by Jason Kasper
Without looking, I transmitted, “Red, I send Touchdown.”
“Copy Touchdown.”
Then I holstered the Glock and turned around to find Matz watching me with a look of barely suppressed intensity and holding an M4 assault rifle that looked like a toy across his chest.
His perpetually dark-circled eyes looked unimpressed as I said, “Back to the hallway, turn right, fifty feet to a left turn, and twenty feet back to the stairwell.”
I took a step inside another tape square and stopped with one foot in the air. Withdrawing a black mask from my pocket, I hastily pulled it over my head and adjusted the single oblong hole over my eyes.
Matz said, “If you forgot again, I was going to smoke you until the sun went down.”
I cleared my throat before continuing, “Move up the stairs to the emergency exit at the top, where I walk in front of the only surveillance camera I can’t bypass on my route. Fire alarm goes off when I open the door. Red, I send Extra Point.”
“Copy Extra Point,” Boss replied.
“Walk to the northwest corner of the roof.” I stopped at another tape marking and stripped off the security vest to reveal my BASE parachute underneath. Folding the vest, I stuffed it into a cargo pocket before transmitting again.
“Red, I send Game Over. Ten seconds.”
“Copy Game Over.”
“Visually confirm getaway car location and then jump. Two second delay, canopy opens, land in the park. Stash my canopy in the bag, move a hundred feet to the west, climb over the fence, and get in the car. Mission complete.”
Matz said nothing at first, and I glanced over to see him readying his M4 in my direction. “Unload and show clear.”
I turned away from him, drew my pistol and unloaded it, then held it out to the side without turning. He took it from me, and I looked to the sky as a flock of white clouds drifted low overhead, moving in unison like flat-bottomed icebergs in the wind.
Matz yelled, “CLEAR!”
I sighed and turned around as he placed my Glock into an open holster on his left hip. His right side held an identical one without a suppressor.
Stripping the mask from my face, I shoved it into a pocket and smoothed my hair as Boss emerged from the woods.
He also carried an M4 and a sidearm, and he walked toward us with the measured cadence of an older man. His bearing belied the subdued expression of sadness that he wore at all times, a face that I still had trouble matching to the resolute voice that first spoke to me when I was tied to the chair.
He unslung his backpack and withdrew a bottle of water without slowing his pace, tossing it in a wide arc toward us.
“Thanks, Boss,” I said, scrambling to catch it.
He examined me with tired but focused eyes, as if he had already seen everything but still had a debt to repay before he could retire. Keeping one hand on the pistol grip of his M4, he laid the other palm across the upper receiver with an air of nonchalance. “Let’s talk contingencies for Chicago,” he said. “What if you hear me transmit Penalty?”
I lowered the water bottle and stood up straight. “I’m compromised. Security knows I’m in the building.”
“Forfeit?” he asked.
“Mission aborted. I get to the roof and jump.”
“What if I call Forfeit when you’re outside Saamir’s office waiting for my confirmation?”
“I still go to the roof and jump. No exceptions.”
He nodded. “Good, David. Your radio calls are getting better, but that’s the first thing you’re going to forget when your adrenaline is pumping. We’ll be monitoring the security radio frequency but unable to transmit on it, so it’s critical that I know your location in the building. If you forget to call in at a checkpoint, it could be the difference between me giving you an order that saves your life or one that kills you.”
“Understood, Boss. I won’t forget to call in.”
“Go ahead, Matz,” he said with a sigh of finality. “We might be waiting on Ophie for a minute.”
Matz ran a tongue over his top row of teeth. “Suicide, your first targets out of the box were grouped well—you were hitting within a plate-sized area on all three. Then you got to the steel rack. Know why you missed the first plate?”
I took a sip of water. “Because it wasn’t regulation-sized?”
“You went from a sprint to cracking off that first round the instant you stopped. I know plenty of guys who could make that shot, but you’re not one of them. Stop, take a breath, and engage. On the four paper targets, your shot placement was perfect, but your group was too tight. You hit within a silver dollar-sized area on three of them, which means you should have been shooting faster. You dropped four seconds off your best range run, but you’ve still got a ways to go and we’ve only got time for a few more full rehearsals before game day. So don’t get complacent on me.” He looked at Boss. “That’s all I’ve got.”
Boss turned around, brought both hands to his mouth, and yelled, “Ophie! You fall asleep out there?”
A shout came back over the breeze, “No, man, I’m coming.” Several long seconds passed before he sauntered out of the wind-swayed woods—a single figure, tall and lean, carrying a SCAR-H rifle loaded with match grade 7.62 rounds. The rifle was topped with a long scope, which, along with his lateness to our rehearsal meetings, conveyed the unspoken reality that he kept his barrel trained on me from a distance every time I was on the range with a weapon.
He strolled to a stop behind Boss and unzipped the backpack, removing a bottle of water and downing it in a few gulps. Long wisps of straw-colored hair were plastered to his forehead behind dark sunglasses, and when he finished drinking and wiped his mouth with the back of his wrist, he drawled, “Fuck, it is hot out here.”
Boss and Matz looked at him wordlessly, prompting Ophie to add, “Regular funeral parlor with you guys. David, you still upset that Matz was on top of you in a cheap hotel room?”
I shook my head. “I’m a little disturbed that he had an erection when he did it.”
“Fuck you, Suicide,” Matz said.
Ophie smirked. “Jesus, lighten up people. If murder ain’t fun, we’re doing it wrong.”
Boss shook his head. “You have anything to add?”
Ophie put a hand on his hip, angled his head toward the sky, and let out a long sigh.
“Well, since you all start these little group therapy sessions before I complete my death march in from the jungle, I don’t know what’s already been said. David, you’re looking pretty good from what I can see. Getting fluid, none of that robotic shit you used to pull when we started out here. That’ll serve you well when you’re in the building with no backup. As soon as you get to the roof, I’ll be able to see you with my long gun. Once you call ten seconds out from your jump, I’m going to smoke anyone in your landing area who looks like they’ll be upset when a masked motherfucker comes down under a parachute like an angel of death. So be ready to vault some bodies on your way out.”
I watched my reflection in his sunglasses and wiped a bead of sweat off my nose with a gloved knuckle. “Adrenaline turns me into a goddamn Olympian. Between killing Saamir and the jump, I’ll vault whatever I need to.”
Ophie scratched the back of his head, then looked at Matz and Boss.
“I’ll be honest, fellas,” he said to them. “I think the kid’s ready.”
CHAPTER 10
I pushed the lid above my head, then rose from the box and angled my pistol into a firing position.
Seeing only rows of shipping crates and shelves lining unfinished concrete walls, I pushed the lid wide open and stood, sweeping the loading dock with my pistol. On the opposite wall I saw the wide service elevator and two steel doors lit by uncovered fluorescent bulbs. A soft hiss of air escaped from the ceiling as I inhaled the scent of concrete and dust, my senses ablaze with the imminence of a near-death experience. I used to BASE jump to replace the thrill of combat.
Tonight, I would get both.
&nbs
p; I holstered the pistol and jumped down from the box, then secured its lid before moving behind a forklift to send my first transmission.
“Red, I send Kickoff.”
“Copy Kickoff. Happy hunting.”
I rolled my shoulders forward to stretch my back and shook my legs one at a time to restore much-needed circulation. After bouncing three times on the balls of my feet, I strode toward the service elevator as adrenaline began trickling into my bloodstream. Each step felt more weightless than the last.
Inserting the red key beside the button panel for the service elevator, I turned it and waited as the doors slid open to reveal a cold, metal-lined interior. I entered and pushed the button for the fifteenth floor, drumming the fingers of one hand against my leg and the others against my holster as I waited for the doors to close.
After a delay of several seconds, they slid shut and the elevator lurched to life, beginning its unhurried rise. My heart pounded with dread as the elevator began inching to a halt before stopping loudly at the third floor. The doors whirred open to reveal a trim man with a short white beard. He was dressed in a pair of pressed khakis and a blue service shirt, a wide black case hung from a strap over his shoulder, and a large phone blinked from a clip on his belt. One hand held an aluminum clipboard stacked with papers.
“Evening,” I said, trying my best to look official and calm.
He eyed me with surprise, then stepped in and said, “Evening, friend. You new at the company?”
“I’m down from regional.”
He pushed the button for the eleventh floor and gave my security vest a suspicious glance as the doors closed. “Regional… aw, hell, this mean we got another one of those drills coming up?”
I shrugged noncommittally. “Lot of work orders tonight?”
“Oh, the entire building’s falling apart—just ask anyone who works here. They canned three people off my staff from budget cuts and supposedly can’t afford overtime for the rest of us, then I service orders at the offices up top that are decorated like the goddamn Art Institute.”
“Maybe we both got into the wrong line of work.”
“You said it.” He eyed the floor indicator as it clicked past ten and the elevator began to slow. “Well, this is my stop. Have a good night.”
I drew the Glock and fired once into his head at near point blank range. A dense fan of blood slapped the far side of the elevator and his black case thudded on the metal floor as he fell.
I quickly tapped a button before the doors had a chance to open and changed magazines as the elevator began moving toward my destination once more.
“Red, I send one parrot in the service elevator.” Looking around the floor, I found the spent bullet casing and put it into my pocket. I repeated the radio transmission, but received no response from Boss.
After what seemed like an eternity, the elevator halted at the fifteenth floor. I drew my Glock as the doors slid open, ready to kill anyone unfortunate enough to witness the crime scene in the elevator.
Instead, I was confronted by a dark hallway with unadorned gray walls and a line of closed doors.
Holstering my pistol, I hit the button for the loading dock before stepping outside and transmitting again.
“Red, I send one parrot in the service elevator.”
“Copy one parrot.”
“Need cleanup when your guy comes for the box. I just sent the elevator back down.”
“Negative, it’s too late. Continue mission.”
“Fuck,” I whispered to myself, breathing quickly as I hurried down the hall to the stairwell door and pulled it open.
“First Down.”
“Copy First Down.”
The stairway was wide and vacuous, and each footfall echoed amid a lingering smell of fresh paint. I took the gunmetal blue stairs at a brisk pace, turning past pipes and valves that ran up the corners at each landing. Every other turn of the stairwell revealed a door with a slim window above the handle and a neat stencil number marking the floor.
I reached 32 and stood to the side of the door.
“Red, I send Second Down.”
“Copy Second Down.”
I took two measured breaths and walked through the door, moving down a clean hallway with neat carpet and light-toned wood grain walls that were lit by a row of small circular ceiling lights.
It was not my first time seeing the setting. Boss had shown me a video of this floor, taken from a hidden camera mounted on someone walking down the hall. The video was taken during business hours, and other people frequently blocked the distorted wide-angle view as it progressed through most of the route I was now walking.
Boss’s voice crackled over my earpiece, “Penalty. Penalty. Penalty.”
I broke into a run and transmitted, “Get confirmation, I’m coming in hot.”
As I took the right turn in the hallway, emergency strobes began flashing from the walls. An automated voice sounding from speakers in the ceiling said, “Emergency alert. Active shooter. Enter the nearest room and lock the door. This is not a test. Wait for the all-clear from building security. Emergency alert. Active shooter…”
The straightaway toward the office suite unfolded in front of me, and I catapulted down it in a panicked sprint as Boss said, “Security is coming to get him. Two minutes out.”
I skidded to a stop and reached for the wall to my left, yanking down on a fire alarm. A low, howling whistle gave rise to a high pitch before the automated voice reset. “Emergency alert. Fire. Evacuate immediately…”
As I took off again down the hall, Boss said, “Forfeit. Forfeit. Forfeit.”
“Get me confirmation,” I said breathlessly.
“You don’t have time. Forfeit.”
“Fucking call him!” I cut left into the office suite and ran past the reception desk and lobby. Desks and workstations were lined up in neat rows, and I flew by the conference room on my way to the secretary’s corner office as a nauseating wave of fear ballooned in my chest.
“Third Down.”
“Negative confirmation. Forfeit.”
I ran to the secretary’s door to find it locked, and began fumbling to insert the white key on my belt. Turning the handle and flinging it open, I drew my pistol and saw light emerging from beneath the closed door to his office.
His phone was ringing.
I approached the door and quietly unlocked the handle.
Bursting inside, I sidestepped right to clear the doorway, catching glimpses of the desk and paintings but seeing no one as I swept my Glock left toward the far wall.
A deafening gunshot rang out, followed by a burst of flame that erupted beside his desk. Plaster dust exploded from the wall next to my head as I jumped sideways, wildly swinging my pistol toward the muzzle flash. I fired blindly, emptying a third of the magazine before my mind could process what I was doing.
A woman began screaming hysterically.
Racing behind the desk with my Glock up, I saw Saamir’s body settling on the ground. Five bloody holes were stitched in his side and chest, and a revolver rested on the fingers of one hand. Beside his body, a woman was crouched on her heels and wore only a business skirt and black lace bra. Her eyes were wild with fear, and her expression was frozen in horror.
I pointed the gun at her face. “Don’t look at me.”
She turned her face downward and pressed trembling hands over her eyes as I shifted my aim to Saamir, centering the front sight post on the back of his motionless head. I cracked off two more rounds, and a pile of blood-soaked flesh exploded against the floor. I turned and ran out of the office, reloading as my eyes registered a decanter and two glasses on the desk arranged behind an unfolded magazine page containing a neat pile of white powder.
As I left the office, the woman’s screams and the ringing phone were replaced by the fire alarm. “…immediately. Emergency alert. Fire…” I caught a transmission from Boss in my ear.
“—already on your floor. Forfeit. Forfeit—”
Turning the corner out of the secretary’s office, I almost ran into two security guards. A massive black man was in the lead, followed by a tall white guard. Both wore matching navy uniforms and had drawn automatic handguns, their elbows bent and the barrels pointed upward like an old spy movie. I gunned down both of them, emptying the magazine as fast as I could pull the trigger. Puffs of pink mist exploded between us, and I reloaded on the run, darting past them into the office suite.
Sprinting along the right side of the room, I heard Boss say, “—five more inbound to office suite—” and ducked behind a desk as more guards thundered in and ran toward the woman’s distant screams.
I thought through my escape route as I waited for them to pass, recognizing that any wrong turn would be fatal. I stood and flew toward the door of the office suite before hooking a right into the hallway. I had only taken three or four running steps back in the direction I had come from when two more guards appeared around the corner from my stairwell. Slowing to a walk, I fired half a magazine at them. Both were caught by surprise and tried to scramble back around the corner, but one caught a bullet to the shoulder blade and tumbled to the ground as I emptied the rest of my magazine at him.
Then I turned and ran in the opposite direction of my escape route as gunshots erupted behind me.
I passed the door to the office suite and heard one of the guards yelling as shots cracked through the air. A flurry of bullet holes pockmarked against the far wall as I flung myself down the first turn in the hallway. I reloaded while running and desperately tried to recall the building layout. I cut left down a side hall, finding a long straightaway before the next turn but knowing they’d be upon me long before I reached it.
Turning quickly, I crouched down at the corner and faced back the way I’d come. Within seconds, the lead men from the security force appeared, and I opened fire. The first two guards overexposed themselves and fell in a hail of bullets. I took aim at the first guard in the hall who was now trying to crawl to safety on his elbows. I shot him in the head, then took aim at the second who was lying motionless beside him before firing again.
