by J. N. Chaney
“Sir, we have covered this—”
I squeezed the trigger. A high-velocity round leaped from the barrel in a flash of light and slammed into the fire truck’s drive core thirty stories below. The vehicle’s nose compressed in the drive core’s quantum influx and then expanded outward, swallowing the chassis in a ball of fire and blowing the firefighters off their feet.
The upside was that the responders were dressed head to toe in fire retardant attire. The downside was that explosion was a lot larger than I’d intended.
“Think maybe you overdid it a little?” Lars asked, using my own line on me.
“I’m as surprised as you, Lars.” I pulled the rifle up and stepped away from the edge. “Everyone’s a critic.” Then I re-slung the sniper rifle, picked the MX090 off the ground, and pointed it over the edge. I braced myself as I squeezed the trigger and sprayed a dozen rounds into the pavement well in front of the fire trucks. People dove for cover. If the first shot was written off as a random drive core malfunction, the automatic fire from the assault rifle would be taken for what it was—hostile.
I was enjoying my handiwork, watching the firefighters scramble away and regain their feet, when a sudden voice broke over the enemy’s comm channel.
“Rommel, come in.”
I was pretty sure it was Oubrick’s voice. As if answering the silent question, Lars offered, “That’s Oubrick, sir.”
“Thanks, pal.”
“My pleasure, sir.”
“Go ahead,” Rommel replied.
“Have you found her yet?” Oubrick asked.
“Negative. Either she’s not here or she’s just—”
“She’s there. Don’t let her fool you. Do what you need to do.”
I slung the assault rifle and touched my ear on the private comm.
“Any idea who they’re talking about, Lars?” I asked.
“I believe he’s searching for someone in Oragga’s senior staff. It appears that Oubrick’s laser has broken through the vault’s outer shell and they are ready to attempt accessing the inner vault.”
“Ha, good luck, Oubrick,” I said, wiping more sweat from my forehead. “It’s a holiday weekend. No one’s home from that department.”
“That’s not true, sir.”
I froze. “What?”
“Mr. Oragga always leaves a senior night administrator in the building.”
“Why is this the first I’m hearing about this?”
“It’s need to know, sir.”
“Godsdammit.” I looked back over the edge to see if any SCPD were arriving yet. “And I suppose now I need to know.”
“That’s correct, sir. I suspect Rommel intends to draw her out of the crowd using any means necessary.”
“Who is she?”
“Mrs. Melanie Silversmith. She’s been with the company for twenty-one years. Wife, mother of four, grandmother of—”
“He’s going to kill hostages to get to her.”
“That is one strategy, yes,” Lars replied.
“Then he’s going to kill more hostages until she does what he wants her to do.” This was getting worse by the second. Those hostages were just currency. “Oubrick’s got a roomful of leverage.”
Suddenly, a new siren filled the evening sky far below. I’d recognize it anywhere. “Here comes the cavalry,” I said to Lars. “Gods, I never thought I’d be so happy to hear that sound again.”
“That is good news, sir. And I have some more for you.”
“What’s that?”
“I have a second option for descending that does not involve the stairs.”
“It involves the elevators?”
“In a manner of speaking.”
I didn’t like where this was going. “Lars!”
11
I was able to pry the elevator access panel open using a metal rod leftover from the explosion on the roof. The panel was already partially ripped away due to the blast—all it needed was a little more force to peel it away completely. I dropped into a horizontal shaft that eventually opened up to a bank of four elevators, each shaft separated by I-beams and catwalks. As soon as I looked down, I instantly regretted taking Lars up on this plan.
“You know,” I said, backing away from the yellow metal railing at my waist, “I think the stairs will do just fine. I like stairs. Stairs are my friend.”
“That’s not what you said fifteen minutes ago, sir,” Lars replied.
“Screw what I said fifteen minutes ago.”
“I’ll dismiss that as an idiom.”
“Whatever helps you sleep at night.” Before he could answer, I added, “And I know you don’t sleep, Lars, so let’s just stay focused.”
“Very well. The answer is no, sir, you cannot take the stairs, unless you would like Melanie to die. While you’ve successfully summoned the police, it seems you have another ticking time bomb to beat, as it were.”
I rolled my eyes. “We’ve gotta work on your figures of speech.”
“And we’ve got to work on your illogical acrophobia.”
“It’s not illogical! Humans don’t do well with hitting solid surfaces at high speeds. It’s completely logical!”
“Whatever helps you sleep at night, sir.”
I threw the MX090 under my shoulder and examined the cables. “Just tell me what I need to do. We’re wasting time.”
“You should see a set of red descenders slightly above head-level on each set of cables.”
“Rectangular-looking things about the size of my thigh with clip-on anchors?” I asked.
“Precisely, sir. Are you able to reach one?”
“That seems like a fairly subjective question.” I considered just how far it was between the catwalk and the closest descender, then looked over the railing again. A wave of vertigo swept over me as I pulled away from the edge. “I really hate this plan, Lars.”
“It’s the fastest way down.”
“So you’ve said.” I swallowed. “And once I’m on?”
“You’ll secure yourself with a few fingers through one of the carabiner anchors, and then control descent speed with the brake regulator on the mechanism’s housing.”
“I feel like you’re just reading instructions from a textbook,” I said.
“Are you implying that you’d like me to sound more frantic? Or perhaps I should lie and say, ‘Don’t worry, sir, I’ve done this several times before.’”
“No need to get testy with me, Lars.” I moved to my left, feet stepping onto a red-painted grate with the word CAUTION in bright yellow paint. There was no railing on this section, just one step off and a long plummet down. I looked between the gaps in the metal around my toes and saw the black hole disappearing below me.
“Does it help if I say, ‘Don’t look down, sir’?”
“No, Lars,” I answered. “It definitely doesn’t. Just give me some quiet while I make this happen, okay?”
“Noted.”
It was about two and a half meters to the nearest red descender. There was no doubt I could grab the elevator cables, but latching on to the metal anchor points was going to be a feat I doubted I was capable of. I took several fast breaths, psyching myself up, and swung my arms to find my rhythm. Then, with a loud yell, I leaped into open air, hands extended toward the descender.
It was one of those actions where I knew before I’d even fully left the platform that I’d miscalculated. But, for once, I overshot the distance—my adrenaline no doubt getting the best of me. It meant that my torso slammed into the descender with so much force that I bounced off it. I barely managed to grab hold of the cable underneath the device before enduring a one-way trip to the top floor of the lower tower. My hand burned as the braided steel bit into my hand, binding against my skin. The change in momentum yanked at my shoulder and I let out a loud grunt. There I was, hanging by one hand about two meters beneath the red descender.
“You missed, sir.”
“Godsdammit, Lars!”
“I was merely p
ointing out that—”
“Shut up for a second, would ya?”
“Very well, sir.”
I reached around and grabbed the cable with my other hand, then began pulling up with all my might. Hand-over-hand, I made way back up the cable to the descender, hands aching, arms burning. I slipped three fingers into one of the steel rings, and then grabbed ahold of what I guessed was the brake control.
“Well done, sir,” Lars said cheerily.
“Let’s get moving,” I said.
“As you wish. Proceed by lifting the black lever currently gripped by your right hand—”
“You mean like this?” No sooner had I raised the metal arm than the descender dropped, my body along with it. The change in inertia was so sudden that I no longer had sufficient leverage to bring the lever back down. All I could manage to do was keep my grip on the anchor ring while yelling “Shiiiiit!” as I plummeted down the elevator shaft.
I’m not sure if freefall in an elevator shaft feels faster than falling from an aircraft because of close proximity to an internal structure or because the end of your life is so much sooner, but it does. My body was extended laterally while I held to the anchor ring, so I hardly had any authority over the brake lever. But I had a horrible feeling that it was stuck. I struggled with the metal arm, willing it to return to its locked position. But the thing wouldn’t budge.
I took to slamming the lever with my fist. My first few attempts to strike it missed. But my third hit home. The lever clinked, dropping down. At once, the brake engaged. Smoke and sparks shot from the top of the device while a terrible screech pierced my ears and rattled my molars.
Once again, inertia changed as my feet dropped, slammed into the oncoming cable. They skipped off it, causing my legs to flail so violently that the force threatened to rip my fingers from the loop. I held on for several agonizing seconds as the descender continued to slow, spitting out sparks. The sound was deafening.
Finally, the thing ground to a halt, jerking my body with it. Silence filled the cavernous space, driving away the echoes as if nothing had happened. I hung there for several seconds, breathing deeply, clasping the descender for dear life.
“Well done, sir. You have arrived at the third floor. Excellent use of—”
“Shut up, Lars,” I yelled, “and tell me how to get off this thing!”
“You should be able to swing down to the platform directly to your left.”
“Swing down?” I repeated. My fingers felt like they were going to give out at any second. I didn’t think I could manage more strain on the muscles. Still, I knew there wasn’t going to be an alternative from Lars—besides some snarky comment about landing “safely” in the basement.
I looked around my biceps to spot the platform right where Lars said it would be, about three meters down and to my left. I threw one leg around the cable, hoping to push off it, and started swinging my other leg to gain some momentum. Then, just as my fingers felt like they’d give out, I leaped from the descender and pushed away from the cable with my legs. I heard my voice echo through the shaft as my body fell, moving toward the platform.
With a head-splitting jolt, my feet slammed into the red-painted grate as my body rolled into the concrete wall. My weapons clattered against the metal, and I actually felt more concerned for their well-being than my own. I blinked, hardly believing I’d just survived. I saw the word CAUTION in yellow letters come into view—a twin of the same design I’d seen twenty-seven stories above.
“Caution isn’t even the half of it,” I said, patting the painted word with my hand.
“I must say,” Lars suddenly said, “working with you is like playing one of your video games, only in reverse.”
I shook my head, body aching from the torture I’d just put it through. “I’m glad you’re entertained, Lars. Though some of us are beginning to think you’re a little sadistic.”
I pushed myself up, using the wall and nearby railing as support, and straightened. I hurt—everywhere. But a quick inspection showed I was largely uninjured, aside from bruising in my hands, legs, and back. I also doubled checked my weapons to assess their damage. To my amazement, they looked pretty much the same, minus some new nicks and blemishes.
I looked around and found a horizontal access corridor that ran away from the elevators. “Through here?” I asked Lars.
“Precisely, sir.”
I walked down the tunnel and pushed out on a metal grate at the end. It popped off its mountings with a hard shoulder-shove and clattered to the ground. I swung my legs over the lip and ducked through the gap and into a hallway.
The hall was lined with chairs, paintings, and glass doors, all bathed in red emergency lighting. I straightened my back and brought the MX090 to low ready position, scanning for any signs of the enemy.
“This floor is clear of hostiles, sir,” Lars informed me. “But you’ll want to move to the door on your right marked Balcony, and stay low.”
“Does that look down on the lobby?”
“Precisely, sir. You’re very intuitive.”
“Now that’s something Heather never said,” I mumbled.
I found the door Lars described and pushed it open, staying low. My legs burned as I moved in a crouch, but I sure as hell didn’t want to get picked off now just because I couldn’t handle some extra thigh-burn. I entered onto a wide platform with a railing on the far side that looked into the open air above the lobby. Ahead, I could see the first responder’s emergency lights reflecting off the far glass wall.
As I moved closer to the railing, my first view was of the fire trucks and cop sleds in the plaza’s courtyard outside. There were dozens of them now—maybe even a hundred, it was hard to say. Two crews worked on dousing the flames of the truck I’d inadvertently blown up. Regardless, the city had gotten my message, and that felt good. They were here. Yet, given the security measures in place between us, they still felt like a million kilometers away.
I unslung my rifles and crawled forward on my elbows, careful not to make a sound. As I neared the metal railing, I peered down into the lobby, hoping I wouldn’t discover any more bodies of those who’d joined Deveneau. The hostages sat in the same mass, huddled together, while six enforcers circled them. The only change was the presence of a seventh man, this one holding a data pad.
I reached for my sniper rifle and brought it around. I pushed away from the edge far enough to let the barrel remain hidden while I used the weapon’s scope to zero in on the man I guessed was Rommel. He swiped through several screens on the data pad.
“I know you’re here, Mrs. Silversmith,” Rommel said. “The security log says you are, and these logs don’t lie.” He held up the data pad like it was some evidence in a courtroom, waving it around for everyone to see. “So we’re just going to have to do this the hard way.”
In a single swift motion, Rommel pulled a pistol from beneath his jacket, aimed at the closest person, and fired a round into a woman’s head. I didn’t even have time to consider shooting him, it happened so fast. The exit wound left those behind the corpse covered in fluid as they caught the woman’s lifeless body, screaming in terror. The sound made the entire room jump, and more sounds of fear rippled through the hostages.
“I sure hope that wasn’t Mrs. Silversmith,” Rommel said, waving the barrel of his pistol around. I settled my breathing and laid the crosshairs on the man. I wouldn’t let him do that again. “Because it means no one will stop me as I pick off person after per—”
“I’m Melanie Silversmith,” a woman said toward the back of the group. I pulled my eye off the scope and looked down. A distinguished-looking woman in her late sixties rose to her feet. Several of those around her pleaded with her, pulling on her arms to sit back down. But she shook their hands off and stepped forward, repeating herself. “I’m Melanie Silversmith. Just… just don’t kill anyone else.”
“Smart woman,” Rommel said, gesturing for her to join him on the edge of the room. The hostages cleared an
aisle for her to walk down until she stood before Rommel.
Quick as lightning, the man lashed out and grabbed Silversmith by the neck. I was back on my scope, looking for a clear shot. Rommel twisted the woman’s head so that she was looking at the most recent victim, her mangled head lying on the marble floor.
“That’s your fault, Silversmith,” Rommel seethed. He pushed her forward, causing her to stumble to her knees. “You see that? You killed her.”
Remarkably, Silversmith remained composed, wincing as the man wrenched her neck. Then he jerked her back to her feet and spun her to face him.
“Now, you have something we need,” Rommel said. Two more enforcers joined him, flanking either side. “And if we don’t get it, we won’t hurt you. But we will hurt one of them.”
One of the other thugs hoisted a hostage to his feet, this one a young man, and placed a pistol against his head. Gods, this couldn’t be happening. I had to take a shot—there was no way I could stand by and watch them execute another person.
“The security pass code, please,” said Rommel.
“Please, I’m just…”
Rommel nodded at the man holding the hostage.
That was my cue. I exhaled, crosshairs on the assailant’s forehead, and squeezed. The rifle recoiled into my shoulder as the scope showed the man’s head vanish into a fine mist.
The bullet’s double report as it slammed into the far wall, showering those nearest with fragments of marble, produced a wail of responses from the hostages. The man seemed equally as stunned, diving for cover. I decided this was my time to take out as many more as I could before order was restored.
“We have a shooter!” someone yelled over comms. “Upper floors!”
I looked for Rommel, now covering Silversmith on one side, while another punk took her other arm. They were retreating toward the stairwell doors. I couldn’t hit Rommel… but I could take out the thug beside him. He was far enough away from Silversmith, waving his pistol in a wild attempt to get control over the room, that I had margin to make the shot. I squeezed off another round, blowing apart the man’s shoulder. He spun like a top, twisting several times before slamming into the nearest wall and sliding down the wall. He wouldn’t be getting up from that one.
