DIE HARD IV
"If you'd listened to me he would be neutralised already."
"I don't want neutral," Karl snarled, "I want dead!"
Hans paused, looking Karl full in the face. The man's face was an angry red, and a vein was pulsing in his neck.
Hans turned away. There was no point in reasoning with Karl. He would not rest until he was granted vengeance for his little brother's death. While what he really wanted to do was scream at Karl that he may have single-handedly ruined their entire heist, that they may all be dead by the time the FBI arrived, he forced himself to stay calm and think. There was no point apportioning blame at this point; they had to recuperate, or at least whoever was left of them, and figure out how to carry this plan out to the end.
They needed to hasten with the plan. They couldn't sit around waiting for a miracle. Hans turned his radio on. "Attention, police."
No answer. "Attention, police."
"This is Sgt Al Powell," the cop they'd heard talking to the cowboy started to say, but he was cut off. "This is Deputy Chief Dwayne Robinson," a more pompous voice said. "Who is this?"
"This is Hans Gruber. I assume you realise the futility of direct action against me, and we have no wish for further loss of life."
"Well, what is it you do wish for, Mr Gruber?"
Hans couldn't help but smirk. This was going to be the fun part of the plan.
"I have comrades in arms around the world languishing in prison. The American state department enjoys rattling its sabre for its own ends, now it can rattle it for me. The following people are to be released from their captors; in Northern Ireland the seven members of the New Provo Front, in Canada the five imprisoned leaders of Liberte de Quebec, in Sri Lanka the nine members of the Asian Dawn movement -"
"Asian Dawn movement?" Karl whispered.
Hans released the speaker button. "I read about them in Time magazine."
To Dwayne, he continued, "When these revolutionary brothers and sisters are free, the hostages in this building will be taken to the roof, and they will accompany us in helicopters to the Los Angeles International Airport, where they will be given further instructions. You have two hours to comply."
"W-wait a minute, Mr Gruber? This is crazy, I - I don't have the authority, I can't authorise, two hours is not enough - hello? Hello? Hello!"
Hans turned his radio off so he wouldn't have to listen to any more of the man's blabbering.
"Do you think they'll even try to do it?" Karl's voice sounded hollow, and Hans knew his real concern was how soon he could slip away to strangle the cowboy with his bare hands.
"Who cares? Theo, are we on schedule?"
"One more, then it's up to you. And you'd better be right, because it looks like this last one's going to take a miracle."
Hans couldn't help but be amused by the other man's comment. "It's Christmas, Theo, it's the time of miracles. So be of good cheer and call me when you hit the last lock."
Now, it was time for Karl to do what everyone knew he'd been itching to do ever since Tony was killed. "Karl, hunt that little shit down and get those detonators."
"Fritz is checking the explosives." However, the blond already had his machine gun in his hand and a hard, determined look on his face. Hans knew he would do it, Fritz or no Fritz, but considering the cowboy's skill, it was preferable that Karl would have his bodyguard as backup.
"I'll check the explosives. You just get the detonators."
*scene change*
Hans edged his way around the top floor of Nakatomi Plaza, making his way over to where the telltale yellow cord was tucked just within sight, the only sign that the roof of Nakatomi Plaza was wired. He almost rolled his eyes - couldn't they have been more discreet with the wiring, which stood out like a sore thumb in the otherwise meticulously tidy building? Oh well. At least it made his job of checking on the explosives easier.
With a flashlight in one hand and his beloved Heckler & Koch pistol in the other, he carefully examined the long yellow wire, making sure it was unbent and undamaged. So far, so good, he thought, curling his lip at some graffiti smeared across the wall, forming the words Merry Christmas.
Looking further up, he saw where the bombs lay - just out of sight. Seeing as no hostages were present, and Karl was most likely in the process of shooting the irritating cowboy down, Hans thought nothing of setting his torch and gun down, so his hands were free. Using his hands to pull himself up and into the narrow passageway, Hans snuck over to where the bombs were. So far, everything seems fine, he thought. Taking a flying leap, he landed with a heavy thud on the floor - right in front of a dude with a gun.
Hans looked up in fear, only to see the barrel of the gun pointed his way. The cowboy, he thought with an unnerving mixture of disgust and trepidation. He didn't have his pistol, and one look at this guy's arms told him that one punch would probably knock Hans out cold. Hans' heart thudded in his chest as the barrel of the gun inched closer. He's going to kill me!
"Hi there," the cowboy said in an American accent, with suspicion in his voice. "How're you doing?"
Hans almost sighed in relief. He won't shoot on sight. There is a way out of this.
Thinking fast, Hans allowed his features to morph into that of sheer panic, complete with a trembling jaw. Hans inwardly smirked. He'd seen plenty of hostages in his lifetime to know how they would react in such a situation, and he shamelessly used that prior knowledge now. "Oh! Oh, please God, no!" he moaned in what he hoped was a good imitation of a Californian accent, while cowering and backing away from Mr Cowboy. "You're one of them, aren't you? You're one of them!"
The cowboy continued to bear down on him with the gun, and Hans' acting gave way to genuine fear. "N-No! D-don't kill me, please, no, please! Don't kill me, don't kill me, please, please, please, please!"
"Relax, I'm not gonna hurt you. I'm not gonna hurt you!"
Hans felt relief seep through his bones, but continued with the frightened facade, waiting to see what the cowboy would do next.
"The fuck were you doing up there? What were you looking for?"
Oh, shit. I was really hoping you wouldn't ask that.
"I managed to get out of there, and - and I was just trying to get up on the roof and… see if I could signal for help, you know," the terrorist leader invented. Then, in a flash of inspiration, "It's right through here, why don't you come along?" He gestured over to where he had left his gun.
"Forget the roof."
"But -"
"I said forget the roof! They've got people all over it. You want to stay alive, you stay with me."
Great. Hans was inches away from the guy that was so casually screwing up his plan, and he was completely powerless to do anything other than continue with the pretence that he was a terrified hostage.
Mr American produces a packet of cigarettes from his pocket. "You smoke?"
Hans considered. It had been a while since he'd had a fag in his mouth. However, considering he was at a loss to do anything, as a single wrong move could blow his cover, he figured he had nothing to lose by accepting the American's offer. "Yeah."
The cowboy handed him the whole packet. For a moment, Hans very childishly considered putting the packet under his shirt and making a run for it. Instead, he said, "Thanks."
As they both lit up, Hans finally found an opportunity to ask the question that was burning on his mind. Who the fuck is this guy? Where does he work? "You don't work for Nakatomi, and… if you're not one of them…?"
"I'm a cop from New York."
"New York?" OK, now the accent made sense. But if he was from New York, what the hell was he doing here?
"Got invited to the Christmas party by mistake," the cowboy nonchalantly said. "Who knew?"
Hans really wanted nothing more than to strangle the idiot who invited this burden to the party. Awkwardly chuckling, he looked down… and noticed that the American wasn't wearing any shoes.
The American caught him looking. "Better than being caught with your pants down, huh?"
Hans chuckled obligingly again, but inside he cringed. Was that supposed to be a humorous remark? What did the state of his pants have to do with anything?
"I'm John McClane. You're, uh - ?"
John McClane. A New York cop with bare feet. Hans stored the information in his brain, where it could prove useful.
Quickly, he scanned the billboard in front of him, and his eyes fell onto the name Clay W.M. "Clay," he said. Names that begin with W… er, William? "Bill Clay."
"Know how to use a handgun, Bill?"
With a twinge of delight, Hans realised where this was going. God bless American stupidity. "I spent a weekend at a combat ranch," he invented. "You know the guns that shoot red paint?" With a coy shrug, he mutters, "Probably seems kind of stupid to you."
McClane held a gun out to Hans. Yes, yes, YES!
"Well, time for the real thing, Bill."
Forcing himself not to snatch the glorious pistol from McClane's grasp, Hans made himself hold the gun awkwardly, as a beginner would. You bet it's time for the real thing, he thought viciously.No more hiding. Once the American turned his back, all Hans' struggles would be over, and he would practically be guaranteed the $640,000,000.
"All you gotta do is pull the trigger," McClane instructed. With that, he turned his back and began to walk away. Hans waited until his back was fully turned, then aimed the gun in his direction. With the other hand, he immediately called for backup on his radio.
The sound of the gun cocking made McClane spin around.
"Put down the gun," Hans ordered, "and give me my detonators."
"Well, well, well," the cowboy said, like a man who was not about to be shot by a dangerous German terrorist. "Hans?"
"Put it down. Now."
"That's pretty tricky with that accent. You ought to be on fucking TV with that accent." Inexplicably, McClane began to advance towards Hans. "But what do you want with the detonators, Hans? I've already used all the explosives. Or did I?"
You'll never guess. "I'm going to count to three."
"Yeah. Like you did with Takagi?"
You were there? Perhaps I shouldn't be so surprised. Well, now you can join him. Hans pulled the trigger.
Nothing. "Oops," McClane taunted.
Hans pulled the trigger three more times. Still nothing. Suddenly, it dawned on Hans. You sneaky bastard…
"No bullets," McClane gloated, taking the gun from Hans. "You think I'm fucking stupid, Hans?"
As if on cue, the express elevator dinged, and Karl, Fritz and Franco came bursting out. Finally. Took them long enough.
"You were saying?" Hans taunted.
McClane ran, shooting in the direction of the elevator. Several bullets hit Fritz in the chest, and the man crumpled and collapsed like a sack of potatoes. However, to Hans' delight, he was soon forced to retreat and run away by Karl's gunfire. This victory was short-lived, however, when the cowboy took refuge and shot out Franco's kneecaps, causing him to stumble and fall headfirst into a glass window. It was clear that he, too, was now dead. Hans dived for cover behind a printing machine. From his hiding place, he watched as Karl stuck his head out to aim and shoot at McClane. However, rapid gunfire made him draw back. Karl tried again, but was again foiled by McClane firing at him, making him retreat. Karl can't get a clear shot! But, catching sight of blood nearby, and remembering McClane's bare feet, Hans got an idea.
"Karl," Hans murmured. "Schieß dem Fenster."
Karl shot him a confused look. Trust me Karl, I have not gone mad.
"Shoot the glass!" he reiterated in English, hoping Karl would pick up the hint that he was indeed to shoot the glass, not McClane.
With another confused look, Karl obeyed and began to shoot out the windows. Thick glass rained down in Nakatomi Plaza like sharp raindrops. Hans also began to shoot out the glass. They needed to take out every window in the room for this to work. When every window had been destroyed, Karl slid one of his explosive decoys in McClane's direction. This pushed the New York cop to retreat, over many shards of glass as sharp as daggers piercing his bare feet. McClane was in so much pain that he left Heinrich's bag behind as he retreated, which was exactly what Hans was counting on.
Smirking to himself, Hans opened the bag and held up one of the precious detonators. "Smile Karl, we are back in business."