Apex (Ben Bracken 2)

by Robert Parker

  'Something like that,' I say, while the other men smirk. 'I'm going to walk backwards out of this room now, and leave the building. If anything stops me from doing so, I'll break this vial.'

  'No you won't,' she says, holding out the radio. 'I press the call button on here just once, and the signal is given for the tactical units to converge on this suite.'

  'I've faced worse odds,' I say, not sure that I have.

  'Let's find out,' says Kirsten, pressing the call button. No sound greets her, but I can picture boots pounding the polished floors of the lobby. I can also picture it being one big ruse, a bluff to illicit panic. If that's her plan, she messed with the wrong vigilante ex-soldier, if I do say so myself.

  'I've got maybe thirty seconds then, haven't I?'

  'Give or take.'

  'Then I best make it count.' I turn and sprint for the foyer door, as gunfire spits behind me. The wood of the doors is spraying splinters from bullet impacts before I manage to dash through, flecks flying up around my head. Once in the foyer, I see Amina is on her knees by the door, covering her ears, almost cradling herself.

  'Amina, the bedroom, now. Get in the bath,' I say, pulling her up and guiding her to the side bedroom door, shoving her inside.

  This is where I make my stand. But I need to make this my fortress, and there are already six enemies in here. Thirty seconds, no more like twenty, before I'll be overrun. I must take the six out before they get here. With no weapon. Nothing like a challenge. It's now a numbers game, and the magic number is 6.

  As soon as Amina is safely in the bedroom, I turn back to the door I left from, hiding tight next to the door frame. Any second now -

  The first man bursts through, giving chase, and I let him pass straight to the suite door. The second comes through, as eager as the first. Good. Just wait for the third, and - there he is.

  As soon as he is through, I kick the door closed as hard as I can, smashing the fourth man in the face. I reach uncompromisingly for the third man's gun, while kicking the back of his knee, buckling him down. I slip the gun from his right hand and BOOM BOOM. Two shots, taking down both of the men by the door. One, two. I bring the gun back to the man buckled in front of me, hold it by his head and pull the trigger. Three. I open the entrance to the main suite again, just as the last ear-pieced goon appears to charge through, his nose bloody and off-centre. I fire point blank, and he drops like nothing better than a sack of shit. Four.

  I didn’t want to kill these men. Not at all. But I just could’t see any other way. And now I have a gun.

  There is a huge side dresser along the side wall of the foyer. I drag it over to and across the front door, blocking the entrance off. It is heavy, but adrenaline takes up the slack. I'm acutely aware that I've probably got between five and ten seconds before this place becomes a war zone. The clunky furniture won't keep them out, but it will slow them a little.

  I take the bedroom door Amina just went through and find her standing by the edge of the bed, confusion, hope and relief making up her expression. 'Follow me,' I command. I'm in no nonsense mode now. You are either along for the ride or you ain't.

  I pass straight through the bedroom to the rear door, and use it to enter into the living room. Lloyd is standing in front of Kirsten, and they both stare expectantly in the opposite direction at the front exit. I walk straight towards them, and their eyes gravitate towards me in unison, before widening in surprised horror.

  'I'm sorry to piss on your parade,' I say. 'UP.' I point the gun at them to show I mean it, but all of us are preoccupied by the sudden crashing coming from the foyer. The tactical aid units are here. They are trying to get in. She wasn't bluffing.

  Lloyd has moved in front of Kirsten, in a sort of tepid attempt at masculine protection, even though Kirsten, now stood at six statuesque feet, carries far more physical presence than Lloyd ever will. I smash him hard on top of his head with the butt of the gun, and he goes down howling. 'That's for your constituents. I'll deal with you later,' I say. ‘Behind me Amina, now.’

  I pull Kirsten in front of me just as the living room door flies open, and I see the foyer is full of black-clad, automatic weapon-toting, assault-vest wearing bruisers looking for a target to spray with lead. The only one I offer is the woman in charge of them. I notice that there are eight in total, which surely means that this is just one of the teams. The other must be holding the lobby.

  'One step forward and we all die,' I say, holding the gun to Kirsten's head and the vial of toxin above her left shoulder as if I am puppeteering a little cartoon devil, which is pretty much an exact metaphor for what's going on inside her head right now. 'Tell them to stand down,' I whisper to Kirsten.

  'A job. I can give you a job,' she whispers back.

  'I'm enjoying unemployment,' I reply, hushed.

  'Money then, you'll be wanting money.'

  'I've got more than I'm comfortable with already.'

  'There must be something you want?'

  'Accountability. For you, and that piece of shit on the floor there.'

  'Why did you think I went into government? There is no accountability where government is concerned.'

  'There always is. Even for you.'

  'There you are, the naive boy scout again. I'm untouchable. And you are the one holding a gun to a Cabinet Minister's head in front of twenty of the most loyal and well-trained that the country has at it's disposal.'

  She has a point. This is not a great situation, and I'm extremely aware that a lot of these guys will be getting a more-than-decent look at me. I raise my voice to address them.

  'I am one of you. I live for the service of Her Majesty. This woman is guilty of something tantamount to treason, and she needs to face what she has done.'

  No one flinches, except for Kirsten, who is actually laughing, like I just told her a funny anecdote over dinner. She is certainly cool under pressure, I have to give her that. Again, if I knew more about her, I may be able to work out a way to get to her, and use it to my advantage. I promise, if I get out of this, I will pay more attention to politics in future.

  'Follow me Amina, and stay tight,' I say, while giving Kirsten a sharp push forward. 'You are a disgrace,' I tell her.

  'Make some room boys,' she says almost jovially. 'There's the front door, gift-wrapped for you.'

  'How generous. Move.'

  Kirsten starts slow paces towards the men, and I feel Amina's hand grasp the fabric of my hoody. She is right behind me, and I sense her close, which immediately invokes the memory of the last time I was this close to her - last night, and all I did in its darkness. I raise my voice again.

  'We are going to march out of that front door. Move aside to let us pass. If you don't, I fire the gun and drop the toxin, and you'll be responsible for the death of your boss, your colleagues, and if it gets out, everyone in this hotel and another one and a half million people. Don't make me do that.'

  I can see the men peering at me along their gunsights, foreheads creased with concentration on me, their target. Eyes unblinking. Postures unwavering. I'll have to test their resolve.

  We approach them, and I eye them hard. I feel like a defense lawyer, and they are the jury - if I can crack one of them, put reasonable doubt in their minds, they will lose that unity and I will get away with this. But, unlike my hasty metaphor, I'm likely to get my head blown off if they don't like what they hear.

  We get closer to them.

  'Men, I promise you that if you apprehend us, you will be contributing to something that will harm Great Britain in the worst of ways. Is that what you signed up for?'

  Closer still, but they are firm like granite. They ain't for budging.

  ‘Amina, the bags,’ I say, and I hear her stooping to grab them from the floor.

  ‘Got them,’ she replies. I raise my voice again.

  'You seem to have loyalty to this woman, but who does this woman have loyalty for? If you think it's you lot, you are dead wrong.'

  Just a yard now, and
I slow our progress almost to a stop.

  'Move, or kill us all. It's as simple as that,' I say, with as much steel as I can muster. Do I really want to drop this thing? Not likely, but I know how stubborn I can be. If there's a chance to make a point, I've been known to go through with things. That might prove to be a most unfortunate characteristic.

  'Let him through, gentlemen. I mean it,' says Kirsten, breaking into my racing thoughts. 'Let's watch him flounder for a bit longer.'

  And with that, the men part in a regimented fashion. I'm not sure these are regular police tactical aid units, or those specially assigned to Miss Sweetmore. She seems to have them on a very tight leash, so tight as to have dissolved their autonomy from their own thoughts. Either that, or they have been falsely briefed on me, and how not to trust a single oily word that slips forth from my snake-like mouth.

  A narrow channel presents itself between the ranks, and I walk Kirsten straight through it, turning when we are all safely through to keep Kirsten and the toxin between us and them. The tension is so palpable and heavy, it can't be far from manifesting to the point of physical mass. I feel like it could be moulded like clay. If I could mould it into huge anti-tank gun, that'd probably help me a bit here.

  We begin the slow backwards walk to the lift, and as we travel, the tactical soldiers follow us matching us step for step, never more than a yard from us. Their eyes are all cemented with conviction, unflickering and strong. I bet they are good men, too. I don't ever like taking on good men, for a fear of a sudden regurgitation of a recessed compassion from somewhere. Can't afford any of that.

  'We are nearly at the lift,' Amina whispers, and I pull Kirsten closer to us.

  'Call it when you can,' I reply.

  And as soon as I say it, I hear the airy ping of the lift being called. We are already there.

  The standoff resumes, clogging the air, choking and stifling it. We all stand on a precipice, with a slight change in equilibrium the only thing necessary to rapidly descend the moment to frantic carnage.

  18

  A hum, bump and a slight change in the perceivable air pressure heralds the opening of the lift door right behind us.

  We take three steps backwards, into the space of the lift. 'Press for the lobby, Amina,' I instruct, my eyes never moving from the men in front. The men are so close to the lift doors that if they encroach just a couple more inches, they will be in with us. 'Hold it there.' They stop. The doors begin to close, and just as I think we might have made it past the first impossible obstacle, Kirsten lunges forward.

  The calm is punctured for a moment by a flurry of activity, in the time it takes for the lift doors to slide shut. It's all a blur of conflicted thoughts and near indecision. I have a good hold of her, and her lunge only moves us a touch. I want to blow her brains out, but that would make me not just the man who stole Apex but the man who waxed a cabinet minister. To help her lunge, she has grabbed the pointing barrel of one of the men's automatic weapons, using it to hoist herself towards the men, and as soon as I see the gun and know that I don't want to shoot Kirsten, I change tact. I shove Kirsten hard at the men, and in the confusion grab the outstretched gun for myself, yanking it into the lift, just as the doors close with a soft clunk.

  I breathe out, having just swapped a human shield for a weapon - attack for offense. Whatever plan was in fetal formulation, must change already, and the lift begins to descend. I hit the red override button, to pause us in space. That should give us a couple of moments.

  I check the weapon. It is one I recognize with ease, now it is up close. A Heckler & Koch MP7-SF, and it's when I see the gun that more revelations arrive. This gun is standard issue within the Ministry of Defense's own police force. The Operational Support Unit is the moniker of the general Police Support Unit that each police force has. And if this was the Metropolitan Police, which surely an incident in London would warrant, then this situation should be attended by a Territorial Support Group. And that in itself reveals that the Ministry of Defense is backing Sweetmore and her plans. Jesus. She has wide-reaching, dangerously corrupt aims and her own police force at hand to see them through.

  But why weren't they pursuing me from day one? They must be newly recruited to her crusade. Dammit. Another seduction of loyalty.

  I check the magazine. Fully loaded. I check Amina. Fully terrified. I check the lift. A cleaner's cart stands in the corner, accidentally abandoned in the earlier melee. I check it out, searching for possibilities, my eyes scanning the cart like you would look for butter in a fridge. There are a number of items on there, all completely normal looking, but I'm going to let memory and training do the work here. Keep looking and let the alarm bells go. There are all sorts of cleaning fluids to hand here, from carpet cleaner to window polish and - furniture refinisher. I grab the light can, and check the ingredients. I'm looking for benzine, and see it almost immediately. I know I can use that. I keep it to one side and keep looking.

  Scan. Scan. Scan. Regular toilet bleach is always something that's got something fun in it, but I need something specific to react with the benzine. I check the bottom tray of the cart, where the items take on a different tilt. Away from hotel room care and over to general hotel maintenance, including chemical swimming pool treatments...

  Calcium hypochlorite. Surely in that tub there. I pull it out and check. Bingo. I can do something special here. I know I can.

  'Amina, please give me a hand,' I say, and she duly joins me. The steel tub containing the pool cleaner is pretty solid, and only half full. I'll have to guess the weights roughly here, but then again, that's the exciting, unpredictable part of improvising explosives on the spot. I check how much furniture refinisher I have. Not the greatest amount, and to keep the volumes in a bracket that will work, I pour out a little of the pool cleaner onto the cart tray, before adding all the furniture refinisher to the tub.

  'Amina, quickly, please grab the tape from my bag.' She scrabbles immediately into my backpack.

  There is a wooden mop affixed to the cart, so I break it across my knee, and use the smallest piece of the broken handle as a chunky makeshift stirrer for my mixture. It works a charm.

  Suddenly, the lift starts moving. They have overridden the lift’s internal controls. It's going to get very brutal very fast. Amina hands me the duct tape, and I replace the lid on the steel tub, and duct tape it shut. I gave it a solid shake for good measure, and voila, a HTH bomb minus a detonator. But I'm not going to need one this time.

  'This is going to be a pretty nasty bang, if I got it right,' I say, placing the tub on the cart. 'When the lift doors open, do not get out until I tell you. Stay low, and as hidden as you can. I'm so very sorry for all of this Amina, but I will do everything I can to get you out of here.'

  She looks at me, dread brimming, and says 'Thank you, Ben.'

  That soft ping heralds our arrival in the lobby, and the lift lowers to a stop. I hand Apex to Amina.

  'Please keep it safe. And for what it's worth, yet again,' I whisper, 'I am so sorry about last night.'

  Her gaze softens, as if finally some forgiveness has been afforded - as if somehow she can see why, in my warped sense of paranoid duty, I ended up doing what I did. I hustle my backpack on, with Amina copying. Then the doors open.

  I peak out into the lobby, which, besides being devoid of people, is just how I left it before. It should be bustling with life at the stage in the morning, so that can only mean one thing. They are here. The area has been cleared, which is good. Let's test their nerve. I whip off my hoodie and quickly arrange it on the cart, with the empty hood draped and propped atop my secret bomb on the top shelf of the cart, and the arms placed on the rails. To someone with a nervy disposition, it might just spook them into thinking that someone is hiding behind it. Alternatively, if they see something that looks almost like a human shape with a clear chance of a headshot, they might just try to make themselves a hero. And that's what I am inviting, when I push the cart briskly out onto the marble lobb
y floor, scooting it into the open space. All it will take is one highly trained, on-edge hero…

  I hear the snap of the shot just before the lobby is engulfed by a booming explosion. I push Amina back into the corner of the lift, as the entire cart is replaced by an urgent fireball, billowing outwards. Glass sprays everywhere, tinkling on the marble with all sorts of other debris. When we were weaving our way through London's streets, after we had just arrived in the city, I didn't think that within an hour or so I would have blown up the lobby of one of London's most famous buildings. I must admit, I am such a liability.

  As soon as the initial gust of flame recedes back to its source, I follow it out, weapon raised, moving swiftly and drilled. The tiled floor, so immaculate before, is sprayed with intense burns marks. What a goddamn mess. I'm searching, eyes up further along the corridor to the front door, while the floor beneath my feet begins to crunch underfoot. Debris. The acrid stink of hot discharge staunches the air, as if a tourniquet constricts the atmosphere of the blasted lobby.