Panic lb-1

by Nick Stephenson

  Logan jumped from his seat and dashed for the open door. Stark grabbed him by the collar, throwing him back into the chair. The senator landed hard and let out a yelp.

  “If only you had stuck to the plan and come with me into the city an hour ago,” said the colonel, almost regretfully, “I might have let you live a little longer. As it is, I can get by without you. Your business associates will just have to wait for now.”

  Stark pulled his gun from its holster and pressed it against the senator’s forehead. “I don’t normally go in for showmanship, but I think I’ll make an exception. This is a large-caliber Glock 37 with a .45 caliber bore. Its hollow point will expand on impact for maximum damage. The reason I’m telling you this is that I want you to know what’s going to happen to you now.”

  The senator’s whole body was shaking, and Stark noticed a puddle forming on the carpet underneath the chair. The great senator Logan had pissed himself. The colonel grabbed the desk chair and spun the senator around, lifting the gun from the senator’s forehead and pressing it against the back of his skull instead.

  “When I squeeze the trigger,” Stark continued, “the bullet will smash through your skull and into your brain before you’ve even heard the gunshot. The soft tip will expand on impact, tearing through the insides of your head and opening an exit wound the size of a softball, splashing your brains all over your bedroom wall.”

  Logan began to whimper quietly.

  Stark continued. “The best part is that your face will be gone, so you’ll need a closed casket at the funeral, and you’ll die knowing that your family won’t be able to look you in the eyes. Or what’s left of them.”

  The senator began to weep uncontrollably, his body heaving up and down. “P – please d – don’t do this.”

  Stark had learned long ago to blank out the desperate pleas of the men he killed. Many had begged for their lives and the lives of their families. Most had not deserved to die, but Stark had been able to summon the courage to do his duty. Now, standing with a gun pressed to the head of a corrupt politician, Stark recognized the evil he had once thought existed only in the darkest recesses of war. This was not a man fighting to protect his country. This was not a man forced to kill to preserve his family’s way of life. This was a man who wanted to take that life away.

  Stark pulled the trigger without another thought.

  Chapter 32

  “Stark? The senator’s security chief?” said Mary. “What makes you think he has anything to do with this?”

  “He’s the only one that fits,” said Leopold, pointing to the whiteboard. “The murders were all committed by a professional, and Stark certainly has the pedigree.”

  “What about motive?”

  “A disgraced former black ops colonel would hold a grudge against anyone remotely connected to current military policy. He truly believes he’s doing the country a favor by getting rid of what he considers to be corrupt leadership,” said Leopold. “But motive is irrelevant. He’s the only person with the skill and opportunity to pull this off.”

  “Why not just kill Senator Logan? He’s had plenty of opportunity,” said Mary. “I don’t see the benefit in going after Christina.”

  “This is an opportunity to twist the knife and really make Logan suffer. On top of that, he also gets a hostage he can use if things go wrong.”

  Albert stood up suddenly, his index finger raised in the air as though to emphasize his point. “Just one question.”

  “Yes?” said Leopold.

  “Stark is the one who has Christina and has been sending people to try and kill us?”

  “That’s right.”

  “So he’s also the same person who’s been following us all day, knows our exact location, and has a team of expertly trained soldiers at his command?”

  Leopold paused a moment before saying anything. “I see your point,” he said eventually.

  “So, what the hell do we do now there’s a small army on our tail?” said Albert.

  “May I make a suggestion?” said Jerome quietly.

  “Please do,” said the tour guide, trying to remain calm.

  “Tactically, we still have one advantage. Stark isn’t aware of how much we know, which gives us time to formulate an offensive strategy that will catch him off guard,” said Jerome.

  “Sounds risky. What if they get away with Christina, or she gets hurt in the process?” said Mary.

  “Stark won’t risk hurting Christina – she’s his only bargaining chip. Our priority has to be getting the police and FBI on our side,” said the bodyguard.

  “What’s the first move?” said Mary.

  “We need to get back to Hank’s apartment and collect any evidence we can find before Stark gets a chance to destroy it. That should give us leverage with the FBI if he decides to make a run for it. We’ll need their resources to track him,” said the bodyguard.

  Leopold and Mary both nodded in agreement, while Albert fiddled nervously with his shirt sleeves. Leopold wiped the board clean and drew a crude map of NYC, marking their current location at the University in red and Hank’s apartment in blue.

  “Hank’s apartment is just a couple of miles away, maybe ten minutes in the car if we don’t hit traffic,” said the consultant, tapping the board. “We know that Stark has spotters throughout the city who’ve been tracking our movements, so we’ll only have a few minutes to get what we need from inside.”

  “What about the nutty professor in there?” Mary jabbed her thumb at the door.

  “Bring him. He’s the only one who knows all the details about the senator’s scams with the fake charities, so as far as I’m concerned, he’s our star witness. Let’s get moving.”

  Leopold pushed back his chair and rose to his feet, leading the group back to Professor Locke’s office. The door was ajar, and the consultant pushed through without knocking. He stopped dead as he saw what was waiting for him.

  Professor Locke was slumped face-down over his desk, with the hilt of a large knife protruding from the back of his neck. Blood pooled around his head and dripped slowly onto the carpet. Mary stepped forward to examine the body as Leopold stood in the doorway. She reached down and felt for a pulse.

  “So much for our star witness,” she said.

  Somewhere behind him, Leopold heard a soft metallic click and wheeled around to see the barrel of submachine gun staring him in the face.

  Chapter 33

  Leopold felt Jerome yank him backward just a split second before he saw the gun’s barrel flash and heard the deafening bang of the first rounds just inches from his face. From what Leopold could tell, the rounds whistled harmlessly over his head and smacked into the wall at the far end of the room.

  As Leopold felt himself fall to the ground, he saw the bodyguard kick out with his right leg, slamming the door in the shooter’s face.

  “Get down!” yelled Jerome, and the others hit the carpet.

  Just as Mary drew her weapon and covered the top of her head with her free hand, the sound of splintering wood his Leopold’s ears as more bullets ripped through the door, shattering it from its hinges. Jerome gestured silently and the others all rolled to the left, out of the way. The bodyguard crouched just to the side of the door frame and waited.

  Nothing.

  What remained of the battered door flew from the frame as a heavy black boot smashed through. In the doorway stood a man dressed in dark body armor, complete with helmet and visor, holding a submachine gun with both hands. As the armed soldier stepped into the room he saw a reflection in the glass of one of the cabinets and wheeled around. As he did so, Jerome rose quickly and aimed his elbow at the soft, exposed area between the man’s collar and helmet. Leopold heard a damp crunch followed by a muffled whimper as the bodyguard followed up with a heavy punch to the ribs, knocking his opponent to the ground. Jerome grabbed either side of the helmet and yanked the man’s head backward and to the side, breaking his neck. He checked for a pulse and got back to his feet, eyes shar
p and alert.

  “Who the hell was that?” asked Mary.

  “One of Stark’s men,” said Leopold, breathing heavily. “Sent in to tie up any loose ends. Stark must have tracked us here.”

  “That means he knows we’re coming for him.”

  “We’re screwed!” said Albert. “How are we supposed to get the evidence we need now?”

  “We still need to go to Hank’s apartment,” said Leopold. “It’s our only option. This just means getting there’s going to be a little more difficult, that’s all.”

  “Are you freakin’ kidding me?” said the tour guide. “There’s no chance we’re getting there alive.”

  “I don’t see how we have a choice,” said Mary, “We need that evidence. The alternative is to wait here until we get picked off one by one. Are you coming, or would you rather stay here by yourself?”

  Albert gulped and nodded feverishly as Jerome headed for the door. “I’m coming! Wait up!”

  Jerome took the lead with the others close behind. The group proceeded slowly, while the bodyguard checked ahead for danger, and soon passed through the doors into the rare manuscript section. Jerome motioned for everyone to crouch.

  “We’re not far from the elevators,” hissed Albert, pointing ahead. “Looks like the path is clear.”

  “Negative,” replied the bodyguard, his voice barely audible. “They’ll have the elevators covered. We need to get to the stairwell, which should be narrow enough to funnel everyone into single-file. No advantage in numbers that way.”

  “But -”

  Jerome put his finger to his lips, and gestured in the direction of the reading room, just past the glass doors ahead of them. The room stretched the entire width of the library and was stacked to the ceiling with leather-bound books, scrolls, and manuscripts all arranged neatly on shelves behind glass cabinets. The floor space was mostly filled with desks and chairs, and in the middle of the room stood an antique printing press, protected by a silk rope.

  Leopold noticed movement just behind the printing press and kept his head down. There were at least three of Stark’s team standing just a few feet away, and the only way to the stairwell was right under their noses. Both Jerome and Mary drew their firearms silently, checking the chambers for ammunition.

  “There’s maybe a fifty percent chance these guys know we’re on the move,” whispered the bodyguard. “But if we wait much longer and their buddy doesn’t check in, we’re one hundred percent fucked.”

  Leopold always hated it when Jerome swore. It usually meant they were thirty seconds away from a near-death experience.

  “Mary, I need you to flank to the right,” hissed Jerome. “I’ll take the left. Leopold, Albert, I need you both to crouch behind that desk in the middle and wait for my signal. The element of surprise is all we’ve got right now.”

  Mary signaled her agreement, and the bodyguard slid forward silently and pushed open the glass doors into the reading room. He disappeared off to the left and Mary to the right, using the desks as cover. Leopold took Albert by the arm, slipped through the doors behind them, and crouched on the floor as directed, under cover and out of sight.

  “Wait here,” said Leopold. “I’m not in the mood for hiding today.”

  Albert nodded and didn’t try to argue. Leopold left him sitting under the desk and headed after Mary, keeping low and trying not to make any noise. As he passed a large cabinet he caught sight of the police sergeant ahead of him, also low to the ground with her weapon drawn. Pushing back the tingle of fear, he pressed ahead and caught up as she stopped to check her target’s position. As he approached, she whipped around and raised her gun, eyes wide and jaw set.

  “What the hell are you doing?” Mary whispered, lowering the gun.

  “Albert doesn’t need a babysitter, and I’ve already nearly got you killed once already today. I can help.”

  “That’s bullshit. Albert definitely does need a babysitter.”

  “Well, I’m here now.”

  “Fine. Just keep quiet and stay behind me.”

  Leopold nodded and focused his gaze ahead as he noticed a shadow crossing the floor about ten feet from where they were hiding. He pointed it out to Mary, who nodded and raised her gun in both hands. The two of them moved forward in a crouched position until they reached the end of the row of desks.

  Leopold strained over Mary’s shoulder for a view of their target, who was facing away from them with both hands resting on his submachine gun. Like the other, he was wearing dark body armor and a helmet, meaning his hearing would be impaired. Leopold glanced at Mary, who seemed to be thinking the same thing.

  The seconds crawled by, dragged out interminably by the clawing silence of the library. Leopold could hear his own heartbeat thumping. He could hear Mary’s breath beside him, coming in shallow whispers. The man in the armor turned and paced back toward them slowly, stopping just short of their hiding place. He turned around again. Surveying the room.

  Rising quickly and silently, Mary brought her gun around and pressed it hard against the armored man’s exposed neck, just underneath his ear. At the same time she brought her free arm around the front of his chest, pinning his arms. Leopold saw the man stiffen as he realized what was happening, and then Mary brought her foot down on the inside of the man’s knee joint, forcing him to the floor. She coaxed the weapon away from him and hissed for him to lie face down with his hands above his head. He complied. She pulled off his helmet and brought the butt of her gun down on the back of his head and the man fell unconscious. She removed his radio and fished a plastic cable tie from her pocket and zipped it around the man’s wrists, behind his back.

  A scuffling sound came from the other end of the room, and Leopold turned to see Jerome walk toward them, unharmed.

  “Area secured,” said Jerome, brushing himself down.

  “Let’s keep moving,” said Mary. “There are probably others on the way.”

  The group turned to make their way back to the corridor that led to the stair wells. As they passed by the printing press near the center of the room, Leopold heard the crackle of a two-way radio. A voice spluttered on the other end and three other voices replied, checking in with the team leader.

  “Four more,” said Leopold.

  “In the building,” replied Jerome. “There may be more outside waiting.”

  Leopold heard a rustle from the far end of the room, near the exit, and froze. He sensed the others do the same. The noise grew louder, followed by the sound of something hard hitting a wooden surface.

  “Ow!”

  Albert stood up at the far end of the room, his head and shoulders just about visible above the desk partitions, and rubbed his forehead.

  “Hey, guys, I’m sorry I missed all the action!” he called out.

  Leopold hissed at him to keep quiet, but before Albert could register what was going on, four dark figures burst through the doors behind him. Leopold leapt to the side as the bullets began to fly. He saw Mary and Jerome do the same. He landed hard and felt a sharp pain in his side, probably a cracked rib, but he summoned enough strength to push back the pain and made his way to the edge of the room, sheltering behind the desks. He saw Mary and Jerome do the same, on the opposite side, mostly hidden by bookshelves. The antique printing press obscured the rest of his view.

  He kept low and heard the shuffle of footsteps hurrying in his direction, making out two distinct pairs heading his way. As the footsteps neared, he peered out from around the corner of the desk to get a view of his attackers.

  Two men stood in single file in the tight gap between the desks and the wall. They were dressed in the same armor as the others, both carrying the same weapons. He noticed them glance to the side, momentarily distracted by the sound of a muffled grunt from the other side of the room.

  Leopold seized the opportunity and attacked, aiming low and slamming his palm into the side of the man’s knee joint where there was no armor. Leopold felt the cartilage crunch as the impact for
ced the patella out of place. His target dropped like a stone, too surprised to make a noise. Without wasting a second, Leopold stood and unclipped the man’s helmet, swinging it hard at the second attacker’s shoulder.

  The helmet was heavy enough to knock the second assailant off balance, and Leopold used the momentum to swing the helmet back around, slamming it hard into the back of the first man’s skull where the bone was weakest. He felt the impact through his arm and heard a wet smack as the base of the disabled soldier’s skull caved in and he fell forward, gurgling. Leopold brought the helmet around once again and aimed for the second man’s head. He connected, and forced the helmet down over the man’s eyes, blinding him. In retaliation, the armored soldier kicked out with a heavy boot and caught Leopold in the gut, doubling him over and sending him crashing into a nearby desk. The boot’s owner grunted in frustration, before he finally wrenched off his helmet and threw it to the floor, exposing a scarred face and a shock of white-blond hair. Leopold recognized his attacker from his visit to the senator’s home several hours earlier: Dolph.

  Leopold fought back the pain in his chest where the boot had landed and forced himself forward, shoulders low. He connected before his opponent could fire, knocking him off balance. He kept pushing until they hit one of the bookcases, slamming Dolph’s back against the shelves and shattering the glass. The submachine gun fell to the ground, and Leopold kicked it away. No good for close range.

  Dolph punched Leopold’s chest and stomach with quick, short jabs designed for maximum impact. Leopold bunched his arms, shielding himself as though he were boxing. The jabs came fast and hard, and Leopold twisted so that some of the force was absorbed by the softer tissue in his upper arm instead of his neck or face. Still hurt like hell. Dolph pushed back, using his larger frame to drive Leopold toward the center of the room. A final hard shove and Leopold went over one of the desks. He landed with a thump on the other side, which sent a searing flash of pain across his body as the impact jarred his damaged ribs.