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

by Declan Finn

  Colonel Bradley had his hands on his ivory-handled pistol before Kovach had called out. By the time Castelo had his tetsubo up, his gun had cleared leather, and fired, blowing away the gunman on his right. His swagger stick swatted the gunman on his left directly in the face. The Colonel's pistol came up and around in an arc, the muzzle smashing into the faceplate of the mercenary's helmet like a punch. It dented the plastic, and then he shot him in the face. He even continued firing, adding his own bullets to the men Castelo and the James couple had just dropped.

  Omar Gunderson hip-checked the gunman next to him, grabbed his submachinegun, and slammed the barrel into its owner's face. He swept it down and low, the butt of the gun looking like he was rowing a boat. He brought the gun up to his cheek and shoulder. One burst later, they were down another gunman.

  Tom Knighton leaped upon the gunman to his right, grabbing the helmet and driving it into the door frame. In a semi-judo move, Tom maintained his hold on the gunman's head as he pivoted, throwing the gunman into another compatriot, sending them both to the ground. By the time either of them had the wherewithal to bare their weapons, Omar Gunderson was already firing at them.

  Kovach had side-kicked into the knee of the one on his left. The knee buckled, and Kovach swung around, grabbing the helmet off the gunman's head. He swung the helmet back across the gunman's skull, then back and forth, batting the man's skull around like a cat toy.

  Kovach taking so much time would have been a problem if Galadren hadn't already shot the last one through the head the moment he'd said, “Now.”

  Thirteen gunmen had been taken out by a group of writers in less than three seconds.

  * * * *

  The moment Kovach had called out, the gunmen on the other side of the room looked away from Sean to see what was happening.

  In the time it took Galadren to nock another arrow, acquire another target, and loose the arrow, Sean had dived for the floor. He came up with his tactical batons connected at the pommel, so they extended out into a short staff, and he came out with his katana in hand.

  As Sean came up with the staff in his left fist, the left end went across Michael DeValera's face, spinning and concussing him.

  The right tip caught the submachinegun of the next gunman over, forcing it up as Sean bounced to his feet. Pushing the gun aside cleared the way for the katana to drive straight up into the gunman's gut, and into his chest. Sean pulled out the sword in a low arc. The sword came up like a backhanded golf swing, slashing along the spine of the gunman to Sean's right, who had been distracted by the writers' fracas, and hadn't turned back to face Sean yet.

  As the sword cut the gunman’s spinal cord, the staff in Sean's left came up like a hook. It punched into the next gunman's ear, and didn't strike it as try to strike through it. The momentum slammed into the man's head like a brick to the skull, and the helmet didn't protect him so much as turn a strike into a contrecoup head injury.

  The last man standing swung back around to face Sean, but his gun was stopped in mid-arc by Sean's staff. Sean held the staff thumb down, like a guard maneuver in swordfighting. Sean rotated his wrist counter-clockwise, bringing the barrel of the gun up and to Sean's left, exposing the wrists to Sean's katana, disarming him.

  Or more like unhanding him.

  Sean's eyes swept the area. He, his people, and the Puppies were the only ones standing. Galadren had gotten the others with arrows to the face.

  He turned to the one who brought the mercenaries to his presence in the first place, and smiled as he opened his eyes.

  “Welcome to WyvernCon, you dumb son of a bitch.”

  Chapter 26: The Last Dance

  Sunday Night, Washington DC

  President Barry was not happy.

  He stared down at his smartphone, and jabbed the screen as though it had made him angry. His jacket was on the back of his chair, his feet up on the desk, and he had thought to relax by playing with his fancy toy. The White House had excellent Wi-Fi, after all.

  But no, social media was not the place for him to hide. His administration was crumbling around him, and had been for the past year. His advisers were worthless—but mostly because they were busy being arrested. IRS agents were in jail. He had an Attorney General thrown under a bus—though he had probably jumped first. ATF and DEA administrators were being jailed daily. There were discussions of dead cops with smuggled weapons. His world was falling to pieces.

  They talked about impeachment, but many replied with answers of “Why bother?”

  In part, this was the fault of his former Director of Central Intelligence, Charles Weaver, who was now running for President himself. He would probably win at this rate. Many of his campaign promises included giving the public Barry's head on a silver platter.

  He got a text, and Barry smiled.

  The text was simple. It came from an unknown account. It read: “Target Deleted. Money Sent.”

  It would have been more subtle, but subtle hurt Barry's head.

  Then there was a phone call. The President of the United States frowned. It was his private phone. Who would be dumb enough to call him after that? “Yes?”

  “Hello, Barry. How are you, buddy?”

  The President furrowed his brow. “I'm sorry. Who is this?”

  “You just paid over fifteen million dollars for my execution. I would have at least thought you'd recognize my voice.”

  Barry froze. “How are you alive?”

  “Clean living. Oh, and I took a phone off of one of the killers you sent after me. Don't waste your time on him. He knows nothing about you, and he's got his own problems. I can probably make another twenty million, easily, by providing proof of his death to several European nations. I was thinking a limb for each. They can match it to his fingerprints, or DNA, or his teeth. One country wants him alive. I think it's North Korea. I'm sure I can jack up the price if I promise him alive and whole … but I digress.”

  Barry swung his feet down from the desk, and came to his feet. “How did you find … this number?”

  Sean laughed. “I think what you meant is how did I find out it was you. I just needed to trace back the payment made to the mercenary in question. I have two former Secret Service agents working with me this time out, and one of them has NSA training, so she can do something as easy as tracing some money from a black account. Once I knew it came from the United States, I knew it had to be you. You're the only person who still lives in America who both wanted me dead and has that much money to throw about. And the way you jacked up the price in September? You wanted to do it before you left the White House. I suspect I would have been worth fifty million if I lived to December.”

  “What do you want?” Barry barked.

  Sean scoffed at him, like he was just another thug in the street. “I'll get to that in a moment. But I should be asking you that question. Or in this case, why do you want me dead? No, seriously, dumbass. Why? I've never met you. I've barely seen you on television, because I have better things to do. And by all means, I do not want to be affected by your stupid. What did I ever do to you?”

  “What did you do?” Barry asked, incredulous. “You ruined my reputation. You stopped a completely legal and sanctioned action by the United Nations when you back-stopped Rome, then I had to walk back every last thing I ever said in support of it because your allies revealed that everyone behind it was corrupt and on the take. You screwed me over. You and your friends. But I don't know all of them. I know you. You're nothing. You're easy.”

  “Really?” he said, amused. “Easy? Yet, I'm still breathing. Funny that.”

  “Now what do you want?”

  Sean Ryan sighed. “I think I'd like Charles Weaver to be President, but I think he can get there on his own. I already have a lovely wife, who probably wants me to call her back today. But what do I want from you? I want you out of my life. I want you gone. I want to pretend like you never existed. But I can't do that until you leave the building. But how about this: You will pay me
to leave you alone.”

  “I'm going to what?”

  “I lost a lot of money fighting off that glorified bank robbery by the guys you applauded and sent in to kill everyone in the Vatican. Guns and ammo are hard to resell. Since I don't want to become the world's biggest arms dealer overnight, you're going to repay some of my losses, and the investments I had to liquidate in order to make it work. Also, I've been paying out death benefits for a lot of the people who died in that little skirmish. You're going to help me with that too. Maybe you can put it up as a write-off to a charity, if your accountant is witty enough.

  “Now sure, you could object and bitch and moan and whine that you don't have the money, but what's better off for you? Losing all that money that you've siphoned from federal meal programs your wife has endorsed, and all those kickbacks from that solar company, and all those others. Or the public could find out about this cash, and how you made it. And by God, if you even think the words 'prove it,' I will have my people drop this data all over the Internet and wreck you just for sport. Hell, who am I kidding? I'm at an entire convention filled with libertarian nerds with authority issues who make Brookhaven Labs look like the Cub Scouts. They can have what's left of your good name scattered across the four winds of the Internet in a matter of seconds, I'm sure digging up a paper trail about your ill-gotten gains will take only a few more additional minutes. I'm going to read you a bank account number. You will transfer the funds into that account. You will not jerk me around. You have while I'm on the phone with you, and my battery light was flashing red before I even called you.”

  President Barry's eyes flared. His lips tightened into a straight line, and his fists tightened. “How dare you try to—”

  “I'm sorry, I seem to be losing you. Maybe the signal's going, maybe my battery is just dying.”

  “I don't believe you can—”

  Suddenly, the phone on the President's desk lit up like a Christmas tree, and Sean's voice came from the speakerphone. “You don't believe what?”

  Barry paused for a moment, eyes wide, and his jaw had gone slack. “Give me a moment.”

  He took the smart phone away from his ear and typed furiously into the bank app. Within minutes, millions of dollars were transferred.

  “I did it. I did it! Now leave me alone!”

  “Thank you, Mister President.”

  * * * *

  “It's been a pleasure doing business with you,” Sean Ryan said as he hung up on President Barry. He stood up, live, before five hundred people, in Marriott's atrium ball room, and said with a huge grin, “And that's how you put on a show at WyvernCon Television. I look forward to seeing how I turn out when this hits the Internet. Goodnight, everybody.”

  About the Author:

  Declan Finn lives in a part of New York City unreachable by bus or subway. Who’s Who has no record of him, his family, or his education. He has been trained in hand to hand combat and weapons at the most elite schools in Long Island, and figured out nine ways to kill with a pen when he was only fifteen. He escaped a free man from Fordham University’s PhD program, and has been on the run ever since. There was a brief incident where he was branded a terrorist, but only a court order can unseal those records, and really, why would you want to know?

  He can be contacted at DeclanFinnInc@aol.com

  Follow him on Facebook and Twitter @APiusManNovel

  Read his personal blog: http://apiusmannovel.blogspot.com

  Listen to his podcast, The Catholic Geek, on Blog Talk Radio, Sunday evenings at 7:00 pm EST

  Also by Declan Finn (In Order):

  Codename: Winterborn (with Allan Yoskowitz)

  It Was Only On Stun!

  A Pius Man

  A Pius Legacy

  A Pius Stand

  Pius Holidays (Kindle Only)

  Pius Origins (Kindle Only)

  Pius Tales (Collects Pius Holidays, and Pius Origins)

  Honor at Stake (Love At First Bite – Book 1)

  Set to Kill

  Coming Soon:

  Murphy's Law of Vampires (Love At First Bite – Book 2)

  Live and Let Bite (Love At First Bite – Book 3)