Blazer: Return of the Troubles: A Cop Thriller

by G. C. Harmon

  At the entrance, they came across a uniformed Secret Service officer standing post. “Secure this entrance. We’re expecting trouble, and we’re bringing the guests out this way.”

  The tall wooden door was open, and Birdsong marched in, with Blazer and the men of Special Forces on his heels. When he saw the group clustered at the far end of the room, rather than make a formal announcement, he hurried toward them. “Ladies and gentlemen, I need you to follow me out this way. We’ve had a credible threat against this conference, so for your safety—”

  The group took one look at the cops with large scary rifles. Eyes went wide, but everyone, to their credit, remained calm. Unsure, they began making their way toward the entrance at the other end of the room.

  “Blazer,” Stanson said, pointing a flattened palm toward doors at this end. “Kitchen entrance. That’s where I saw them.”

  Steve stopped at the end of the dining table, orienting his rifle toward the two doors on either side of the dining hall.

  Behind him, Drew approached the priest, who was among the last to leave. “Time to go, cousin.” Fitzhugh nodded, and they started for the other end of the dining hall. Steve glanced back at his men, fixed his gaze on Brian Snow and nodded after his father. Brian nodded back and drifted away to join them.

  “I want that bloody priest!” a voice suddenly shouted across the room. Steve pinpointed where he heard that voice, exactly where the Captain had said it would come from.

  Behind him, Drew and Fitzhugh froze for a second, searching out the speaker.

  Conner O’Riordan stepped into view at the right side doorway. He leveled a rifle similar to Blazer’s, covering the room.

  “Police, Conner!” Steve shouted back, “Put the weapon down!”

  Conner pulled the trigger. Three bullets sailed over Steve’s head, tearing into wood sculpture on the wall behind him. Blazer and Stanson fired as well, and their rounds chipped at the doorway next to their man.

  The room erupted in gunfire.

  12

  Conner ducked back, feeling a bullet tear through the left side of his jacket. He motioned to Liam, and they posted themselves on either side of the door. Both rifles leveled through that doorway and opened up on automatic.

  Beyond where the cops were ducking behind the long dining table, Conner spotted the traitor priest running toward the opposite end of the dining room. He fired a new volley of automatic rounds, causing the runners to duck. But they reached the exit safely.

  Conner muttered a curse as he ducked back from the doorway. He looked at Devon and Deirdre. “Kill those bloody cops!” he shouted, and suddenly broke away from the door, racing back to the kitchen.

  He tore through that kitchen, seeking the door they had come in through. He pushed through out onto the confined patio outside. He found a pathway out to the Esplanade, seeking a way to the front of the castle. He bounded down a set of concrete steps, then up another, guided by the twin bell towers above.

  When he bounded up the steps to the front of La Casa Grande, he was confronted with a small crowd. Many of the event participants had gathered out front. Gunfire could still be heard inside, and Security officers were trying to herd them away from the building to safety. Conner stopped short at the top of the steps before anyone registered that he was there. He scanned the crowd. The priest was not there.

  Someone in the crowd suddenly saw him. “Look out, he’s got a gun!” The crowd reacted. One woman screamed, and everyone began moving away toward the steps leading down to the driveway.

  Conner raised the M-4 and fired a burst over everyone’s heads to move them on. The women screamed again, and the crowd raced down those stairs.

  Movement to his right grabbed him. The priest and the Scotsman burst from the side door just as the rifle fired. Conner turned the M-4 in their direction. The Scotsman hurriedly turned and shoved Fitzhugh back in the door. Conner fired a long burst that followed them as they disappeared inside. His bullets chewed up the door and frame but hit no one.

  “Freeze!” someone shouted from the stairs. Agent Cliff Stack, from the State Department’s Office of Global Criminal Justice, was the closest thing that the team from State had to a Law Enforcement Officer. With the crowds gaining safety down the stairs, he went back up to try and help neutralize the situation. Seeing the Irishman, he drew his pistol. “Drop the—”

  Conner cut him off with a burst meant to cut him down. Stack dropped to the steps and rolled down to the terrace just below. The bullets had sailed over his head and he wasn’t hit. He scrambled off to the side, finding some cover behind a white statue.

  Conner didn’t worry about whether he’d hit the man or not. He had his target. He raced toward that side door and plunged inside.

  In the dining room, the battle had blazed for a long minute, with both sides trading volleys of rounds that tore the areas around them. Liam, Deidre and Devon fired from the cover of the two doorways. The cops were ducked down by the long table, with hard wooden chairs pulled out to provide a bit more cover. Bullets fired in their direction chipped away at those chairs or flew over them to chew the opposite wall. Meanwhile, with Blazer and Stanson front and center, every time the Irish showed a piece of themselves, the cops would fire at it. The doorways were awash with scars and splinters. The battle had reached a stalemate.

  Firing from the kitchen slacked for a moment. Stanson took a shot. “Give it up!” he shouted. “Throw your weapons out.”

  There was silence from the doorways. The Irish had pulled back behind cover. Moments later, over the ringing in his ears, Steve heard a noise that seemed to come from somewhere farther beyond those doors. “They’re running,” he shouted, jumping to his feet. Behind him, Scot, Dave and A.J. rose from cover. With Stanson right behind him, Steve bounded forward, rifle trained on the doorway to his right. Behind him, Dave Castillo, trained SWAT officer, kept his rifle locked on the other door.

  They reached the doorway and marched through. Steve swept his rifle to the left to scan for threats, then spotted the kitchen entrance to his right. They reached the kitchen, and Steve gently kicked open the swinging door. The kitchen opened up before them, free of any occupants. He spotted another open door to his right, this one leading outside.

  “Doorway, right,” Steve announced. Dave took it upon himself to move forward and sweep left, until he stood on the other side of the door. It opened to the right, and Steve kept his grip on the M-4 as he used his left hand to pull the door open.

  Dave panned his rifle across the view outside. “They’re running,” he announced, seeing figures running down stairs and pathways through the decorative landscaping.

  “Go,” Steve said, throwing the door open. The team filed out onto the Esplanade. Steve immediately gave chase. He kept his rifle up across his body, watching the four figures dodge between the bushes down the hillside. He ran after them, feeling himself getting closer. “Police! Stop!” he shouted. “Police! You better stop!”

  Steve saw where they were headed. “Neptune Pool!” he shouted to the others.

  One single shot rang out, someone trying to discourage them from following. Steve ducked briefly but kept going.

  Liam followed the pathway down the hill. Through breaks in the bushes, he could see the clear blue waters and the Roman temple décor of the Neptune Pool just below them. He reached the entrance, two separate staircases that led to the water’s edge. He fired a quick round up the hill to send the cops ducking away. Approaching the stairs, he contemplated which side he should take. A bullet ricochet off a statue to the right made the decision for him, and he dodged left. The others were on his tail, and they reached the concrete deck surrounding the pool. Liam led them to the pavilion on the left side of the pool, and for a moment, they dodged among the columns.

  Liam stopped suddenly at the edge of the pavilion closest the stairs. He suddenly regretted the direction he’d chosen. At this point, he wanted to lead his crew to safety, maybe back down to the driveway, where they could h
ijack a car and flee. He’d chosen the direction furthest from the driveway. As he realized this, the cops spilled out onto the opposite pool deck from the stairs. He shouted a curse as he raised his M-4 and opened up hard.

  At the top of the stairs, Steve paused. “Dave, hold here and let’s see if we can box them in.” Castillo nodded and went to a knee behind a statue. Steve led the others down the stairs to the right. They reached the deck surrounding the pool. Steve took in the majesty of the set up here, the columns supporting the pavilion overhead, the façade of the Roman temple overlooking the head of the pool, lined by another row of columns. It would have been a sight to see if he hadn’t been trying to stop of crew of gunmen.

  Steve made his way through the columns, keeping his rifle trained on the other pavilion across the water.

  More gunfire erupted, and a line of bullets stitched its way up the column next to him. He dodged behind, then leaned out and fired a burst back across the water, searching for bad guys. He saw one of the Irishman dodge behind another column, and he made that his target. All around him, rifle fire erupted.

  Brian stopped in the entry hall near the elevator as Drew and the priest retreated back inside. He was about to question their actions, but the volley of gunfire outside explained everything. They all went back into the reception hall.

  More gunfire met them there, coming from the dining hall, where the battle still raged. “Exit there,” Drew said, pointing to the opposite end of the reception hall. The door stood open, and as they approached they saw it was an alcove similar to the one behind them.

  They were still several feet short of safety when gunfire erupted behind them. Brian turned his rifle that way, even as he felt a sharp pain in his side. He fired several shots from his rifle as Drew pushed the priest through the doorway into the alcove. But then Brian stumbled as he tried to follow. The pain in his right side was growing, and he glanced down to find blood soaking his shirt.

  Drew stepped out into the reception hall, aiming his pistol. Connor tried to step out, and the Scotsman put out a burst of rapid fire. In his excitement, he fired out his magazine, and the pistol locked open. He dropped the magazine and seated his spare. He stood at the doorway, watching for Connor, but then glanced at Brian.

  Officer Snow had slumped against the wall. He’d traded the rifle to his left hand and was holding his right against the wound in his side. Blood continued to seep onto his clothes. “Are ye alright, son?”

  “I think it went right through,” Brian growled, “but it still hurts.”

  Bullets once again pounded the doorway, and Drew braved a moment to lean out. Conner had stepped out and was aiming right at him. Even from fifty feet across the hall, that gun barrel looked big. He ducked back just as a round kicked off the stone next to his head. In a creative moment, Drew leaned forward and extended his pistol out without exposing himself, firing the gun upside down. He fired off a couple shots, then turned and leaned out. Conner was retreating to the other alcove again, and he stepped out to fire again.

  The pistol locked open on an empty magazine. He froze for a moment, suddenly realizing what that meant. He looked over at Brian, breathing through his pain, and Fitzhugh with the terrified look in his eyes.

  “You two need to get to safety and get help,” Drew said. “And you need medical attention.”

  “I can’t leave you behind,” Brian said. “Your son will kill me if anything happens to you.”

  “You’re no good to anyone if you bleed out. Go, before he decides to come around to this entrance and catch us from behind.”

  Brian reluctantly nodded and hefted the rifle in his left hand.

  Before they moved, Drew nodded to the elevator, then moved his eyes upward. Brian nodded. “Take care of each other,” Drew whispered.

  “I’ll do what I can for him, cousin,” Fitzhugh said.

  Brian led him to the elevator, but then realized they couldn’t wait for the lift to come, and there might be a chime that sounded that would give them away. Instead, he found an ornately carved staircase next to the elevator. Brian pushed the priest that way and they began to climb up the spiraling stairs.

  As soon as they had disappeared, bullets began pounding the doorway again. What have I done? Drew asked himself, knowing he was about to die. But he stayed by the door. He played out his options. Bluff his way to getting Conner to surrender? Lead him outside and away from Brian and the priest? He certainly couldn’t kill him, he thought, looking down at the empty gun.

  The gunfire stopped for a moment, and Drew then heard a magazine hitting the floor. He had a split second and made his decision. He suddenly stepped out, pistol leveled at the Irishman. “Don’t move, Conner!” he shouted with more confidence that he actually felt. “It’s over. Drop that bloody rifle.”

  Conner held the rifle in his right hand, and Drew saw no magazine in the well. Conner was not in the process of reloading. The Irishman suddenly burst out laughing. He tossed the rifle aside. “So what now, Scotsman?” he chuckled. “Will ya kill an unarmed man?”

  Drew sensed an upper hand and went with it. He thought what his son might do. “Why don’t you drop to your knees and put your hands on your head?”

  Conner let out another laugh. “You can’t kill me, can you, old man?”

  “Don’t tempt me, lad.” Drew tried to stay confident through his bluff.

  But Conner found a way to call his bluff.

  He suddenly lunged to his left. He’d spotted a display on the wall, two swords mounted crossed, with a plaque describing them. Conner didn’t bother to read the plaque. He just grabbed a sword and yanked it off its mount. The hand guard was held loosely in place by some kind of zip tie, but he yanked hard enough to break this. He stepped back, gripping the sword in one hand and slashing it twice back and forth trying to intimidate.

  Drew still held the useless gun before him, and he slowly lowered it. He thought about making a joke about bringing a knife to a gunfight, but what would be the point? He glanced at the second sword. “Care to allow an old man a sporting chance?”

  Conner smiled, and nodded to the wall. Drew grabbed the hilt of the second sword, and he too jerked it hard enough to break the zip tie mount.

  When he stepped back, Conner immediately lunged, slashing overhand. Drew brought the sword up. The blades clanged together and slid until handguard met handguard. Drew found himself face to face the Irishman’s snarl. Conner suddenly shoved, and Drew stepped back, keeping his feet. He raised the sword ready to defend himself.

  Conner lunged forward with a series of strikes and thrusts. With skill that surprised even himself, Drew was able to parry each one, knocking the blade aside. He stepped back with every move and felt himself losing ground. To stop this, he poured some power into one parry, knocking Conner’s sword down and away. The body exposed, Drew stepped forward and slashed across his torso.

  Conner jumped back, feeling a sharp sting. His jacket had protected some of the slashed area, but the front of his blue shirt was torn open and blood soon stained the tear.

  Drew took advantage of the lull to examine the dark gray metal of the sword. “I see we chose the Rapier. A fine weapon, indeed. Used commonly in Europe during the sixteenth century. A distant cousin to the saber and the cutlass, which have a larger blade, but notably usually has a more simple version of the hand guard. It’s usually just a simple piece of metal arced over the grip. The Rapier is more elegant, with this intricate metal basket placed over the grip.” He allowed himself a smile at his opponent. “I shan’t expect you to injure my hand.”

  “Don’t count on it, old man.” He lunged and threw a powerful overhead slash.

  Drew sidestepped to the right, his blade knocking the other rapier away. Drew then slashed back up. The blade shoved Conner’s jacket aside and slashed at his side. The Irishman gave a sharp cry and again stepped back.

  “Did ya notice the swords possessed by our two friends here?” Drew said, nodding toward the suit of armor nearby, and its d
istant twin. “They’re actually armed with the kind of sword carried by the Knights Templar, some five centuries before. Notice the large double edged blade, the grip and hilt, in the shape of a cross.”

  Conner lunged again, slashing down. Drew parried. The Irishman lunged in a series of thrusts, all aimed straight at the Scotsman’s heart. Drew moved his blade back and forth, knocking each thrust aside. Conner was fighting from his rage, powering into each slash and thrust. As much as he was enjoying himself at the swordfight, Drew remembered, he was actually fighting for his life. If he wasn’t careful, he might lose it.

  Conner suddenly lunged forward, and Drew sidestepped, throwing an exaggerated parry. It allowed him to back away and regain his balance before Conner came at him again. He felt himself losing ground again, backing away and parrying as the Irishman lunged forward.

  Conner once again dove at him, thrusting the rapier with his entire body. Drew dodged aside, stumbling a moment. Conner stumbled too, colliding with the suit of armor. Both he and the armor hit the wall. He managed to keep his feet, but the armor did not, clattering to pieces that scattered across the floor with a clanging racket.

  Conner pushed off the wall, turned to face the Scotsman. Drew stood frozen in place, but then brought the sword up, on his guard.

  Conner spotted something on the floor, and hastily grabbed it—the hilt of the sword once held by the suit of armor. With a cruel grin, he suddenly raised the sword above his head to charge.