“These men, terrorists I guess, they were torturing Virginia’s father in order to make him talk.”
Virginia wiped at her eyes. “Daddy was tortured?”
“Yes, I’m sorry, those animals cut off two of his fingers, but he still wouldn’t talk, and so they threatened to kill an Asian girl.”
Jessica’s hand flew to her mouth.
“Was the girl harmed?”
“No, another girl, a little blond girl, she, she stabbed the man with the gun in the eye, and then a tall man in a suit began killing the other terrorists... after that, all hell broke loose and everyone just ran for their lives.”
“The tall man, did you see what became of him?”
The man looked away, knowing by the urgency of her tone that she must be the man’s wife.
“Sir, do you know what happened to him?”
“He, he passed us while running for his life, and there were at least half a dozen men after him.”
“Where was this?”
“Downstairs, by the pool and racquetball courts,”
Jessica went to the door and unlocked it, but O’Grady held the palm of his hand flat against it.
“I can’t let you go out there.”
Jessica took a step back and raised the gun.
“I’ll blow that door off its hinges if I have to, but I am going to help my husband.”
O’Grady stared into her eyes and saw the determination.
“I want to go with you, but I promised to take care of Virginia.”
Virginia rushed forward.
“No. If Jessie is determined to go, then you go with her. I’ll be alright, and besides, help is coming, right?”
O’Grady looked torn, but he handed Virginia his shotgun.
“Keep this with you, and we’ll be back as soon as we can.”
“But now you have no weapon,”
“Jessica has a shotgun, and I still have the knife her husband gave me.”
Virginia leaned the shotgun against the wall and hugged O’Grady.
“I love you, Jude, and I’m yours if you still want me.”
“You’re damn right I do, and I love you too, baby, I love you so much.”
After Jessica and O’Grady left, Virginia sat on the edge of the bed.
The old woman spoke to her.
“Young lady?”
“Yes ma’am?”
“Weren’t you supposed to marry my Grandson Craig today?”
“Yes, but that’s off now,”
The old woman patted her hand.
“Good for you, I never liked that weasel anyway.”
CHAPTER 9
While it was not in his nature to run from a battle, it was also not in his nature to die a fool, and so he had spent the last few minutes running and hiding until he could place the odds more in his favor.
Eight men were in pursuit, which was bad enough, but he had watched them from a perch atop a heating duct as they split up into three groups to make their hunt for him more efficient, which it would, and inevitably, he would become trapped.
He had to act to even the odds, and he had to do it quickly.
One of the groups was a pair, and after spotting them nearby, he slipped into the locker room that annexed the pool area.
He rushed over to the showers and turned the water on full in several of them, knowing that the sound of running water would attract the men, then, he gazed around for a place of concealment.
The choices were slim. There was a taupe-colored, cloth cart on wheels, loaded with clean towels, which was large enough to hide behind, but then he realized that his feet would show beneath it. Across the aisle was a row of lockers, one of which had no padlock on it. He opened the locker and gauged it large enough to fit in.
The clang of the locker door closing was louder than he had intended it to be, and he hoped that the noise hadn’t carried over the sound of the falling shower water.
He then took out his knife, settled into his cramped place of hiding, and waited for the two men to enter his trap, as he watched through the narrow slits.
They came an instant later, straining their necks to peek into the shower room, but not entering it to search its hidden corners. He then saw them turn, to stare at the lockers, and he tensed himself to leap out of concealment.
The men each fired twice into the locker and then the man on the right ripped open the shredded metal door to reveal a pile of clean towels.
Even as they swiveled towards the cart, he rose up on his knees, scattering the towels that covered him, and emptied the shotguns at them.
The two men left streaks of blood as they slid down against the lockers and settled to the tiled floor, both moaning, mortally wounded, and gasping out their final breaths.
He placed his knife back in its sheath, having used it to cut slits in the cart’s side to see through. Next, he checked his ammo and found only two shells. With only two left, he desperately wanted to search the men for more ammo, but knew that the gunfire would bring the other men running, and so he loaded a shell into each of his guns, and raced towards the other exit.
When he went through the door, he found himself standing by the pool. Above him, the lights of the dance floor pulsed in a rhythmic pattern upon its empty glass surface, before passing through, and causing the pool water to shimmer with a rainbow of colors.
Through a window in the door, he spotted three of the men rushing his way down the corridor.
He jerked his head about but saw no other exit, until he looked up through the glass and spotted the door marked, stairwell. The dance floor was accessible by the use of a curving ramp, and he bounded up it even as the men entered the pool close behind him.
When he was halfway across the dance floor, the door he sought to escape by blasted open and the other three men appeared with shotguns at the ready.
He was trapped, but knew that neither group would fire at such close range with the weapons at their disposal, because the metal shot would not only strike him, but wound their comrades on the other side as well.
He too dared not fire, because to do so would leave him vulnerable to whichever group he ignored.
The men closed in with confident faces and he lowered the shotguns until they were pressed against the floor, the glass floor.
BAROOOOM!
He fired both guns simultaneously, using up the last of his ammunition in an attempt to drop them all into the pool and gain time. However, the twin blasts just left the toughened glass floor with two smoking holes, each radiating a spider web of fine, threadlike cracks in all directions.
First, one of the men on the left laughed at him, then one on the right, until all of them were deriding him with their mirth, but the ridicule came to an abrupt ending when the myriad cracks all expanded at once and the floor began to buckle.
The six men let out shouts, turned, and ran, but he dropped the shotguns and leapt for a galvanized pipe secured to the wall behind him, and as his feet left the thick glass, the entire floor shattered and fell fifteen feet into the pool below.
He shimmied up the pipe, and then made his way across the latticework of metal strut that held the dance floor lights in place, suffering random burns whenever he came in contact with the hot surface of the lighting fixtures.
When he looked down, he saw that the men were struggling in the water, water tinged red here and there from the numerous cuts caused by the broken glass. In the deep end, one man was drowning, as a wide section of unbroken floor held him pinned to the pool’s bottom like an insect under a glass slide.
As a few of the men began to get their bearings, he yanked hard on an end of metallic cable that ran the length of the pool, where it fed into a bank of red and green spotlights. When at last he managed to rip the cable free, it came away sparking, and he released it and watched as it dropped down into the pool.
The lights went out in concert with the men’s cries of pain as a jolt of electricity passed through them. The circuit breaker did its job an
d ended the current’s flow within an instant, but he knew to the men in the water that that instant must have felt like an eternity.
In the glow of the light from the hallway, he watched four of them struggle weakly beneath the surface, to join their recently dead colleague trapped beneath the glass, but a fifth man made it out of the pool, only to collapse on its lip, with one arm still dangling in the water, to lay motionless, and likely dying.
He continued along the lattice of strut until he was even with the open door of the stairwell, then he let himself hang, swung his legs to gain momentum, let go, and tumbled onto the landing.
Once on his feet, he moved down the stairs and went in search of a fresh weapon.
CHAPTER 10
Out on the Harborton Bay, the Sand Island Ferry was leaving for the island ahead of schedule to accommodate the two Harborton cops sent to investigate Jessica’s SOS.
The two cops didn’t even bother to get out of their vehicle for the short trip, and were of the opinion that it was a waste of their time.
They were a man and a woman, and the woman rolled down her window to stick her head out, and sighed when she felt the sun on her face.
“What a nice day, can you believe it’s December?”
“Don’t get used to it. The weather station says that there’s a massive snowstorm brewing for next week. ‘One for the ages,’ they said.”
The woman waved that off.
“Bullshit, they say that about every storm,”
“Yeah, I guess they do, don’t they?”
The woman covered her eyes and squinted out to sea.
“Look at that boat out there. He’s really moving, and he’s headed right for the island.”
“That’s a yacht, and it’s probably going there to pick up one of the guests, some big cheese rented the entire hotel for the weekend. His daughter is getting married.”
“Good, that means when we get there all we’ll see are smiling, happy faces.”
“Yeah, and don’t forget the open bar and free food,”
“I hear you.”
***
Belenko spoke to Blake while keeping his gun aimed at Wessel.
“What kind of deal do you have in mind?”
“You help me get out of here and then I’ll give you Wessel, if not, I’ll blow his brains out and then you’ll never get the information you want.”
“Kill him, and I kill you,”
“Yeah, but why? What do you care if I get out of here in one piece? Make the deal; it’s the smart thing to do.”
Belenko nodded toward Craig. “What about that man?”
“Fuck him; it’s his damn fault that I’m here in the first place. He hired me to kill Wessel so he could frame some guy banging his girl, but I don’t give a shit anymore, all I want now is to get out of here alive.”
Wessel gawked at Craig.
“You hired this man to kill me?”
Craig laughed.
“What? No! George, Jesus, how could you believe him, he’s obviously as crazy as this other guy.”
“Shut the fuck up!” Blake said, and then raised an eyebrow at Belenko. “So, do we have a deal?”
“No.”
“No? Why not?”
“When my men find us you will hand Wessel over safely, or you will be tortured. I need simply wait for their arrival.”
“I see your point,” Blake said, and then he fired a shot at Belenko that hit his left thigh.
Belenko fired back and struck Blake twice, but the hit man held onto his weapon and kept firing until Belenko was forced to flee out the door he had entered through.
***
Jessica stopped short and turned around.
“That was gunfire, and it came from the coffee shop.”
She and O’Grady had been headed towards the pool, but the sound of the shots drew them to the rear entrance of the hotel coffee shop, where they found a bloody scene.
Blake’s wounds had collapsed him to the floor, where he lay white in a widening pool of red. George Wessel, already minus two fingers, was now missing a piece of an ear as well, and blood flowed down his cheek, due to one of the shots fired by Belenko, whose own blood trailed off towards the kitchen.
Craig Morgan appeared unharmed, but was cowering beneath a nearby table.
Jessica spoke to Wessel as she looked down at Blake.
“Uncle George, how badly are you hurt?”
Wessel gazed at her, with a dazed look in his eyes.
“Jessie, my, look at you, that baby must be due any day now.”
Jessica attempted to bend over and check Blake’s condition, but found the act an impossibility.
“Oh Lord, I’m too big to get down there on the floor, Jude, please check on the poor man, and pull open his shirt so I can see how bad his wounds are.”
Jude knelt beside Blake, felt for a pulse, checked again, and then opened his shirt to reveal a gaping chest wound.
“He’s gone.”
She looked at Craig, who was still huddled beneath the table.
“Are you injured?”
Craig shook his head, as he stared blankly at Blake’s corpse.
Jessica checked her uncle’s injuries.
“Oh, your hand definitely needs looking after, but for now we’ll keep it clean. C’mon, stand up and I’ll take you to the restroom where you can wash up.”
Wessel stood and gazed about with a befuddled look on his face. Then he touched the side of his head and winced.
“My head hurts.”
“Yes, the same bullet that nipped your ear, grazed your temple, you might be suffering from a concussion as well.”
“Oh,” he said, but then he livened and took Jessica by the arm. “Virginia, is she alright?”
“Yes, she’s fine, and I’ll make sure you see her as soon as I can, but right now I have to go look for my husband. Jude, please stay here and guard my uncle, use that gun on the floor there.”
“I should stay with you.”
“No, after my uncle cleans himself up, take him to be with Virginia.”
“I don’t like it.”
“I understand, but I’ll be alright, and I’ll feel better knowing that you’re looking out for him.”
“Be careful.”
“I will.”
Jessica escorted Wessel over to the restroom and then went back out into the hallway. O’Grady watched her go with an uneasy feeling in his gut, but also didn’t feel right about abandoning Virginia’s father while the man was in such a confused state.
When he bent down to pick the gun up off the floor, he noticed something peculiar. The gun was his, not a similar gun, but his. He recognized the double nick on the left side of the walnut grip.
“How the hell did my gun get here? I keep it locked aboard the yacht in a safe.”
Craig rose up from the floor and walked over.
“That can’t be your gun.”
“But it is, see here, see those nicks?”
O’Grady held the gun out for Craig to look at, and Craig snatched it away.
“What the hell are you doing?”
“This is your gun. I stole it from the safe. That man on the floor there was supposed to use it to frame you with.”
“Frame me for what?”
Craig raised the gun and took aim.
O’Grady held up a hand as he began to back away.
“Whoa Morgan, Craig, think about what you’re doing,”
“No more talk, O’Grady, I just want you to die.”
The gun went off and the bullet traveled a straight line towards O’Grady’s heart, he howled in pain, crumbled to the floor, and lay still, as the white shirt beneath his jacket turned red with blood.
Craig smiled down at the body before him.
“That was for screwing my girl.”
CHAPTER 11
Jessica had barely made it to the end of the corridor when the sound of the shot reached her. She rushed back as quickly as she could with the shotgun up and rea
dy, but when she approached the doorway of the coffee shop, she was met by Craig, who was urging Wessel before him, while in a great hurry.
“What happened? Where’s Jude?”
“He’s dead. One of the terrorists attacked us and then ran off. I’m taking George upstairs to be with Virginia.”
Jessica’s face fell.
“Jude’s dead? Oh no,”
“Yes, it’s very upsetting, but tell me, what room is Virginia in?”
Wessel yanked his arm free from Craig’s grip.
“Don’t tell him, Jessie.”
Jessica stared at her uncle and saw that the glazed look had left his eyes, only to be replaced by something else, anger.
“Why shouldn’t I tell him, Uncle George?”
“Because he’s up to no good, that other man in the room there, before he died he told me that Craig hired him to kill me.”
Craig smirked.
“Don’t listen to him, Dr. White. It’s the concussion talking.”
Jessica nodded as if she agreed with Craig, and even as she did so, she was slowly moving the barrel of the shotgun towards him.
Craig pressed his gun into Wessel’s back.
“Uh-uh, Dr. White, you drop that gun or I’ll shoot George.”
“And after I drop it, what then, you go away?”
“I’m not screwing around. I will shoot him.”
Jessica smiled.
“That’s not going to happen.”
“What’s to stop me?”
“You’re about to find out.”
Craig grunted as a wooden chair smashed against the side of his head. He stumbled once, before falling flat on his face, and the gun slipped from his open hand.
Wessel spun around to see who his rescuer was and his eyes grew wide at the sight of O’Grady.
“Craig told us you were dead,” Wessel told him.
“I came damn close when he shot me,” O’Grady said, as he removed his tie. Once it was off, he used it to secure Craig’s hands behind his back.
“Let me examine the bullet wound,” Jessica said.
“Actually, it’s a nasty cut, I had that knife your husband gave me in the inside pocket of my jacket and when the bullet stuck, it drove it into my chest. After that, I played dead so that Morgan wouldn’t shoot me again.”
The TAKEN! Series - Books 9-12 (Taken! Box Set Book 3) Page 21
