Frank passed his eyes over Enos. The bodyguard’s eyes danced from Andrew and Tam back to Frank every few seconds. The man was well-trained, it seemed, for the pistol in his hand was not aimed at Frank’s chest, but his face. Clearly, the man knew enough to notice the presence of a bulletproof vest when he saw it.
“Well, Campanelli?!” Maximilian exclaimed with a sudden burst of impatience. “Are you going to drop that gun or not?”
Before he could answer, the sizzling mess that lay under the ruined hood of the destroyed limousine let out a ‘whump!” and burst into flame. This took the attention of DeSilva, who turned to the source of the noise. Enos was a lot less easy to startle, however. He stepped back before glancing at the fire, his unwavering hands never dropping his aim on Frank.
Tamara saw this fire as an opportunity. Tired of the ill-smelling man’s meat hooks clamped upon her face, she began to struggle. At first, Andrew’s grip tightened and he lifted her from the floor. Thinking quickly, she pressed both feet into the railings in front of her, shoving the both of them backward. Andrew’s head crashed through an office window behind him.
“Cut that out up there!” Maximilian commanded in his booming preacher’s voice.
Tamara suddenly remembered the pen she kept in her uniform’s front pocket and pulled it with her free right hand. At the same time, Terry decided to make his move, stomping the left heel of his dress shoe down upon his employer’s toes.
Tam swung the pen, point first into the only thing she could reach: Brother Andrew’s waist area. On the first strike, all she hit was the man’s thick leather belt, but on the following strikes, she shallowly punctured his lower abdomen and then his upper thigh. Andrew was howling in pain, twisting his victim in an effort to settle her down and avoid the pen strikes at the same time.
Terry took his left elbow and thrust it into Maximilian’s ribs, doubling the man over. The driver then scrambled away from the HV preacher, rounding the front of the burning limousine and diving to the floor, taking him out of everyone’s line of sight.
Enos blinked and his aim faltered. Campanelli fired one round, then another. The reports of the explosive rounds triggered Frank’s hearing protection, but in the enclosed space, he could still make out the ‘bang!-pop!’ of each round. His first shot hit Steve Enos in the throat then detonated, sending hot shrapnel throughout the neck and destroying his esophagus. The second hit him square in his unprotected chest, decimating that point of the ribcage and tearing the heart into pieces. Enos dropped dead without firing a shot.
Billingsley had hurt Andrew enough to take him off balance. Giving him a shove with everything she had, he toppled over the railing and fell twenty feet, landing on his head and upper back in a heap not ten feet from where Campanelli was standing. His body uncoiled and went deadly still.
Maximilian turned from his brief search of his driver in response to the gunfire which sent his bodyguard to the concrete in a red mess. Furious, turned to find Campanelli and return fire, but instead found Brother Andrew strike the floor behind his target.
DeSilva raised his antique semi-automatic with both hands and fired just as Frank was bringing his handgun to bear on Maximilian. The round struck Campanelli in the lower abdomen and sent him down to one knee.
Seeing his opportunity and spurred on from the threat of being burned to death by the ruined car, Reverend DeSilva broke into a run to a side door.
“Fraaaaaank!” Tam screamed from above and ran to the stairs on her left.
Campanelli’s chest felt the aftereffects from the little three-eighty caliber round through the vest. It felt like someone had hit him with the round end of a ball peen hammer. While it had not knocked the air entirely from his lungs, it left him feeling winded and old.
The smoke from the car fire was being collected by the high ceiling. Frank could no longer see the domed structure’s support beams and the few lights mounted there took on a frosted glow.
“Tam!” he called and turned around to see her rush toward him. The damage to her face was more severe than he at first thought. She seemed barely able to move her mouth on her left side as she spoke through sobs.
“You’re shot!”
“I’m fine,” he assured her and regained his feet. He pointed to the exit next to the garage door with the barrel of his pistol as he embraced her with the other. “Get out of here!”
“Come with me!” she protested, her one good eye pleaded along with her frightened voice.
Frank glanced at the door that DeSilva had gone through. The wall next to it was blackened with the fire from the car parked nearby. “I have to get DeSilva!” he shouted and grabbed her by the arm.
“Frank!”
“Go!” he commanded and shoved her in the direction of the door.
“Officer!” the chauffeur appeared from behind the car, his hands raised in the air. “I’ll get her out!”
“What’s your name?” Frank asked.
“Terry,” he said as he moved toward Tamara.
“Be sure that you do, Terry,” Campanelli added warningly.
With one last glance, Tam did as Frank told her, coughing as she jogged to the door. He watched Terry struggle with the lock briefly as he tried to sort it out, but once it opened, the surge of smoke pushed them both through the opening. The flames surged with the fresh fuel, finding new regions of the vehicle’s interior to destroy. The door slammed shut, retracted by its springs.
Frank coughed out smoke and noted that the garage had grown darker with it. He ran to the side door where DeSilva had gone, opened it and was immediately assailed with gunfire. Three rounds struck the wall to his right, sending out chips of cheap drywall and paint in every direction. At least one of the bullets fragmented upon impact, sending out bits of shrapnel. Campanelli felt the sting of something immensely tiny at his cheek.
He got down on both knees and pressed his luck, pointing the handgun around the corner and following up with a quick peek. Maximilian stood at the top of a staircase in the open doorway at the far end of the partially lit hallway, wearing a wicked smile as he aimed to fire again. Not getting the chance, he dodged Frank’s badly aimed round. The door closed behind him.
The smoke from the fire was slipping into the hallway now, sending Frank into another coughing fit as he stood up and covered the door at the other end. With an angered cuss, Campanelli pulled the door shut behind him, cutting off the supply of smoke for the moment.
With the barrel of his pistol squarely aimed down the hall, the Captain quickly closed the distance, climbed the steps and paused to listen with an assisted ear against the door before going through. Behind him, black smoke slid into the hallway through the gaps between the door and its frame. He tried hard not to cough, but his breathing was becoming labored. He could hear the flames crackle and hiss, funneled to his ears by the narrow walls. It was no longer just a car fire.
Deciding that it was just as dangerous to go forward as backward, Frank turned the knob and swung the door open. He was quick to cover the way ahead with his handgun. As it was mostly dark, he adjusted his vision to compensate.
The room beyond the door shared the same high-ceiling as the garage he left behind, with cream-colored walls that only went about ten feet high. There were open doors ahead to his left and his right with a long corridor in the middle. Frank decided to look into the one on the left first. It was an office, sparsely decorated with someone’s personal belongings and a nameplate on the desk. It was otherwise empty. The office on the right of the corridor was similarly furnished and also unoccupied. These work stations were little more than cubicles, having no roof and very little room for anything.
“What are you waiting for, Campanelli?” DeSilva’s voice floated over the tops of the walls.
Having no other route to go, Frank quietly stepped into the narrow corridor, his pistol pointed to the far end. He paused in between two doors set across from each other, presumably more tiny offices, to listen for movement inside. He heard no
thing beyond the roar of flames behind him and the sirens of fire engines outside. Ahead, he could see three more doors on either side of the hallway.
“Come on and arrest me, if you can,” the irritating HV evangelist beckoned. The voice sounded as if it had come from the end of the hall and to the left.
Campanelli was no stranger to situations like these. He opened the door on his left, cleared it and went on to the one at his right. Empty, he left the doors open. Checking behind him every few seconds, Frank moved on to the next offices.
These were furnished but unoccupied as well and so were the two that followed.
“I suppose, as a police officer, one has to look at things in a purely black versus white manner,” Maximilian pontificated to the air. “But, as a man, Campanelli, you must have come across many gray areas.”
Frank did not participate in the conversation, knowing that it was merely a way for the man to locate him. The more that Maximilian spoke, the more the veteran detective became certain that he was not in these little offices. He checked the last pair nonetheless.
“It was my hope to convince you of the benefits of leaving this rock, Frank,” the preacher went on. “May I call you, Frank?”
Campanelli arrived at the end of the corridor to find that there were two ways to go: left or right. He looked up and was shocked to find that smoke had lined the bulbous ceiling while he had been busy. The way behind him had become hazy and gray smoke oozed underneath the door he had entered. Frank also found that the wall which separated the garage from this office space was not flush with the domed ceiling. Orange light flickered from the other side and let smoke creep over.
“Frank,” Maximilian droned, “I feel that we can reach an agreement here. After all, your former commander, Dmitri Vanek told me on numerous occasions that you are a reasonable sort.”
Frank froze solid at the mention of Vanek. At once, he put together why DeSilva’s limousine had begun to routinely park a few blocks north of CPD Headquarters. Vanek must have allowed DeSilva access to the CPD server so they could communicate via implant without meeting face to face.
“He’s a reasonable man, too, Frank.”
Campanelli ventured around the corner. The right was a dead end featuring nothing but stacked boxes of office supplies. To the left was another corridor. This one stretched about as twice as far and he could see that a large office sat at the end of it. Its door open, a large wooded desk and some expensive looking furniture sat inside.
Frank stepped into this corridor and headed down it silently.
“Vanek and his family are leaving for Alethea. Did you know that?”
“Bullshit,” Frank whispered angrily.
“No, it’s true.”
Campanelli wheeled around, expecting to find DeSilva in his immediate vicinity. He was not. This meant that either DeSilva’s bio-electronic audio receptors were on full, that Frank was on a camera with a microphone, or that the phony preacher was close enough to hear his whisper.
Frank did recall that Vanek was missing from the morning’s rally and that his superiors had asked for him, having expected his attendance.
“You see, Campanelli, all I ever wanted was for people to hang on my every God-given word,” Maximilian spoke in singsong, “and follow my every direction in the knowledge that, if they did my bidding, they were doing the Lord’s bidding.”
Frank covered the open door of the office and took several steps forward. To his right, he discovered a small alcove which featured the church’s circuit breaker box and some conduit which ran from it up and down the wall. Along the floor were more boxes, but no place to hide.
DeSilva laughed with perverse delight even though his church was going up in flames. From the direction of the garage, a loud ‘pop!’ came suddenly, followed a roaring surge of newfound flame. Frank surmised that the fuel tank of the limousine had burst. The line of light at the top of the wall became so bright that it lit the support beams aglow.
The preacher continued his laugh just the same, until suddenly, his voice became deadly serious. “And the Lord said, ‘let there be…dark’!”
Frank froze at the strange misquote. He was about to take another step toward the office when his CAPS-Link failed in a sudden interruption of signal.
Eyes and all.
Captain of Detectives Frank Campanelli was suddenly blind in a burning church with an armed madman. He fought hard to keep his anxiety down, unable to call upon his implant for a blast of serotonin. He inhaled a thick slice of smoky air, sending him into a coughing fit that he tried hard to keep quiet.
Upon hearing footfalls in front of him, followed by more insidious laughter, he knew that there was no reason to retain his stealth.
“That, is a military-grade implant jamming device, Campanelli,” Maximilian explained in a highly amused tone. “You see, Vanek told me all about your visual situation.”
Frank pointed his pistol to where he thought the voice was coming from and fired. The round struck a wall in the distance. Unprotected, Campanelli’s long-pampered ears exploded in pain, whistling from the eleven millimeter’s blast. The next sounds he heard seemed to come from within a cardboard box stuffed with packing foam.
“Woah there, Tex!” Maximilian mocked and laughed some more. The voice sounded as if the man had moved behind something, but Frank could not be sure. “Be careful where you point that thing. You might actually hit somebody!” the preacher laughed heartily.
Frank stood his ground, feeling completely helpless but determined to take this man down. “Your fancy church is going up in smoke, DeSilva!” he spat. “Surrender now and let’s get out of here!”
“I don’t think so,” Maximilian said, suddenly without humor. “If my plans are ruined, so are yours.”
The ringing in Frank’s ears subsided enough that he was able to hear the click of DeSilva’s handgun safety latch. Remembering the cubby hole to his right, he dove there, hoping not to slam into the wall. Maximilian pulled the trigger with his target in flight, not knowing whether he had hit the man or not.
Frank landed on the boxes, their corners jamming into his ribcage on his way to the floor, where he landed face first. He crawled forward and, feeling about, quickly located the walls which encompassed him. Turning over, he sat up against the wall and pointed his pistol at what he hoped was DeSilva’s only way in.
Then he remembered something. He thrust his left hand into the pocket of his sport coat.
“There’s nowhere to go, Frank,” Maximilian informed him victoriously. “Think of it! You could have accepted my bribe and fucked off. Or, you could be on the way to O’Hare airport, like the Vanek family should be right about now.”
Frank quickly extended the RadarCane and activated it. Pointing it away from him and swinging it left, the high tones began to sound and gently increase in frequency until the tip touched the boxes along the wall, giving him that deep ‘wowowow’ collision warning. Bringing the cane to the other direction, the medium tones emitted to warn of the wall on his right. ‘Wowowow’ reported contact with the wall.
Campanelli waved the point of the cane out in front of him, lifting the tip higher into the air as he listened hard for the tones.
“You could have played along and given me my way, Frank,” the preached went on tediously.
The deep tone sounded briefly then stopped. Campanelli angled it back to the right.
“But you had to be a boring public servant.”
Wow-wow, wowow.
“Oh, and what is that, Frank?”
Wowowowow!
Campanelli raised his handgun parallel with the cane and pulled the trigger several times. In the tiny space, his ears protested painfully until he could hear nothing but their ringing.
Assuming he had put his target down, he lowered the barrel to where he imagined DeSilva was lying, writhing in pain but still active. He fired twice more. He tried a third, but the trigger would not move. The gun was empty.
He took several breaths o
nly to discover that it was very difficult. The air tasted foul on his tongue and burned his lungs on the way in. Frank coughed violently as he waited for Maximilian to return fire or taunt him further.
Nearly a minute went by before his pained ears could hear the roaring fire beyond their whistling. The reports of his coughing again sounded as if they came from within, rather from someone on the other side of the room.
Somewhere, a part of the church collapsed, shaking the floor beneath him. Campanelli cussed between coughs, thinking about the last time he had been inside a burning building. It had cost him almost everything; his wife, his son and his eyes.
This time, he figured, it would cost him everything he had left.
***
“Well, somebody has to go in there!” Tam all but screamed to be heard over the approaching sirens.
Several fire engines had already arrived, but as the large structure had gone up so quickly, more of them were sent to the scene. It seemed to the very frightened Tamara Billingsley that the domed building had been made to burn. As the flames burst through the windows, the white exterior paint browned with the heat before turning black. Once the surface blackened, it drew the flames like an incendiary chemical. She could overhear firefighters murmur about the speed at which the building was going up and she grew more and more scared for Frank.
Terry the chauffeur, afraid for his own arrest, resisted the urge to flee. He pondered the reasons for his actions as he stood with Tam, unwilling to trust that she would not run back inside. Once the flames took to the framing of the giant garage door and that of the little door next to it, the choice had gone.
“Oh, my God!” she suddenly exclaimed and placed her hands over her face. She had been sending texts and audible messages to Frank since her escape and, though he had not taken the time to answer them, his CAPS-Link implant had shown on her own implant’s communications status as active. The “Frank” label suddenly went missing as an option without first displaying a weakening signal bar that denoted movement out of range. “Frank” was there one second and then simply disappeared from the list.
Campanelli: Sentinel Page 22
