?

  One thing was sure, though, she was still close by. He knew because his insides were still shaking.

  And the vibes were never wrong.

  He began running from shadow to shadow, weapon up, looking for a way out of the vast bar.

  It wasn’t until he reached the far end of the horseshoe-shaped counter that he found a fire exit. It led to a hallway where it was a completely different scene. It was just as dark, but windows had been smashed at both ends of the corridor and the hot wind and smoke were blowing through at full gale. Swirls of dust and debris were colliding with walls, the ceiling, one another. The noise was incredible.

  He turned up the juice on his night-vision goggles, only then seeing the bodies scattered along the hallway. Russian junior officers and administrative people, all of them were wearing NKVD uniforms, some still clutching suitcases and travel bags. It appeared they’d been machine-gunned to death while heading to the roof. With the fire raging down around the fiftieth floor, Hunter could easily see people trying to climb their way to safety. He could also envision a potential panic on the roof with the sole helicopter trying to lift off, leaving many behind.

  So someone solved the problem like this.

  “Should have brought more choppers, too,” he said under his breath.

  He moved down the hallway quickly, jumping over the bodies and staying close to the wall. He could just barely see his hands in front of him through the storm of blowing smoke. Suddenly, it was pouring out of the air vents.

  A clock is definitely ticking here, he thought. And he’d already been inside at least a minute.

  Get going. …

  He reached a door and found it unlocked. Hoping it was either a stairway or a bedroom, he opened it to find a closet full of short black dresses, and, tellingly, highly stylized ladies tuxedo jackets. He leaned in, took one of the dresses in his hands, and brought it to his face. Electricity alone would have told him if it belonged to Dominique. But there were no sparks.

  He hurried to the next door, twenty feet away, pressed against the wall, night vision on full power, M-16 ready. This second door was already open, just slightly. Hunter peeked inside. It was not a fire exit, but it was a bedroom. An enormous one. With a huge bed in one corner and several large movie cameras poking out from the three others.

  Where porn is made? he wondered.

  He moved on. The third door down led to another bedroom with something even more bizarre. It was an enormous aquarium, sitting in the middle of the room, without any water inside. Instead, it contained only a bed. A few dozen chairs were in place around it, like chairs around a boxing ring.

  He had no interest in trying to figure out what this was.

  He scrambled to the next door, concerned he was taking too much time and moving in the wrong direction. But the instant his gloved hand touched the knob, he was hit with a massive wave of the feeling. The new one. The same sensation he’d been experiencing since he started flying around these buildings. But this time it was so strong it staggered him. Coming from somewhere from under his chest, pouring out of his heart, he’d never felt the odd kid of ESP this strongly.

  He took a breath and opened the door slowly. His M-16 was out in front of him, its muzzle trembling a bit with excitement. Even above the windstorm in the hallway, he could hear noises coming from the room.

  But … they were strange noises. …

  Grunts. Groans. Heavy breathing.

  Somebody struggling?

  Or having sex?

  Or both?

  He leaned his head around the corner and cranked his night vision to full power.

  And there she was.

  About fifteen feet away, bathed in the surreal night-vision glow, she was lying on the bed, wearing a low-cut tuxedo jacket, nylon stockings, and nothing else. She had handcuffs on her left wrist and both ankles, but she was struggling mightily against them with her free hand. That’s where the disturbing noises were coming from.

  Even though he was looking at her through the waviness of night vision, Hunter could tell she was beautiful. Long blond hair, perfect shape, gorgeous face, huge eyes.

  Stunning, yes.

  But it was not Dominique.

  She couldn’t see him. It was too dark in the room. Plus, she was completely distracted with trying to get out of her restraints. He studied the unmoving figure at the foot of the bed. Black coat, black fedora, black shades—and a briefcase cuffed to his left hand. Hunter did a slow zoom-in. The man also had a bullet hole in his right temple and was quite dead.

  Hunter crept closer until he was standing next to the bed. The blonde was crying softly as she struggled. He looked down at his M-16 for a moment, silently clicking the safety on.

  When he looked up at her again, he was staring down the barrel of a very large hand gun.

  Very smooth, he thought. The struggling and the crying were an act.

  “No need for violence,” he said calmly. “I’m here to help you.”

  “Shut mouth, drop gun,” she hissed back at him.

  He did as told, but at the same moment, with his other hand, softly batted the pistol out of hers. Both weapons were soon in his custody.

  She didn’t show any fear, though, or anger, or even surprise. Instead, when she took a closer look at him, her eyes went so wide they seemed to light up.

  The rock-star looks, the old-school pilot suit, the lightning-bolt helmet.

  She began to say: “Are you … ?”

  But he quickly put his finger to his lips, the universal sign to shut up.

  “I’m just a friend,” he whispered. “Okay?”

  She nodded, and he believed she understood. He put both weapons aside. Then things began making sense.

  He’d crashed onto the right floor after all, two from the top—just a few doors down from where he’d intended. This girl, who looked so much like Dominique, was obviously a doppelgänger brought here by the rackets procurement agents, maybe even his old friend, Moneybags. He could understand why any of the Russian bigwigs would want her. Even in the ghostly glare of the night-v
ision goggles, she looked utterly gorgeous.

  But who was the dead guy?

  “He was a disgusting human being,” she whispered, answering before he asked. “I’ve been his toy for the past few days, but they’ve been moving me around for at least two weeks, ever since they kidnapped me and brought me here.”

  “You mean you weren’t paid to come to New York?”

  She looked up at him suddenly, her huge eyes welling up, her bottom lip quivering. “Why?” she cried softly. “Do you think I look like a hooker?”

  Her words hit him like a cannon barrage. He’d just insulted her terribly—unless she was acting again.

  “I’m very sorry,” he said. “Poor choice of words.”

  “I forgive you,” she replied quickly. The tears disappeared.

  He looked around the room again. Booze bottles were strewn everywhere. The smell of pot hung in the air. Razor blades and white powder lay on the nightstand.

  “Can you give me the short version of what happened here?” he asked.

  “Sure,” she said. “Whatever the hell happened out there just now threw everyone here into a panic. And I mean, some of these people were having kittens they were so scared. But only one copter was coming in, and my friend here made it clear that he was leaving me behind.

  “He was one of the CRAP guys, that’s what we call the really high-up dudes. He had to bring his secret papers with him; they’re in that briefcase. His orders were to handcuff himself to the briefcase containing the papers if he ever left the building—and he and the others were certainly doing that ten minutes ago. But he’d used all his cuffs putting me here for a little party he’d planned. He needed one back.

  “When he took the cuff off my right hand, I grabbed his gun and shot him in the head. But then he fell so far away from me I couldn’t reach his keys. The copter took off thirty seconds later—without him.”

  Hard to believe, but Hunter was not paying full attention to her, not really. He was trying to listen to the story, but at the same time trying to get a good look at her through night vision. He was wondering, Could she really be that beautiful? Or is the artificial light playing tricks on me?

  He shook these thoughts away and took the photo of Dominique out of his pocket. He held it up close. “Do you know her?”

  Her eyes went wide again.

  “She was just here,” she whispered back urgently. “Her … ah, gentleman friend lives one floor up. That’s who was evacuating the top of the building. That’s who just left in the helicopter. And she was with him.”

  Hunter nearly fell over. “My God,” he gasped. Dominique had been on board the copter he’d just tried to shoot down?

  He took a breath and recovered.

  “Who is this friend of hers?” he asked—he had to.

  “He’s only the head of their secret police,” she told him, hushing even further when she said “secret.” “The top guy, Zmeya. A real nutcase. He looks like a male model, but he has a lot of issues with the ladies.”

  “Are they … They’re boyfriend and girlfriend? That type of thing?”

  She looked at him through the green world of night vision and smiled, but in a softly exasperated way. “‘Boyfriend and girlfriend’? How about I tell you after algebra class?” she teased.

  Clearly, she wanted out of the restraints. He located the keys to the handcuffs in the dead man’s coat pocket and began the process of freeing her. But he found himself fumbling around. Needing to get very close to her now, he had a problem putting the key into the lock. It was almost embarrassing.

  “Are you the person who’s been flying around in that crazy airplane?” she asked, almost amused as his struggles continued.

  “Why would you ask that?” He finally snapped the handcuffs off her left hand.

  “Because you just flew by this window,” she said, enunciating each word carefully for his benefit. “That is, if you were the guy flying that circus plane.”

  “How about we just say all that’s top secret?”

  She paused a moment. “Okay …”

  He began working on her leg cuffs. “Any idea where that copter would fly to?”

  She shook her head. “All I know is that they don’t use it very much, but when they do, you can hear it coming from miles away.” Her restraints finally undone, she was as last able to sit up.

  Hunter needed to regroup.

  Dominique was gone—he’d missed her by seconds and had almost shot her down along the way. Outside, the catastrophic firestorm continued to grow, as did the fire coming up from the fiftieth floor. The noise alone was becoming painful. Smoke and debris were blowing everywhere, somehow even making it into this bedroom. And off in the distance, maybe a couple of floors down, he could hear voices and movement coming closer.

  Conclusion: There was no reason to stick around here.

  As for the girl …

  Suddenly, one section of the bedroom wall slid to one side, revealing a hidden elevator. The doors opened and Hunter found himself looking at two dozen Russians squeezed into a lift made for half that many. They were ragged. Their uniforms were ripped and burned, their faces covered with soot. They looked like zombies. Some were carrying automatic weapons, others kitchen utensils, long knives and even forks. No puzzle there. This mob had either heard or seen an aircraft land on the roof of 30 Rock and was here looking for a way out.

  Time to go.

  Hunter fired a long volley at the Russians with his M-16. It came out of the pitch-darkness at them, hitting some, causing the rest to fall to the deck. Then he grabbed the girl and the attaché case and ran out of the bedroom the same way he’d come in.

  Now they were out in the hallway, and the hurricane force winds had not subsided. He looked at her through the night-vision goggles and shrugged. Which way to the roof?

  She came up very close to him, her face filling his green world with those huge eyes and the long swirling hair. She said something, but he could not hear her; he was having trouble paying attention again. So she just yanked him back toward the huge bar and they started running.

  Over the bodies, through the side door, and around the bar, she gracefully tiptoed through the sea of broken glass he’d caused coming in and led him to the opposite end of the large room. It was a direction he hadn’t gone in his initial search. There was a spiral staircase here that led up to the top floor, and the top floor would lead to the roof.

  They scrambled up the stairway, Hunter trying his best to listen for any pursuers. He somehow was able to check his watch, too. He’d been inside the building four minutes exactly. Only one to go.

  “Tempus fugit,” she called to him over her shoulder for no reason. “Especially when you’re having fun.”

  He didn’t have time to ask her why she’d said that. They’d climbed the winding stairs up to a bedroom not unlike the one where he’d found her. Just bigger and more grand.

  But it was a strange scene here, too.

  Lots of bath towels thrown around. Lots of clues the place had emptied out in haste.

  Sudsy water in the bathtub. Bedroom sheets still warm. Drinks with ice cubes still in them.

  Hunter lifted one of the bathroom towels to his face. At last, he felt a little jolt of static electricity, though it faded quickly. Still, he knew Dominique had been here recently.

  He walked out of the bathroom, hoping his freed damsel in distress was pointing the way to another escape route, one that would get them up to the roof.

  Instead, she was disrobing. With her back to him, she climbed out of the constricting tuxedo ensemble and into a long T-shirt she’d found on the bed. T-shirt and silk panties—that was it.

  But to his surprise, she’d also taken off a wig. At that moment, some sort of last-ditch emergency generator must have kicked in, because all the electric lights in the room popped back on.

&nbs
p; Now, for the first time, Hunter saw what this girl really looked like, in real light—and not the emerald world of night vision. He was stunned all over again. Her real hair was blond, but with a shorter, sexier cut. Her eyes were indeed gigantic, but deep brown, not blue. And her looks. Hunter had always thought of Dominique as being regal. This girl looked more like a warrior. An unbelievably gorgeous warrior from some prewar video game.

  He felt another deep pounding in his chest. It was his heart again. Incredibly, the chaos of the outside world had disappeared for a moment. It was just her looking at him, from about four feet away, in real light, tilting her head to the side and asking, “Are you all right?”

  That’s when they heard the Russian mob arrive downstairs. Some were already coming up the spiral staircase.

  He fired off another half dozen rounds, grabbed her hand, and started running again.

  They found a door to a small veranda already covered with soot and flaming embers. Hunter took a quick look over the side. The furious firestorm was still blowing east, toward the river, engulfing buildings, vehicles, everything in its path.

  Flames were shooting out of 30 Rock big-time now; the fire had reached the fifty-fourth floor. Incredibly, though, some brave MOP soldiers had managed to pull one of the old crappy FDNY fire trucks close to the building and were valiantly trying to fight the fire more than fifty stories above them. That’s guts, Hunter thought.

  The woman began pulling him along again; she’d found a ladder. He boosted her up to the roof, his hands unintentionally going full panties during the assist. He quickly climbed up after her.

  Out on the roof, the superheated winds were blowing in all directions. Flames and smoke were now rising high above their heads. The entire sky filled with millions of burning embers.

  “This must be hell looks like,” she yelled to him.

  He hurried over to the plane and started the engine. It was clear his new friend wanted to get as far away from 30 Rock as possible. But now, as she got her first real glimpse of the escape vehicle, she paused for a moment. Then she just shrugged good-naturedly and said, “If getting out of here means going off the seventy-first floor in a toy airplane, then so be it.”