DIE HARD II

*Note: The title of this chapter is not to be confused with the title of the second Die Hard movie.

As they walked, Theo began to give Hans a breakdown of their time schedule. "30 minutes to break the code, 2 hours... 2 and a half hours for the five mechanicals, at the minimum. The seventh lock, however, is out of my hands."

The hacker pressed a button, and two doors slid apart. They entered, facing the beautiful silver door that led to the vault that contained all the bearer bonds they desired. Hans couldn't think of a more obvious place to have a vault - it might as well have a sign on the door saying, "Open me - $640,000,000 inside!" Oh well, if these idiots wanted to make his job extra easy for him, he certainly wasn't going to complain.

Hold on. What was that Theo was saying about the seventh lock being out of his hands?

"I'm sorry?" he questioned the younger man.

"The seventh lock," Theo continued, "the electromagnetic seal. You do understand the circuits cannot be cut locally?"

Hans let a smirk flash across his face for a brief moment, having anticipated this particular type of… interference. Oh, it was brilliant! All the pieces of his plan were falling into place.

"Trust me," he told Theo. With that, he walked out, leaving a very confused Theo staring after his retreating back.

Suddenly, a loud beeping could be heard and Eddie's annoyed voice came over all the hand-held radio. "We've got a fire alarm."

"Call 911," Hans said, thinking quickly, "Give them the guard's name and the building code number, and cancel the alarm. Then, disable the system."

Then, a slightly alarming thought occurred to him. There was no way that a fire could have started in the building all by itself.

"Eddie, on what floor did the alarm go off?"

The random clatter they heard, and now the fire alarm. There was no way around it. Somehow, unbelievably, they'd missed a hostage.

"32nd. Why?"

"Tony," Hans said, noticing the younger Vreski standing behind him. "Go and… investigate."

With a nod, Tony ran off into the express elevator.

Well, that's taken care of, Hans thought. While Tony was far from brilliant in hand-to-hand brawls, the guy could definitely aim and shoot a gun. This guy's chances of coming out alive were practically zero, whoever he was. It was time to make a point to the rest of the hostages, in case they got any ideas.

"I wanted this to be professional," he told them once he'd gotten back to them. "Efficient, adult, cooperative. Not a lot to ask. Alas, your Mr Takagi did not see it that way, so… he won't be joining us for the rest of his life."

He noted, with some pleasure, the look of horror on most of the hostage's faces as they realised what he had just told them.

"You can go any way you want. You can walk out of here, or be carried out. But have no illusions; we are in charge." That part was directed to his fellow terrorists as much as the hostages; one loose cannon isn't going to disrupt our plan. "So, decide now, each of you."

The elevator beeped, but Hans ignored it. It was probably Tony coming back - hopefully after he'd washed the hostage's blood off his shirt. "And, please remember - we have left nothing to chance."

Suddenly, a woman screamed. Confused as to what caused this sudden commotion, Hans yelled at his henchmen, "Get them back!" Whatever had happened, he did not want it to cause a mass disruption.

He followed Fritz towards the elevator - where they were greeted by Tony Vreski's lifeless corpse. It was dressed in a Santa hat, and the former leader of the Volksfrei lifted up his shirt, which now had writing painted on it in large capital letters. He read the message allowed. "Now I have a machine gun. Ho-ho-ho."

Fritz looked at him, his face reflecting the confusion Hans felt at this turn of events. "A security guard we missed?" he suggested.

"They're usually tired old policemen growing fat on a pension," Hans mused. "No, this is something else."

"We have to do something, Hans." A tinge of fear could be heard in Fritz's voice. However, Hans was unperturbed. Whoever this was, he could be dealt with in due time. For now, they had bigger fish to fry.

"Yes, we do. We have to tell Karl his brother is dead. Tell him to come down."

Fritz obeyed.

"Marco, you and Fritz take the body upstairs and out of sight. I don't want the hostages to think too much."

*scene change*

Unfortunately, one look at Karl's face once Hans quietly broke the news to him told the latter his childhood friend did not take the news well.

Suddenly, Karl screamed, flipping Hans' desk over. This disturbed the latter to watch, as he was uncomfortably reminded of his own brother's grief at seeing their mother's corpse. In a swift motion, he pinned him against the wall, knowing that in his present state of grief, his friend was now dangerous.

"I want blood!" Karl snarled.

"You'll have it! But let Heinrich plant the detonators and Theo prepare the vault, after we call the police they'll waste hours trying to negotiate and then you can tear the building apart looking for this man, but until then, we do not alter the plan!"

"And if he alters it?"

Good question. Hans was just going to have to keep his faith in the other terrorists' abilities. If they ran into him, they'd most likely shoot him on sight, and that would be the end. Hopefully, the weaker fighters in the group should now have the good sense to only move in groups, in case they happened upon him again. However, the main focus was on their plan. They couldn't afford to let a hostage distract them, especially as they were pressed for time enough as it was.

Giving his friend what he hoped was an assuring look, Hans let him go, confident that he had calmed down enough to resume his duties.

Still worried about his friend, Hans was distracted yet again when a voice with a New York accent came over the radio. "Mayday, mayday, Channel Nine, anyone copy? Terrorists have seized the Nakatomi building and are holding at least thirty people hostage! I repeat, unknown number of terrorists, six or more, armed with automatic weapons, at Nakatomi Plaza, Century City."

Are you fucking kidding me? "What's the best place to transmit?" Hans mused to himself.

"Somebody answer me, goddamnit!" the voice said again.

Eureka! "The roof! Go, go!" Hans yelled at Karl and his bodyguards.

A female voice could now be heard on the radio. Han listened intently, waiting for the sound of gunfire. "Attention, whoever you are, this channel is reserved for emergency calls only."

"No fucking shit, lady! Do I sound like I'm ordering a pizza?"

Hans put a hand over his mouth, trying to suppress a laugh.

"They have already killed one hostage, they are fortifying their positions while you are jerking me off on the radio!"

Well, the New Yorker got one thing right, Hans thought.

"Now send a police -" but the rest of the cowboy's blabbering was cut off by the lady's impatient voice. "Sir, I've already told you. This is a reserved channel. If this is an emergency call, please dial 9-1-1 on your telephone. Otherwise, I'll have to report this as an FCC violation."

What is taking the boys so long?

"Fine, report me! Come the fuck down here and arrest me, just send the police now!"

Just then, the satisfying sound of gunfire could be heard. Finally. Hopefully, that should now be the end of our little problem.

What felt like hours later, Fritz's voice came over the radio, and he wasn't happy. The elusive hostage had escaped from him and Karl, and was now playing hide-and-seek in the elevator shaft.

"Perfect. The elevators are locked off, he can't escape. Just shut him in and come back down."

No response. "Karl, the police are probably on their way already. Karl!"

Still no response. "I can stall them, but not if they hear gunshots. If you lock him in, he'll be neutralised -"

He was interrupted by static. Shit, he's turned his radio off.

Even from where he was, Hans could hear gunshots. Although he was generally very good at keeping calm under pressure, he felt his heart race as he hoped the police hadn't arrived yet. Why the fuck didn't you listen to me? He seethed inwardly. That idiot is going to get us arrested!

Sirens could be heard in the distance, and the sound of gunshots abruptly stopped. Phew.

The police car circled a few times, and Hans lifted his radio to his mouth. "Eddie?"

"I had a feeling you'd be calling," Eddie said, semi-jokingly.

Watching the officer starting to approach the building, Hans knew he didn't have much time. "Just act natural," he quickly whispered, then turned the radio off. Hopefully, Eddie's natural talent at acting should save them a whole lot of trouble. The police couldn't come into the equation. Not yet.

As he and several other terrorists, Karl among them, watched intently from a nearby window, Hans resisted the childish urge to cross his fingers. He couldn't hear what was going on down there though, and so all he had to go on was the sight of the fat police officer approaching his car and preparing to leave. Yes, that's it. Go on, get out of here.

Suddenly, a body plummeted out of the window and onto the back of the police car. Realising their cover had been blown, Karl and Fritz began shooting at the police car, riddling it with bullet holes, only stopping once the car dropped out of sight. OK, back to business.

A few moments later, more police cars arrived. He must have called for assistance, Hans realised. Oh well, they'd have to make a slight modification to their plans, but it shouldn't be too bad.

"All of you, relax," he told his henchmen, who by now had facial expressions resembling that of a deer caught in headlights - seriously, these are the same guys that have been serving Volksfrei for years? Though, to be fair, they had never pulled off something like this before, so perhaps they were right to be a little apprehensive. But couldn't they just trust him for once?

"This is simply a matter of inconvenient timing, that's all. Police action was inevitable, and as it happens, necessary. So let them fumble about outside, and stay calm. This is simply the beginning."

Even Karl looked slightly placated by that. However, they were interrupted by static noise. Hans (who had earlier given the order that due to the cowboy now being able to eavesdrop on their conversations, they could no longer communicate via radio) was quite peeved that yet another person had neglected to follow his instructions. What is this, Don't Listen to Hans Gruber day?

"I thought I told all of you I want radio silence until -" he snapped, but he was cut off by a nastily familiar voice.

"Oh, I'm very sorry Hans. I didn't get that message, maybe you should have put it on the bulletin board?"

The New Yorker. Just great. And how does he know my name, anyway?

"I figured since I waxed Tony and Marco and his friend here, I figured you and Karl and Franco might be a little lonely, so I wanted to give you a call."

"How does he know so much about us?" Karl demanded, but Hans shushed him with a wave of the hand.

"That's very kind of you," he said sarcastically, addressing the arsehole American. "I assume you are our mysterious party crasher? You are most troublesome for a… security guard." Hopefully, the contempt in his voice would bait the American into revealing himself.

"Enh! Sorry Hans, wrong guess! Would you like to go for double Jeopardy where the scores can really change?"

Enough of this. "Who are you?"

"Just the fly in the ointment, Hans. The monkey in the wrench, the pain in the ass."

OK, Hans had to give him credit. He certainly was smart enough to preserve his identity, even if his childish mannerisms were irksome. Switching off the radio, he ordered Karl and Fritz, "Check on the others. Don't use the radio. See if he's lying about Marco and find out if anyone else is missing."

Once they left, Hans turned on his radio again. "Mr Mystery Guest? Are you still there?"

"Yeah, I'm still here. Unless you want to open the front door for me?"

Nice try. "No, I'm afraid not. But, you have me at a loss," Hans admitted. "You know my name, but who are you?" Maybe he could once again try to bait the guy into revealing himself. "Just another American who saw too many movies as a child? Another orphan of a bankrupt culture who thinks he's John Wayne, Rambo, Marshall Dillon?"

"I was always kind of partial to Roy Rogers, actually. I really liked those sequined shirts."

Hans sighed. OK, this guy was smarter than he thought. But not smart enough for Hans Gruber.

"Do you really think you have a chance against us, Mr Cowboy?"

A pause. "Yippee-ki-yay, motherfucker."