*****
Michael had already admitted Brian was masterful. But he admired Kemble, too. The guy had used an iPad his mother brought with her to cross-reference local gun dealers with firearms violations. He found someone who would sell them guns without the required waiting period. Or identification for that matter. Might not be magic, but it sure was impressive. Tris took a Colt revolver. Old school but reliable. Michael took a Smith and Wesson Sigma 9 mm semi-automatic. Kemble chose a Glock 9 mm, but Michael would forgive him for that. Brian said he’d take whatever. He ended up with a nice little .357 Smith and Wesson 686 Plus revolver. Michael stuffed extra ammo in their bags all around and they were set.
Now, as dusk settled into the canyons of downtown Chicago, they were driving a used car Kemble bought with cash, so it would be untraceable in case they were caught wreaking mayhem on Rhiannon and company. Brina had come way prepared in that department. After Michael determined Drew was in the Loop, they dropped Brina at the Palmer House to book some rooms. Michael was getting a little crazy. He had to remain focused on the mission. But he could feel Drew and the feeling was getting sharper.
As they pulled away from the hotel, Brian turned in his seat. “Do your thing, Dowser.”
Tris was driving. Kemble sat beside Michael in the back seat with his iPad. Michael thought about Drew and his power sprang into action. The grid popped up, though his eyes weren’t closed. Now he just had to keep himself open, and he could give directions. “Left at the next intersection. Get over to Michigan. Then turn right on Michigan.”
Tris grunted assent and elbowed his way into the left lane, honks trailing in their wake. He swung on to Michigan. “Now what?”
“Keep going. It’s on the right….” One light. Light two approaching. “Stop,” he barked.
Tires squealed as Tris pulled over in a red zone near the corner. Michael peered upward. “It’s that one, across the street.” Kemble got busy tapping on his tablet.
The building was old but well kept, not as tall as its neighbors. “Britannica Building,” Brian muttered.
“She’s way high,” Michael said. “Penthouse maybe?”
“Figures,” Brian said. “Only the best for the Clan.”
“They call it the Metropolitan now,” Kemble said. “Somebody bought it and turned it into condos. Parking entry is on Jackson.”
Tris wheeled into action as Kemble tapped frantically on the tablet. Tris turned into the gated entry. It was closed. The keypad took a code or a card only. “Now what?”
“Gimme … one … more … second.…” Kemble’s fingers flitted over the keyboard. “Okay. Six-seven-eight-five-two.” Tris got busy with the keypad.
“Good going, son,” Brian said as the gate began to rise.
“What, you hacked their system from an iPad in about two minutes?”
“No. Too much protection. I found a guy who lives here and hacked his system. Everyone keeps their security codes and passwords in their address book.” Michael made a mental note never to try to hide anything from Kemble.
Tris wheeled smoothly down into the garage, tires squealing softly on the cement.
“Penthouse has its own elevator,” Kemble noted.
“There.” Brian pointed. Tris pulled up in front of the doors.
“There will be a code for the elevator too,” Michael pointed out. As Kemble shrugged dismissal, Michael said, “Just so you know.”
“They’ll know someone’s in the elevator,” Tris warned. “They’ll be prepared. We don’t know how many have powers or what they are.”
“Can’t be helped,” Brian said.
“She didn’t have others with magic when we were down in the Caribbean,” Michael said. “Just muscle for hire.”
“We could create a distraction,” Kemble said. “Fire alarm or something.”
“That would bring down Chicago’s finest and a whole lot of firemen,” Brian noted. “Not sure we want to do that.”
“Well, somebody’s going to hear shots,” Tris said. Tris seemed like the practical one.
“I’m hoping by the time anyone can react, we’ll have Drew and be away.” Brian turned to Michael. “You have the only battle experience in the group, Dowser. What do you think?”
Michael shook his head. “Elevator is the only way in. They’ll have the stairs booby-trapped. Anyway you figure it, we’ve just got to gut it out.” He bit his lip. This wasn’t going to be pretty. But he could feel Drew above him. She was like a magnet pulling him in. No way he wasn’t going up there. “So here’s what we do. Who’s the best shot?”
“That would be me,” Brian said, almost sheepish. “Adapter, you know.”
His sons nodded, a little disgusted, whether with him or themselves, Michael couldn’t tell. “Okay then. Once we get into the elevator Tris, you and Kemble take cover on each side of the doors. Brian, you kneel and start taking them out methodically, but as quickly as you can.”
Tris glowered at Michael. “No way. Senior will take the brunt of their fire when they figure out what’s going on.”
“You and Kemble are going to lay down a barrage of cover fire,” Michael said. “Of course I hope you hit a few, but your job is to keep their heads down. That will protect Brian. And I’m going to sprint out, firing, as the doors open and distract everyone.”
That silenced them for a minute. It was a suicide play for Michael and they all knew it.
Brian heaved a sigh. “I see no better plan.” He looked to each of his sons in turn. They glanced to Michael. Then Tris punched the elevator call button.
The doors opened. They stood back and let Michael go first. Perks of the doomed, he guessed. He looked around. “No camera.”
The doors closed. The elevator only went to one place. A speaker, an emergency button, and a keypad were the only elements on the console.
Kemble said, “Give me a minute here. This one is harder.” He fumbled for what seemed like ten minutes at his tablet. “Got it,” he said finally. “Try six-seven-four-two-eight-nine.”
Tris punched the buttons. The car started to move up the floors, gathering speed. Kemble tucked his iPad into his belt at the small of his back. Too bad he didn’t have a holster.
The elevator lurched to a stop. The speaker popped once. “Welcome, boys.” Michael would know that voice anywhere. Rhiannon.
“Damn,” Kemble said, looking around frantically. “There.” A tiny pinhole was concealed in the gap between the wall and ceiling paneling.
“Sorry, missed it,” Michael muttered. Not holding up his end here.
Tris just took the handle of his Colt and smashed the thing.
“See you soon,” the cheerful voice said.
“Guess they’ll be prepared,” Kemble said. “We’re sitting ducks.”
Tris searched the elevator. “Not if they’re on the way down here and we do an end-around play.” He reached, but couldn’t quite touch an entry panel in the ceiling. “Boost?”
Kemble bent and cupped his hands. When his brother placed one worn Adidas in his palms, Kemble shoved him up. Tris lifted the panel aside and pushed his shoulders through.
“There’s no.…” Michael was about to say “power to the elevator,” but then he realized what Tris proposed doing. Could he do that?
“Long way to the motor.” Kemble echoed Michael’s doubts. “Farther to the ground.”
“Yeah,” Tris agreed. “But I’ve been getting better at this. I don’t need direct contact.”
Brian raised his brows. He hadn’t known that about his second son.
Tris crouched on the top of the car then stood. Michael could see him take the big cables, one in each hand. The crew from the penthouse was probably racing down the stairs. How long would that take? Tris began to tremble, his big body shaking with the intensity.
The cab began to tremble, too.
“Brace yourselves,” Brian warned, a grin beginning to light his face. Michael and Kemble had just backed into opposite corners when the cab shot upwar
d. Michael’s stomach hovered somewhere around his ankles.
They clanged to a stop as Tris flattened on top of the cab and the elevator hit the bumper above his head.
“You okay?” Brian called softly.
Tris dropped into the car, looking a little pale. He shrugged and grinned. “That was a near thing. Learn something new every day.”
*****
Drew’s heart was in her throat. She’d always thought that was a stupid saying. But something was sure making it impossible to swallow or breathe. Even from over at the table, she had seen the video monitor. Rhiannon had run over there when the ding announced that the elevator was in use. It was Michael, of course. She’d been feeling him getting closer for the last several hours. But the image showed her Tris and Kemble and her father, too.
It was almost dark out now. The beacon cycled on and bathed the penthouse in blue light. People she loved were coming up in the elevator. Her vision was coming true. She knew now that in her vision, she had not been afraid of something menacing coming out of the elevator doors. She had been afraid for those she loved most and what would happen when they emerged.
Even now, around the room, men had risen. Guns were out. What could she do?
“We’ll be right down,” Rhiannon said as the screen went blank. “Tremaines, and the Finder. They must have been on the boat with dear Coed here. Finder led them here.” She turned to Lev. “You’re up, hon. We are about to hit a Tremaine jackpot. Whoo-hoo.”
Lev looked around and counted men. “They have powers?”
Rhiannon frowned. She took his question as a challenge. “Father is an Adapter.”
“And that means?”
“He’s good at things. Big deal. Jason says one of the sons can power motors. Does that make little Lev quake in his boots?”
“In any combat it’s wise to know what you’re up against.” He turned to his men. “You four, get down the stairs. Be sure to turn off the countermeasures on seventy-six. Elevator is stuck at forty-eight. Striker, we stay here with the others.”
Four men broke for the stairs in purposeful strides, just as Drew saw in her first vision.
“You think four will do it?” Rhiannon asked.
“I don’t like this. When in doubt, protect the queen.”
A self-satisfied grin grew on Rhiannon’s lips. “I like the sound of that.”
The elevator console dinged. It was moving again.
Rhiannon whirled.
“Get back here,” Lev yelled to the guys just starting down the stairwell.
“I turned the elevator off,” Rhiannon protested.
“Guess being able to power motors is a pretty good skill,” Lev muttered. “Positions, everybody. Looks like they’re going to try a charge.”
Drew thought she might faint. Suicide, that’s what a charge out of the elevator would be.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Michael and Kemble had pulled their guns from their waistbands. Brian drew his from the shoulder holster he had bought. Michael motioned Kemble and Tris to their corners. Brian nodded to Michael and knelt on one knee with his gun in both hands, the classic shooter’s stance. “I’ll try to take out the weathergirl,” Michael said. “You get Drew.” He nodded to Tris, who was frowning. Tris hesitated then punched the button to open the doors.
Michael prepared to sprint. The doors slowly revealed a roomful of men with guns at the ready. No choice, he thought. You might not save her, but they will.
“No!” Tris shouted and grabbed Michael’s arm, pulling him to the side as Tris punched the button to shut the doors. Gunfire clattered on the metal while the doors slowly closed. Brian grunted, returning measured fire. Michael saw two of Rhiannon’s men drop.
“What are you doing?” Michael yelled as the doors closed.
“Saving my Goddamned sister,” Tris returned, tossing his gun. “And your sorry ass into the bargain.” He looked like he was ready to rumble, adrenalin and testosterone filling the car. “Did you see how many guys were out there?”
Kemble was kneeling beside Brian. “You okay?”
That brought both Tris and Michael back to the present.
“Grazed,” Brian said, feeling his side under his natty sport coat. His hand came away bloody. “Stupid, really.” He looked up at his second son. “So you sounded like you had an idea.”
Tris swallowed. “Well, guns are just simple machines. I mean, they don’t have motors, but even revolvers have springs and levers. And semi-automatics.…Well, I can push power out to machines. A lot of power. If we can get rid of the guns, I think we can take ’em.”
They all just looked at him. He wasn’t sure. It was in his eyes.
“No dice,” Michael said. “If you can’t take out the guns, you’re dead.”
“Better than your dumb-ass plan,” Tris growled. “Because maybe I can. Your odds were zero for making it out alive.” He flushed. “Don’t guess Drew would like that.”
Brian stepped in at this point. “Maybe we can pry the doors apart just a little way. Tristram gets his chance. Risk is low. We’re no worse off.”
Michael glared at Brian, but he nodded. “Everybody else stays away from the opening.”
“You better drop your guns in that corner. Uh, not sure exactly how to differentiate here.”
“Are they going to go off?” Kemble asked as he threw his Glock to the floor.
Tris hadn’t thought of that. “Not if I can help it,” he said grimly. They’d be like fish in a barrel if the guns fired inside the cab. So much for low risk. But nobody had a better idea.
They tossed the guns.
“Give me a chance to ramp up.” Tris stood in the center of the car and planted his feet solidly on the floor shoulder width apart.
“It’s even farther down to the earth now,” Kemble muttered.
Tris went still. They could practically feel his concentration. His body began to tremble again. The air grew thick with a feeling of suppressed power. “Okay,” Tris nodded.
Michael and Kemble pulled at the elevator doors. A channel appeared. Tris put out one hand, like he was pushing, then his other. The power in the room was making Michael’s heart flutter. Kemble’s eyes were bulging. Tris leaned into the power. A shot from outside put a bullet into the back wall of the car. Then Tris gave an abrupt push with his outstretched hands. Michael couldn’t see outside the cab, but he heard screams.
“Fuck this!” “What the hell?” “Shit!”
Inside, the guns in the corner glowed, first red, then a pale color halfway between yellow and white. The parquet wood of the elevator floor caught fire. Brian took off his jacket and flapped at the flames. The guns were fused into a slagheap, their bullets locked inside.
Tris stood up and sucked in a huge breath. The power pressure in the elevator abruptly faded. Michael looked to Kemble. They pulled the doors farther apart and dashed into the room.
*****
“They’ve got to come out sometime,” Rhiannon said, running around the couch to get a better view of the elevator doors as they slowly closed. Drew knew shots had gotten in there. Two of Rhiannon’s guys were down.
“We’re ready,” Lev barked, his gun held steady just in front of his face with both hands, like a cop on TV or the soldier he had probably been at one time. How many? Still ten. Ten against four. This was bad. And she had no control over the outcome.
The elevator doors began to vibrate, like there was a huge beast in there trying to get out. A feeling of power, electricity maybe, seemed to leak from the trembling doors. The guys around the room glanced at each other.
“Steady,” Lev whispered.
Drew thought her heart might burst. Something was going to happen. And it was going to be bad. Then the elevator doors cracked open. A wave of power surged into the room. Lev got off a shot but then dropped his gun, swearing. The others threw their guns to the ground. One screamed, holding fully blistered hands. The guns began to glow, wherever they were. One had dropped on the couch. It was
smoking. The place smelled like hot metal and burning foam.
Tris! Tris had sent power to the guns. The big Sub-Zero refrigerator screeched. Its door flopped open, its motor smoking. The blender on the counter just melted into a puddle. Rhiannon was screaming and pulling off her watch. The TV burst into flames. Guess there was some power overflow.The place was chaos.
Out of the elevator came Michael and Kemble.
Michael! How she’d needed him. But she wished he wasn’t risking his life to be here. His eyes locked onto hers. He grinned. Then he looked around angrily. He’d started for Rhiannon when Lev pulled his shoulder around and punched him in the gut. Michael started giving as good as he got. They were fully engaged, jockeying for position and throwing punches. Kemble had taken on Striker. Kemble might look like a “young executive on the way up,” but he hadn’t survived a brother like Tris without learning to fight. He’d been taking mixed martial arts lessons for years. He was holding his own. Her father emerged in time to take on the two poker players. Two? Calm down, Drew, he’s an Adaptor. He’d match those guys’ fighting styles with one perfectly calculated to counter each of them.
It was Tris she was most worried about. He looked groggy from using so much power. One of the History Channel guys was after him, and she saw Jonas closing in.
Damn it. She was not going to just stand by. She took the leaded glass salad bowl and dumped the water. Tris and his opponent were working their way past the kitchen bar. She winced as Tris took a blow to the jaw and staggered back. Grabbing the bowl with both hands, she edged along the bar. Tris glanced to her then back to his opponent. He stepped in and forced the guy back toward Drew, though he knew he’d take a punch. As the guy lowered himself to deliver, Drew brought the heavy glass bowl down on his head. There was a sickening give. He dropped like a stone. Blood seeped from the wound. She stood over him, stunned. Had she just killed someone? She glanced to Tris, who gave her a grin and a thumbs-up for about a second before he turned to face Jonas. Drew looked around for a lamp or something. It was hard to see. Several lamps had fallen over. Now only one in the back, a light in the kitchen, and the glow of the flames countered the blue light streaming in over the section with the glass ceiling. The corner of the room with the TV was burning in earnest now. Smoke wafted around the room. She wouldn’t think about what she’d just done. She had to do something. She couldn’t just stand by and let things happen to people she loved. As she strode over to where a lamp with a nice, heavy base had fallen to the floor, she saw Rhiannon standing behind the huge sofa fuming and assessing the situation. Drew glanced around. Michael had dispatched Lev and looked to be having his way with the other History Channel guy and Nick. Her father was trading punches with somebody new. Kemble was doing okay. Several of Rhiannon’s men were down. The guy with the blistered hands was making for the stairwell at a lope. Her side might just win through.
He's A Magic Man (The Children of Merlin) Page 28
