Skystorm (Ryan Decker)

by Steven Konkoly

  “Why don’t we just call the police and the FBI,” said Harlow. “Hunker down in here and wait for the cavalry to arrive.”

  “Because we need to go poof,” said Decker. “As in vanish. We can’t do that if we drag law enforcement into this.”

  “Are you sure about this?” asked Harlow. “We can’t walk out of the lobby. The vehicles in the parking garage are our best chance of going poof, as you say, but APEX will have anticipated that.”

  “They don’t know about the tank. And even if they do, it won’t matter. They’d need a grenade launcher to stop us. Get everyone to the reception area,” said Decker. “We’ll distribute equipment there and move out together.”

  The “tank” was the Toyota Land Cruiser the firm had purchased last winter for high-risk rescues and stakeouts. The fact that APEX had been hounding them day and night for a number of months at that point had also contributed to the decision. Along with Senator Steele’s pocketbook. Capable of stopping seven-point-six-two-by-fifty-one-millimeter NATO bullets and deflecting up to thirteen pounds of TNT planted underneath the vehicle, the “tank” had set the senator back close to a half million dollars.

  “How are we going to safely move eight people through a dynamic active-shooter situation against APEX operatives?” said Harlow. “Half of us are useless in a gunfight.”

  “The plan is coming together,” said Decker, suddenly thinking of something else that would help immensely. “And tell Mazzie we’re going to need one of her drones.”

  “You just came up with that, didn’t you?” said Harlow. “Must be one hell of a plan.”

  “It should be enough to get us out of here.”

  What he didn’t tell her was that his plan was more of a loose collection of ideas than anything concrete. He took out his phone and put one of those ideas into motion.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Brooklyn’s cell phone buzzed once in the center console cup holder, immediately followed by a distinctive chime assigned to a number that meant one thing. Trouble. She checked the message: BROKEN ARROW.

  “Shit,” she mumbled, before moving a thick criminal justice textbook off her lap and onto the seat next to her.

  She stuffed the phone in her pants pocket and scanned the school parking lot without making it too obvious. Nothing had changed. Nobody looked out of place, from what she could tell. A few dozen oversize SUVs and luxury sedans sat in the parking lot, each sheltering an armed personal protective detail for one of the “high value” students inside Crossmount High School. The exclusive all-girls school drew students from obscenely wealthy families in Beverly Hills and the hillside neighborhoods overlooking northwest Los Angeles. Protective families.

  If anything, Brooklyn was the black sheep among the sharply dressed, crew-cut muscle-heads crammed into these vehicles. She had shown up for her first day at work in a stylish black suit, which had been recommended by her professional contacts in the business. Athletic and wiry, Brooklyn now sported the same kind of California-casual attire Riley usually wore to school.

  Riley had been polite at the house, but as soon as they’d gotten in the Range Rover Decker had leased for the job, the sixteen-year-old had told her the suit wasn’t going to work. Brooklyn hadn’t argued. She’d returned the Men in Black costume a few days later, spending the refunded amount at the same Santa Monica discount clothing store Riley had taken her to after school.

  From day one she’d known the job was right for her. That her “principal” wasn’t like the rest of the nose-upturned face-lifts parading in and out of the school. Brooklyn had finally gotten a break after a long string of setbacks, and she had no intention of screwing this up. After another casual glance around the parking lot, she grabbed her leather cross-body bag from the passenger footwell and started for the school’s main entrance.

  Upon reaching the locked doors, she pressed the intercom button, buzzing the main office.

  “Ms. Cohen. What can we do for you?”

  “I need to pick up Riley Decker. Family emergency,” she said.

  “I understand. Is it all right to have her escorted by security from class to the waiting area? Or would you prefer she remain in place? Keep in mind the protocols required for you to retrieve her from class.”

  She’d have to surrender the pistol in her bag to proceed beyond the secure waiting room. Better to let the school’s heavily armed and well-trained security team bring her most of the way. If anything went wrong, they’d lock down the school. Brooklyn wondered if Riley might be safer staying inside this VIP fortress than taking her chances on the road.

  APEX would need a small army to get at Riley here, not to mention the platoon-size group of bodyguards that would help defend the place. No. She’d gone over this with Decker. Keeping her in place would only delay the inevitable. They needed to disappear. That was the only way to truly buy time against an organization like APEX.

  “You can escort her to the waiting area. Thank you,” said Brooklyn.

  “Our pleasure,” said the security officer.

  The door buzzed a moment later, admitting her to a glass-enclosed space with two entrances. One led into the school for students, faculty, and approved—presumably unarmed—guests, the other into a well-appointed, recessed waiting room. She took a seat on one of the couches facing the glass interior, since the school had obviously designed the waiting room for the privacy of its students’ parents—obstructing any view from the parking lot or public spaces outside of the school. Brooklyn had never asked what it cost for Decker to send Riley here, though she got the impression that Senator Steele had made this happen.

  Riley appeared at the school-side door to the waiting room shortly after Brooklyn sat down. The suit-and-tie-clad, iron-jaw security guard who had escorted Riley nodded absently at Brooklyn before turning away. Riley looked appropriately worried under the circumstances.

  “What’s going on?” asked Riley, rushing over to Brooklyn.

  “I have no idea. I didn’t get a follow-up text,” said Brooklyn, checking her phone again. “Did you?”

  “He said he wasn’t sure what was happening and that I was to follow your instructions to the letter,” said Riley. “So. Are we going?”

  “Hold on. I’m going to send your dad a quick text to let him know we’re leaving the school,” she said. “You should do the same. He’s probably worried out of his mind right now.”

  While she tapped her message, a call came through from “Avi.” Not good. Avi Stern, a former Israeli Army officer, was one of the few bodyguards in the entire parking lot she considered a friend. The timing of his call meant one thing.

  “I need to take this,” she said.

  “Is that my dad?” asked Riley, looking up from her phone.

  “No,” she said. “But get your dad on the phone. I need to talk to him immediately.”

  “Okay.”

  Brooklyn answered the call from Avi. “I assume this isn’t an invitation to coffee?”

  “Ha. Like you’d accept,” said Avi. “No. No. I’m just jealous of your new admirers out here.”

  “How many?”

  “Four. In the black Suburban,” said Avi.

  “That really narrows it down,” she said.

  “Does it even matter?” said Avi. “Your Range Rover is no longer an option.”

  “Good point,” she said. “Do they look antsy?”

  “Antsy? I’m not familiar with that term,” he said. “They look like cobras ready to strike. Three of them must have hidden in the back. They materialized as soon as you stepped inside the school. Shall I call the police?”

  “And tell them what?”

  “I’ll think of something good. If the police block the gate on Sunset, that could buy you some time.”

  “I need to get out of here without drawing that kind of attention,” said Brooklyn, her mind scrambling for a solution.

  “Dinner and drinks,” said Avi.

  “Now’s not the time,” said Brooklyn.

&nbs
p; “That’s my very low price for potentially losing this job,” said Avi. “I have an idea.”

  “Agreed. Dinner and drinks—if I survive the day,” she said, before listening to his simple but effective plan to buy her some time.

  Riley shoved her phone in Brooklyn’s face. “My dad is on, but he’s in a hurry.”

  She grabbed Riley’s phone, putting it to her other ear. “I need a pickup. The parking area is hot. We can’t use the Range Rover.”

  “Brooklyn. I can’t help you right now. I really wish I could, but we’re outnumbered and outgunned at the office. It’s gonna be the fight of our lives to get clear of this place. You’re on your own.”

  “Shit. The parking lot team is probably just the tip of the iceberg here,” said Brooklyn. “Maybe we should sit tight. This place is like Fort Knox.”

  “Listen to me, Brooklyn. Think about how they got a team into the Fort Knox parking lot.”

  Jesus. How had she missed that? APEX had someone inside the school.

  “I’ll get her out of here,” said Brooklyn. “Walk in the park.”

  “‘Walk in the park,’ my ass,” said Decker. “But I know you’ll pull it off. Can you put Riley back on?”

  She handed the phone back to Decker’s daughter and returned to her conversation with Avi.

  “You still there?” asked Brooklyn.

  “Still here. With all of your new friends,” said Avi. “I like your boss.”

  “Well, if you lose your job in the next ten minutes, I’m sure he’ll hire you,” said Brooklyn.

  “I’ll keep that in mind.”

  “Text you when we’re ready,” she said, ending the call.

  Riley lowered her phone. “This is real, isn’t it?”

  She looked terrified. Pale and about to go catatonic. Brooklyn gripped the sides of her shoulders and forced eye contact before cracking a thin smile.

  “Riley. We’re going to be fine. Trust me,” she said. “I have a few tricks up my sleeve.”

  Riley nodded, but her expression didn’t change. She looked even more disconnected than before. As though she was checking out.

  “Hey. Your dad will be fine, too. Trust me. I’ve seen him in action,” said Brooklyn. “I actually feel sorry for whoever is messing with us right now.”

  She let that statement sink in for a few moments, until Riley took the bait.

  “Why would you feel sorry for them?”

  “Because your dad would claw his way through hell to get back to you,” said Brooklyn. “I’m not worried about him. Not worried about us, either, because he’d claw through hell to get to me if I let anything happen to you.”

  Riley squinted, her focus returning. “How are we getting out of here without the Range Rover?”

  “Uber. Lyft. Hot-wire a car?” said Brooklyn. “I’m still working on that part.”

  “I think I can help.”

  “Don’t tell me you somehow snuck a car into the student parking lot under my nose,” said Brooklyn. “Even though I’d be pretty happy right now if you had.”

  Riley chuckled. “No. No. Nothing like that. My grandparents. They’re less than a mile from here having breakfast. They could pick us up at one of the exits on the other side of the school.”

  Brooklyn’s faith in Riley’s true assessment of the situation faltered. She understood they were in danger, but she clearly didn’t have a good handle on the scale of their current peril. The chances of escaping without a gunfight were slim to none. Dragging her grandparents into this might complicate matters. Then again, she couldn’t think of two more dedicated allies than Audrey and Steven Decker.

  “We’ll call them,” said Brooklyn. “But first I need you to buzz security and tell them you forgot something in your locker.”

  Riley nodded and winked, the confident young woman Brooklyn had come to know over the past few months back in action.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Decker stuffed the phone in his pocket and closed his eyes—resisting the urge to scream. He’d give anything to be four and a half miles west down Sunset Boulevard, at his daughter’s school. Brooklyn was shit-hot resourceful, but she represented little more than a speed bump against an organized, concentrated attempt to grab Riley. And Decker had no doubt APEX would throw the works into the effort. Riley’s capture was leverage if Decker escaped his current predicament.

  “We’ll get to Riley soon enough,” said Harlow. “Brooklyn will buy us that time.”

  “I guess,” he said.

  “She will. One way or the other,” said Harlow. “You ready?”

  “I guess,” he repeated, cracking a smile.

  Decker briefly inspected the group, making a few cosmetic adjustments to their body armor and communications sets. Combined with shoulder slaps and banter, his final check amounted to little more than motivational theater. He was pumping them up. Falsely boosting their confidence in the borderline suicidal plan he’d concocted to safely get them clear of this building and through the small army of assassins surrounding it.

  Suicidal wasn’t the right word, and he immediately regretted thinking it. Long shot fit better under the circumstances. Decker was accustomed to working against long-shot odds. Plus they had a few cards up their sleeves. High-tech cards. He singled out Mazzie.

  “You sure you can work that thing inside the building?” said Decker, nodding at the paperback-size drone in her hand.

  “You’re kidding, right?” said Mazzie.

  “Not really,” said Decker.

  “Hold this,” she said, giving him the drone.

  Mazzie lowered a pair of helmet-mounted goggles over her face and pressed a button on the controller she held in her other hand. The drone buzzed, its four encased propellers instantly activating. Before he could react, the drone rose above him and raced off—circling the group twice in a dizzying display of aero agility. Several seconds later, it eased into a hover a few feet above Mazzie’s head.

  “She races drones semiprofessionally,” said Joshua.

  “Okay. I didn’t know that,” said Decker. “And you’re sure you can walk with those on?”

  She patted his shoulder. “Pass-through mode, Grandpa. I can control the drone and still see my real surroundings.”

  “I’ll shut up now,” said Decker. “Joshua? Anything new?”

  “Nothing.”

  By the time they had finally assembled at the front door, geared up and ready to go, Joshua had figured out that APEX had hit the building’s security office soon after infiltrating through the lobby. The building’s security cameras now played a continuously looped feed showing all the hallways and common areas to be clear. Fortunately, APEX hadn’t discovered Joshua’s independently installed network. But Decker’s crew still faced a serious dilemma. They were blind right outside the firm’s entrance—a frosted-glass door that opened into a hallway shared by an insurance company.

  Joshua had assumed uninterrupted access to the building’s security cameras, which covered the entire hallway with a three-hundred-sixty-degree dome camera in front of the elevator door. A mistake in hindsight but not necessarily fatal.

  The hidden stairwell camera system told them that four operatives had stopped on their floor, two entering the elevator lobby, where they disappeared from camera view. The other two remained on the landing, crouched next to the door—ready to enter at a moment’s notice.

  Less than a minute later, a separate two-person team entered the stairwell from the first floor and diverted through the door one floor below them. He’d keep that in mind if he made it off this floor alive.

  “It’s time,” said Decker.

  He rejoined Pam, who stood at the corner of the hallway that emptied into the firm’s tiny lobby, her shotgun pointed at the entrance.

  “Any movement out there?” said Decker.

  “Not that I can tell,” said Pam. “How are we going through the door? There’s only room for one at a time.”

  “Rock, Paper, Scissors?” said Decker.


  “Loser goes first?” said Pam.

  “The drone is going first,” said Decker. “We’ll clear the corners by the door from inside the office before moving into the hallway.”

  “Crisscross?” she asked.

  “Fast. No time to aim. Just blast away at your corner if Mazzie screams ‘Fire,’” said Decker. “Then down to the floor, weapons pointed at the stairwell door—ready to engage the two yahoos that pile through.”

  He glanced back at Harlow, who nestled a nine-millimeter CZ Scorpion EVO 3 onto her shoulder. This semiautomatic, civilian version of one of the newer submachine guns on the market was a far better option in her hands than a pistol or compact rifle. With almost no recoil.

  Crouched next to Harlow, Katie gave him a quick nod before flipping the selector switch on her EVO 3. She carried a cross-body satchel stuffed with flash bangs and smoke grenades in case they needed a little extra help. Her job was to feed those to Pam and him when requested.

  The four of them—Decker, Pam, Harlow, and Katie—would methodically engage any emerging threats, while the rest of the team served as their digital eyes and ears. Mazzie working the drones and Joshua scanning the camera feeds—with Sophie and Sandra serving as their bodyguards and shepherds while they stayed glued to their screens.

  “All right. Let’s get this over with,” said Decker, before moving quietly toward the door.

  Pam followed closely behind, the rest of the team remaining out of sight until they cleared any hostiles from the area outside the firm’s entrance. The drone buzzed into place several feet back from the door and hovered. Decker took a deep breath and exhaled slowly before nodding at Pam. She scooted in front of the door, staying in a low crouch, and gave a thumbs-up to the drone. The door clicked, its locking mechanism remotely disengaged by Joshua.

  “Do it,” whispered Decker, rising out of his crouch to a standing ready position.

  Pam yanked the door open and quickly shifted to the side opposite Decker as the drone zipped between them and disappeared into the hallway.