AUTHOR'S NOTE: I am not a doctor – I do not play one on television. However, as I have spent an inordinate amount of my childhood and subsequent years watching Marcus Welby, Medical Centre and ER, I do have what I refer to as TV-MD status. That being said, please note that all medical references in the following come from a dangerous combination of the above mentioned programs and Google Search. If you have concerns, take two aspirin and email me in the morning.
Hardison watched the digital display spinning on the device currently attached to the vault door, with a strong sense of déjà vu on the experience. There was simply no reason for this to be taking so long. It was a basic code, granted with a few more digits than most, but basic nevertheless. The vault door should have been open by now, but only half the numbers had locked in so far. He desperately hoped it would finish before Eliot returned from his perimeter check. He had told him the job would be done long before that, and he'd just hang out until Eliot returned. He had received a patented growl as response. If he'd been wrong, and Eliot was now kept waiting, the growl would be the least of his concerns.
"Parker, what's happening out there – everything still clear?"
She answered over the comm from her perch on the roof. "Dead quiet up here."
"OK – what about on the ground?"
"Oh – pretty quiet there too. Just the regular foot patrols. I think Dupont's car is coming. You guys done?"
"Workin' on it."
A low, long growl came over the earbud. "Workin' on it? You're still workin' on it? What happened to 'No time at all man'?"
Damn – he'd forgotten Eliot would hear his discussion with Parker.
"Relax man; I'll have this done before you get back."
"Really?" Hardison leapt like a startled deer, not having heard Eliot step up behind him. "Doesn't look that way to me. What's the problem?"
"Well – almost there. It looks like they have built in redundancies that are slowing down the program."
"How much longer? The guards have started their rounds."
"Eight done, so only 5 numbers left, so not more than another minute. Or two."
Nate jumped into the discussion. "Sophie and I can keep Dupont out of the building a bit longer if that helps, but his extra security team has already gone ahead and are probably inside starting the check. You might have a few extra goons to deal with Eliot."
"Perfect."
Their target was Alex Dupont – noted financier, supposed philanthropist and all-round hood. His charitable foundations were actually fronts for laundering funds for his less than ethical friends. When he wasn't hiding drug and gambling profits, he was running Ponzi scams on unwitting investors. So far, he had kept his public image clean, but the team knew there was evidence in the vault that would put an end to that, while enabling them to rebuild the depleted accounts of their client, and probably dozens of other victims as well. Problem was the vault also contained several more tangible assets, including right now a sizable amount of illegally obtained cash. And because of that, extra security had come in at the last minute, thanks to the mob boss behind the money.
"Hurry it up Hardison. I really am not in the mood to take on an army of thugs tonight."
"Can't rush the program – it does what it does. And since when are you not in the mood to fight?"
Eliot didn't answer him – just glared hoping that would end Hardison's curiosity. He shouldn't have admitted to not wanting to fight. They all thought he loved the action hero stuff, and to be fair, it was what he did. It's just there were times when it would be nice, for a change, to have a quick, quiet job. Especially those times when there had been nothing but back to back jobs, like over the last weeks. None of them had been what might be considered strenuous to him taken on their own, but cumulatively, he was a little tired of cuts and contusions.
After a moment of silence Hardison let out a small almost silent cheer. "Last number – we'll be in any second now. Nate, you and Sophie can get clear of Dupont anytime you have the opening." He had his attention focused on the vault and didn't hear the sound of something hitting the ground behind him, but Eliot did.
"Get down Hardison!" he yelled, as he ran toward the concussion grenade that had landed in the room. He dove, grabbed the charge and tossed it back out the door in one smooth motion. The guards who had delivered it were not expecting a return to sender, and were knocked out by the force released. While sheltered from most of the impact, Eliot too felt the shockwave and found his ears ringing and his head swimming. He turned to check on Hardison, who'd been far enough away to remain largely unaffected, and was relieved to see him still on his feet in the vault. Out of the corner of his blurring vision Eliot saw the specialty team of guards charging in.
"Nate – we may need another distraction" he called out before diving at the legs of the thug leading the team, sending him sprawling. An elbow to the back of the head made sure this one stayed out of the action. One down, four to go. "Hardison – go – NOW!"
Outside the building, Nate and Sophie kept their faces from reflecting the anxiety they felt over what they could hear going on inside, as they wrapped up their session with Dupont. Hardison shouted that he had the books and that Eliot should get outta there, but all they heard from the hitter was the sound of fighting.
A blur of fists, kicks and throws ensued and within a matter of seconds two more attackers were on the ground. He hoped the movement he saw near the door was Hardison leaving, as instructed. Somehow he doubted it.
During the flurry of violence he became aware of a siren in the background, with a recorded voice telling everyone to evacuate in response to a fire alarm being activated. Nate's diversion would help them get free of the building assuming they could get out of the room.
In mid spin, turning toward his remaining opponents, the pain of a bullet seared through his right shoulder, the impact turning his body just enough to give the remaining thug the opening he needed to reach around Eliot's neck with a garrotte. Well-honed reflexes allowed him raise his left hand to the side of his neck, providing a small protection between the rope and wire weapon and his own throat. He could feel the wire cutting into his hand and neck, immediately choking of his air. He could also feel blood start to run down his arm and throat. Half falling, losing consciousness from the combination of explosion, fighting and suffocation, he could not find a way to break the grip no matter which move he tried to make. He could hear Hardison yelling at the attacker to back off or he'd shoot him. Where the hell did Hardison get a gun? Must have taken out the guy who'd hit him in the shoulder. It fleetingly occurred to Eliot that he was sorry he was going to die without finding out how Hardison had managed to do that. Just as he felt himself blacking out the tension on his throat lessened slightly and he fell backwards as his attacker collapsed. He hadn't heard a shot, and prayed there was a reason other than Hardison turning killer that had caused the man to release his grip. A fleeting sense of relief came when, in the haze that was now his field of vision, he saw Parker holding up her Taser and grinning, until she saw him fall in front of her.
The garrotte had been twisted and pulled taut, and even without a human force pulling it, the cording remained tight to his neck, cutting off the oxygen. Parker knelt down to remove it, but it was deeply imbedded and she could not find a way to release the pressure.
"Hardison help me – it's killing him. Do something."
As the two worked frantically at freeing him, Eliot tried to reach into a pocket but lacked the coordination he needed. Seeing his weak but frantic effort, Parker sought to find what he'd been looking for. Finding a pocket knife she searched out an opening where she could cut, and was able to place the knife in a small gap left where his hand protected his neck. The rescue action resulted in briefly adding more pressure to the weapon wrapped around him, but once cut it loosened enough to enable to him to gasp, barely, for breath, as his eyes rolled back in his head and he surrendered to nothingness. The rope was red from his blood, and it required no expertise to realize that without help – fast – Eliot was not going to make it.
Wrapping his throat gently in Hardison's jacket, and supporting the unconscious hitter between them, Hardison and Parker made their way to the nearest exit, letting Nate know the escape route to have transportation waiting. As they burst through the door Hardison came within inches of slugging Nate, as the mastermind reached out to help them.
"Damn – do not sneak up on a guy like that. Here, get his legs, get him in the car. He needs a hospital now. I don't know if he's even breathing." Eliot was ghostly pale, and not moving as they settled him into the back seat. Sophie pulled out before all of the doors were closed, and they all watched for signs of life on the interminable drive to an emergency room.