Set to Kill: A Sean AP Ryan Novel (Convention Killings Book 2)

by Declan Finn

  Sean got back to Peachtree, and ran into everybody from the convention.

  The annual WyvernCon parade was marching down the street.

  Oh great.

  And this parade had everything. Kilt-wearing bagpipers? Got them. Renaissance festival rejects? Had those too. And a flight of dragons. A swarm of Green Lanterns. A platoon—perhaps a whole division—of camouflaged colonial marines with Xenomorphs chasing them. There were samurai and Men in Black, and Jar Jar in a limo, being hunted by stone angels and the entire Marvel comic book universe and some of their movie counterparts. An original Batmobile with some original actors included. There was a collection of New York Jedi, Georgian Sith, California bounty hunters and “Mandalorian” mercenaries. There was a horde of zombies, dark elves, bright elves, red elves, orcs, cat people, Gorn, and video game badasses. There were dread pirates, drunken pirates, robots, ninjas and dinosaurs, and some of them were merged into single entities that Sean didn't even want to think about. There were tanks and APCs and jeeps, and Hummers, and Tom Knighton was probably driving at least one of them.

  To top it all off, there were steampunk versions of all of the above, making them look like escapees from HG Wells' novels. Including the dinosaurs and the zombies.

  Welcome to WyvernCon.

  Sean's ear bud chirped. He sighed. “Yes. This is Ryan.”

  “Ryan, this is Yvonne Wicklund,” came the voice of his employer. “I have to ask, have you added more people to the parade route?”

  Sean scoffed. “Heck no. I can't imagine why I would. Why?”

  “There's a military convoy-like Cosplay that's shown up with a few military trucks, and nearly two dozen people, I think. They've just pushed their way in into the middle of the parade route, and are on the way up Peachtree now.”

  Sean blinked, and remembered the one good reason he made certain to stay in plain sight at all times: if the bad guys couldn't find him, staging an incident to draw him out would work.

  He just hadn't considered that they there would be mercenaries dumb enough to do it even though he was there.

  Chapter 21: Parade Death March

  Sean Ryan watched as the parade moved slowly past him, but didn't really see them. At the moment, a small gathering of wizards—from that Henry Berlin series—were walking by, and he didn't want to think of what would happen in another few groups.

  He looked around at the people watching the parade. There were thousands of people lining the sidewalks. He couldn't have begun to evacuate the area without casualties. The stampede alone would kill dozens, if not hundreds. And that didn't even take into consideration whatever the approaching enemy had in mind. If they had a bomb, that would be bad enough, but if they decided to follow up with mowing down everyone left standing, that would be a nightmare.

  Well, Sean thought, at least I came prepared for all of this. I guess.

  “Overwatch,” he said, “I need backup at my location on the parade route.”

  “What's the problem?”

  “Talk to Yvonne Wicklund. Just send everyone, and tell them I'm the guy with the katana.”

  “Will that differentiate you at all?”

  “God, I hope so.”

  Sean waited for the Henry Berlin Cosplayers to move on, and they took a while. There were the noir detectives, the fairy outfits in rich sparkling colors, the demon dogs that look like Cthulhu had his way with 101 Dalmatians.

  By the time the Henry Berlin people were halfway past, Sean could see the approaching enemy. They were dressed in standard camouflage gear, and not even trying to dress up as something fancy or shiny. They were just there, and armed to the teeth, mostly with submachinguns. There were three men walking in front of the truck, guns low and at the ready, and two on other side of the truck itself, and God only knew how many people were on either side.

  And then a second truck came around the corner. And a third.

  I am so screwed.

  The last thing he wanted was a gunfight in the open, but he was going to have to have one. The men in front of the truck were starting to tense. Which mean they were going to make their move in the middle of Peachtree, in the densest part of the crowd.

  Screw this.

  As the last wizard passed him by, Sean dashed out into the middle of the street, drawing the SMGs he had as sidearms. He squared himself to the oncoming enemy. He wanted them to focus on him and see him coming. If they were going to get him, they were going to get him by shooting straight at him, not by shooting into the crowd. And that dictated the plan—the only plan he had right now.

  He would go straight up the middle.

  The convoy slowed to a stop, and the three men in front were focused on him, but didn't quite understand the level of threat that he represented. Was he a security guard? Someone confused about the order of the parade, and they weren't on the list? Was he just a random nutcase from a crowd of nutcases?

  They got their answer as Sean raised his guns and charged them, both guns blazing.

  The first three men went down with head shots in the first volley. He was taking no chances, and there would be no mercy.

  Also, his routine three-hour-a-day workout included a routine where he fired on continuous automatic nonstop while running, jumping, and being hit.

  Sean dove into a roll, pulling his arms out at right angles to his body. He hit on his shoulder blades, rolled along his spine, and stopped at the bumper of the truck. He sprang straight up and slammed onto the hood of the truck. He sprayed the front seat of the cabin with bullets, then climbed up to the roof and emptied the rest of his bullets to either side of the rear of the truck. He holstered his guns as people from inside returned fire.

  Sean hit the roof of the cabin, and stayed flat, drawing out one of the hand grenades from his bandolier. When one of the rips in the truck's canvas became large enough, he pulled the pin, counted to five, slammed it through the hole, and rolled to his left.

  He fell onto the two mercenaries guarding that side of the truck, grabbed one, and rolled him on top as Sean flipped onto his back.

  Then the truck blew up.

  The Mercenary on top of Sean absorbed most of the impact of the explosion, and Sean's armor took the brunt of what was left. Thank God he had decided to use real armor in his armor-plated costume.

  Sean rolled to his feet, and the truck continued to coast. It billowed out a dense cloud of smoke that Sean stayed low to avoid. He could even feel the heat coming off the flames. He was just worried about staying too close to it if it blew up.

  The crowd, however, was smart enough to move out of the way, but they were still calm enough to stay put. They couldn't tell if this was part of the show, or an attack. Either way, they were going to videotape the heck out of it and put it online.

  Sean ripped another grenade from his chest and hurled it at the next truck before the first one completely rolled past. Between the smoke from the truck and the smoke from the grenade, he was relatively certain he was going to survive the next minute without being gunned down in the street. He quickly drew his guns, reloaded them, holstered his right gun, and held onto his left.

  The procession of trucks came to an abrupt halt as they watched what happened to the wreckage in front of them. They weren't even surprised by the smoke billowing out all over the place.

  They were surprised by the charging maniac with a katana in his right hand and an SMG in his left.

  Sean came straight at three men on the passenger side of the truck, spraying them with bullets before they could really acknowledge what was happening to them. The mercenary in front of the truck's grill spotted the motion, and spun towards the attack. By that point, Sean had closed with him, and the katana flashed.

  Sean leaped over the headless mercenary and sprayed the cabin with bullets as he turned his sword at the last mercenary in front of the truck.

  Sean leaped back from the last man he slashed, and fired his remaining bullets into the front two tires of the truck, dropping it to the rims. />
  Sean holstered the gun, drew another grenade, and hurled it over the truck. It went up and over, bounced off the canvas, and towards the back bumper, where it went off.

  When it had touched down on the concrete, it had landed in the middle of a group of mercenaries as they tried to disembark from the truck. If a flash-bang goes off that close to human beings, it might as well be an incendiary, because those men are going to be useless for a while.

  Sean charged around the left corner while the passenger side guards were distracted by the sudden explosion, and he cut them both down with his katana. He wheeled around the rear of the truck, and went to work on the rest of the gunmen as they recovered from the flash-bang. Some lost heads, some lost hands, but for the most part, it was like fish in a barrel.

  Sean whirled around when the last man fell, and found himself at gunpoint by a dozen mercenaries who were very, very cranky. They had gotten out of the way of the truck, and even the truck was closing on Sean. The driver seemed intent on crushing Sean beneath its wheels.

  Well, it was a good attempt. Sorry it didn't work. At least I won't take anyone else with me.

  Sean raised his sword, and was about to make his last, desperate move—

  When the tank rammed into the truck, plowing it off to one side, squashing at least half a dozen mercenaries under a few tons of steel.

  Sean decided that this was as good a time as any as he slashed out at the man to his left, cutting one mercenary off at the knees before taking his gun hand. He kept whirling, slashing the throat of the man on his right. Sean tacked left again, took a running start before he jumped, bringing his katana down like a broadsword and taking a man's arm off at the shoulder. He wheeled around that mercenary, leaving him for dead. The sword came around in an arc and slashed through the bicep of the next mercenary in line. Sean stomped on one knee, and slammed the pommel of the katana into his skull. He raised the sword again as he stepped forward, and slashed the next merc across the face with the edge of the blade, taking one eye. Sean punched him in the throat, and swept his legs out from under him.

  Sean whirled, looking for someone else to kill … And he faced a firing squad of some dozen mercenaries still left standing, all of them out of reach, and far beyond 21 feet.

  Oh God, I am heartily sorry—

  “Freeze!”

  The mercenaries hesitated, and some swung to the sound of the newcomers—all of them were suddenly and violently gunned down in a hail of bullets.

  Sean blinked, took two slow, cautious steps forward, and discovered what had happened.

  The entire 501st Stormtrooper regiment had arrived. A hundred Stormtroopers in white armor rushed through and around the parade crowd, sweeping in from behind the hotel, through the parade, and even following from where the tank had come.

  Sean finally noticed he was breathing hard, and stepped forward. “You bastards will either drop your guns, or you're going to find out whether or not these Stormtroopers can hit what they aim for. Anyone want to take a bet on that?”

  The gunmen all dropped their weapons.

  Sean dropped to one knee, hit by a harsh wave of relief.

  The sound of the tank hatch coming unlocked drew Sean's attention. Out popped Tom Knighton, wearing a helmet. He looked around, smiled, and said, “This is the best parade I've been to in years!”

  Sean looked up at Knighton. “Thanks, dude. Where did you come from?”

  His Tankness pointed ahead of the parade, past the smoking truck. “I was driving the tank through here at the front of the parade. All I did was circle back to intercept them.”

  Sean nodded. “I'll take it.”

  “By the way, nice outfit.”

  “Thanks. I'll send you one to fit you if you like.” Sean groaned. He hated feeling like this. Adrenaline letdown was a pain in the ass.

  He looked around at the death, devastation, and smoldering ash, and shook his head. “The cops are going to run me out of Atlanta after this. I just know it. I've piled up more bodies just by being in this city.”

  Sean slowly rose to his feet, and wondered what the bloody hell was going to happen next. The crowd was, once again, filming. Seriously, really people? At least they got out of the way of the trucks and the tank.

  Sean walked over to the tank as Knighton climbed down. “So,” Sean said, “do we have much more of the parade left?”

  Knight laughed. He looked around at the flaming wreckage, the smoke billowing about, and said, “You think this would be a problem? Heh.” He waved it off. “Don't worry about that, the parade only had another few minutes left.”

  Sean shook his head. This was a freaking train wreck of a project. Even with the three murder victims, his presence had caused more property damage than he could have guesstimated.

  Sean looked at his watch. He was going to be talking to cops until lunchtime, at best. He looked around at the carnage, and found the nearest, mostly complete corpse—that one was only missing an arm. He tramped over to the deceased gunman, and patted him down. Upon finding nothing in the pockets, he ripped the camouflage shirt open, causing buttons to fly into Sean's face. He was glad he was wearing the mask.

  What he saw was interesting.

  The body was covered with tattoos. Most of them were stars, or churches, some tears, and, most importantly, Cyrillic characters.

  “Aw hell,” Sean muttered. “Russians. Damn it. Why did it have to be Russians?”

  “They ain't Russian.”

  Sean looked over his shoulder. Tom Knighton was bent over another body, about fifteen feet away, and that one was less intact. Knighton held up an arm removed at the shoulder. The arm was black, and Knighton pointed out a tattoo on the bicep. It was a crown with a laurel wreath around it.

  “This one is Latin Kings,” Knighton answered.

  Sean rose to his feet. Knighton dropped the arm and did the same. “Well, that's odd. They don't usually work together.”

  Knighton nodded. “I know. It's strange. You got any idea why anyone would want to blow up a convention? And what could bring together a team this all over the place?”

  “Someone who really wants fifteen million dollars.”

  * * * *

  Wilhelmina Goldberg had managed to spend most of the convention at the actual convention. Thanks to the joys of technology, and being trained by a load of intelligence badasses, she had hotwired the entire communication and camera networks into her smart phone—which was smarter than the average phone, due to some of her own modifications.

  When I feel like it, I may give this to Alienware, she thought as she leaned back in her chair, listening to the cast of one of her favorite TV shows discussing stunt work, making out with other cast members, and at least one person doing the ice bucket challenge thing live on stage.

  Suddenly, her earpiece broke through with Sean Ryan saying, “Overwatch, this is Ryan. Gather the Puppies, would you? I think I've had enough of this convention.”

  Goldberg rolled her eyes. At least he was alive. Last thing she heard from him was that he was under attack and probably screwed. I guess the reinforcements arrived. She tapped out a text message that converted her words to voice, so it could go back to Ryan: “They're all busy until 12:30.”

  “All right, fine,” he grumbled. “I'll probably be tied up with the cops until then. Freaking insane. And Goldberg? Don't make the meeting a secret. I think I have a plan.”

  Chapter 22: Set the Stage

  Sean Ryan was still in his armor-covered costume from his time at the parade. Aside from it being dinged up, he was perfectly happy with what was left. He felt like he was going to have need of it by the end of the day.

  He had the helmet off, however, as he looked around the Marriott meeting room. The chairs had been arranged by some of the Stormtroopers, including Lambert, but they left shortly thereafter, and Sean had been left alone in the room with his thoughts. And limited amounts of proof. All he had was a little evidence and a theory.

  But it was the on
ly theory that made sense.

  The first one to enter the meeting room was Gary Castelo, the “Intergalactic Lord of Rage.” The mountainous author casually walked in, using his tetsubo as a walking staff. Despite the Emperor Ming beard and haircut, he grinned like the Ghost of Christmas Present, and reached for Sean's hand. He shook it with a firm grip.

  “Nice job out on the parade march,” Castelo complimented him.

  Sean nodded. “Thanks.” He gestured with his free hand to a chair.

  Castelo nodded, then looked at the arrangement. Half the chairs in the room were set up to face the other half, leaving a space in the middle. “What is this? A debate society layout?”

  Sean shook his head. “I grew up in Hollyweird. This is more like The Thin Man.”

  Castelo shook his head as he sat next to one of the windows, as far from the doors as he could. “Your opening line is going to be 'You're wondering why I called you all together'?”

  “I hadn't planned on it. Thought it might be too obvious. But I'll take what I can get.” Sean looked up as the door opened open again. Jesse “Shiva” James and his wife, Barbara, Mistress of All Things Goth, walked in. She was in a casual leather jacket, and black slacks. He was in a polo shirt and a kilt.

  Barbara took one look at the layout and said, “Thin Man?”

  Sean blinked. “How'd you figure that out?”

  Jesse laughed and sat next to Castelo, crossing his legs as he leaned back in the chair. “She's smarter than most of us put together.”

  “You've got several murders,” she elaborated as she sat next to Jesse. “You have a collection of suspects, and you seem to have invited them all to one room, with a layout like this. Hence: Thin Man.”

  Jesse put an arm around her shoulders and hugged her to him. “See? Told you.”

  Sean rolled his eyes and walked over to the doors at the back of the room. He opened the doors, making sure anyone could just walk in. He wanted anyone to see this. He wanted the witnesses. He wanted as many as possible.