Chapter 9: The Past
AN: Well, here it is. A very LONG and long awaited chapter 9. A small explanation as to what De Vries meant by "Cowboy". Hope you enjoy. I was prompted to update because that girl I know dyed her hair red so she's almost exactly like Joanna! Impressive, eh? Also, some of the text is in German and Italian, so you can look it up on and I've updated on The Good, The Bad, and the Dead so be sure to check that out.
Jonathan and Joanna made their way through the Institute hangars. Jonathan had replaced all the weapons he took and carried the unit up to the device labs and asked the employees to do what they could. They reassured Joanna that they would do everything humanly possible. They left for Carrington's office.
Both of them were surprised by what Carrington had said. He wasn't very surprised to see either of them, He merely asked for a full debriefing and he was a rather good audience. He was very attentive and listened carefully. After they were done he thought things over for a minute or two, and gave them their new mission.
"You two will have to travel to Los Angeles and check in with our head of office there. He's a reasonable man, Captain Ryan McPherson. He'll give you no trouble, as well as anything you may need, spare weapons, ammunition, hardware and man power." He took a deep breath and continued. "Jonathan, I know what happened two years ago, but don't let that cloud your judgment. Good luck, Agents."
Both of them nodded and left for the airport. They didn't need to pack, for it seemed they never really got a chance to unpack.
High up in the atmosphere, Jonathan gripped the sides of his chair edgily.
Joanna looked up from the magazine she was reading to pass the time. "What's wrong?" She asked.
"I don't like to fly." Jonathan said. "The pressure really gets to my ears…"
"That explains why you weren't so keen to go on the Maian ship." Joanna said. "If you don't like to fly, then what are you doing here?"
"I don't like to lose either." Jonathan said. He remained silent for the rest of the flight. Joanna just knew something was wrong though. It was something subconscious that couples seem to realize about their partners when something is wrong.
The trip through customs was very brief, which doesn't happen very often. Usually there is about an hour of questions and such, but not this time. Joanna and Jonathan merely took a taxi over to the Institute's base in Los Angeles in the business district. The architecture of the building was very similar to the building they had just come from, except it wasn't as clean and the holding cells were more abundant.
McPherson proved to be an interesting man. He was about in his forties with a medium build and empty packages of Twinkies about his desk.
"Hello!" He greeted them warmly. "Please come in. I'm Captain McPherson. Anything you need, you got it."
"Thanks." Joanna said. "What do you know about what's going on at the Townsend tomorrow?"
"I think there's a lost painting being displayed. Some guy who runs this big ass corporation Intercom… Intermix…"
"Interplex?" Joanna interjected.
"That's the one." McPherson said. "Yeah, the painting was stolen a year ago and now that guy's bringing it back."
"Thanks." Joanna said. "We're just going to freshen up and head over there tomorrow. We'll be in touch."
"Take care." McPherson said as they left.
The night went very smoothly. There was a small restaurant on the corner that they went to not far from the hotel. It was very posh, but Jo and Jonathan had enough dressy clothes in their wardrobe to accommodate it.
After the second course of lobster with sliced seaweed and quail eggs came, with a bottle of Bollinger on the side (Joanna was enjoying herself, as she wasn't allowed any of this fine food while she carried her child around.), Joanna ventured a small question.
"Jonathan, you've seemed rather distant this evening." She said softly. "In fact, for the last couple of days. Is something wrong?"
"It's just…" Jonathan said slowly. "I've never thought about what happened in this city a little while ago."
"What happened?" Joanna asked.
"It's kind of a long story," Jonathan said.
"We've got all night Jon." Joanna said as she took his hand to comfort him. "Tell me. Please…"
Jonathan sighed. "All right." He said. "It was two years ago…"
(Flashback. Two Years ago, Los Angeles.)
Jonathan stepped out of the taxi to the huge skyscraper of Chesluk Industries (Surely you remember this? The company that came out with the Cyclone and MagSec 4? If not, play Perfect Dark again and look at the weapon explanations.) It was here that his girlfriend worked; at least he thought it was. The address was correct, but there was still a little that could go wrong.
He went up to the front desk in the lobby. There was a single guard behind the desk, who looked up at Jonathan.
"Hi." Jonathan said. "I'm looking for someone."
"Everyone's up on the sixtieth floor." The guard said. "Bit of a party happening up there. Their names are all on the screen."
So they were. Jonathan saw the names of everyone on the floor. "Cute toy," He remarked.
"Yeah." The guard said. "You tell it you need to take a piss, it'll even help you find your zipper. Take the express elevator over there. It's usually reserved for executives, but I don't think there would be anyone important coming here tonight."
"Thanks." Jonathan said as he walked over. The elevator was an old cable and pulley one that one would have found in the twentieth century, or thereabouts. Still, it was fast. The party sounds got louder and louder as he sped up the tower. From the glass pane in the elevator, he saw the other side of the tower. It came around in a semicircle and connected the two ends by a few girders that looked like they were still under construction. It was a long drop, so he only hoped that no workers fell off here.
Also what he saw out there was a beautiful sunset on the Los Angeles skyline. He was rather disappointed though, for he thought that there would be a great deal more skyscrapers. Then he reminded himself that it was on a fault line, so the collateral damage would be severe if there were more.
The elevator door dinged open and Jonathan stepped out. There was a great deal of music and everyone was either talking or dancing. He stopped one of the men nearby. "Excuse me," He said. "I'm looking for Miss…"
"Heleny Wells?" The man asked. (AN: Thanks for letting me use Heleny Christalina.)
"Yes." Jonathan said.
"Then you must be Jonathan Byers." The man extended his hand. "Ryan Chesluk. I'm the CEO here."
"Pleasure." Jonathan took the hand. The handshake was warm and firm. "Quite a place you've got going here."
"It will be if we ever get it finished." Chesluk said. "There are still several parts of the building under construction. Heleny just went off to the copy room. She's an angel, isn't she? Even in a party, she's always working hard. Here, I'll take you to her office."
Jonathan opened his wallet to reveal his picture of Heleny. It was what kept him going through all this. His life as just a two-bit CI operative based in New York, a job not that much better than that of a cop, was really taking a toll on him. Sometime he should retire, get a normal job and maybe raise a family…
The office was very nice. There were few plants in the corners, and pictures on the windowsill behind the desk.
The side door opened and a lovely redhead came into the room. She was about twenty-two, with sharp green eyes and a face that looked like it could go from any emotion to another in no time at all. Her large bust line protruded out from the ordinary dress she had on.
"Ryan," She said, seeming slightly aggravated. "Don't worry, I'll have the files to you first…"
Her face completely changed and a large smile revealed the pearly white teeth and her eyes lit up. "Jon…"
Jonathan had a similar smile on his face as the hugged each other. It had been too long. He even felt the soft wetness of a few tears of joy on his shirt.
Heleny withdrew after a few seconds and made an attempt to smoothen out her smeared mascara. "Ryan, this is my boyfriend, Jonathan. Jonathan Byers."
"Heard a heck of a lot about you." Chesluk said. "I'll just give you two a little peace. I'm sure it's been a while."
He left, closing the door softly behind him.
"Jon, what are you doing here?" Heleny asked, smiling. "I thought you were still in New York."
"I am." Jonathan said. "I got the weekend off, so I thought I'd come down and see you. You look like you've really been enjoying yourself."
"I have." Heleny said. "Do you have a place to stay yet?"
"Yeah, maybe."
Jonathan sat down and opened a can of Coke he got from an airport
vending machine he kept in his pocket. "Old Campbell retired down
here, so
I might bunk in with him."
"Oh, Campby retired." Heleny said. She knew old Captain Tyson Campbell, the chief of police who helped Jonathan in some of the secretive work in drug busts and such, since he lost the title of the best agent in the Institute to some girl. What did he say her name was… oh, yes. Joanna Dark. "Where's he at?"
"Santa Monica." Jonathan said.
Heleny laughed. "God, you'll be in the car half the time." She said. Why don't you stay with me? I've got an extra bed, it's close and it's comfy. And I've missed you."
"I've missed you too." Jonathan gave Heleny a kiss on the cheek.
"You might want to freshen up." Heleny said. "I've even got a shower in there." She pointed to the bathroom. "I'll still be about an hour, so make yourself comfortable."
"Thanks." Jonathan said and went into the shower after he took off his jacket and the two holsters he had inside containing his DY357 Magnum and a Falcon 2, chambered for the 9mm round, allowing it to hold more ammo. He had two spare magazines for both.
"You still carry those things?" Heleny said with disdain.
"You can never be too careful." Jonathan said. "Besides, I still am an agent even after the other girl booted me out of my old position."
…
Little did anyone know, but a small supply hover truck was coming into the basement of the Chesluk skyscraper. It contained several men and equipment in the back. It stopped for a moment and let two of the occupants off, dressed in civilian clothes. One was a scrawny black man wearing a blue shirt and black sweats, the other was a tall blonde man, similar to Mr. Blonde, but with more human like features you'd find on a person on the street. He wore a black vest, a gray shirt and blue jeans.
They approached the entrance, and the black man started talking about nothing in particular. He drew the attention of the guard at the front desk, while the other drew a silenced Falcon 2 and blasted the guard.
The other guard on patrol near the elevators saw him. He called out and drew his MagSec 4. Another two silenced rounds and he lay in a pool of blood.
The wiry black man went into one of the rooms off the main hall and started to work on the security cameras. Within minutes, he had them all blacked out. He grinned. He loved what he did, and he was well paid for it. He stood up, did something of a happy dance, kicking small mainframes as he strode out the door.
Deep in the bowels of the large skyscraper, another man, this time with long blonde hair, glasses and in a dark trench coat was wandering about the halls, muttering directions to himself in German. He was about twenty-eight. His glasses came up in a semicircle shape, but didn't have thick rims. His hair reached down to his shoulders, but it was well washed and groomed. His broken-looking nose frowned down on the otherwise handsome face that would melt the hearts of many girls. The black trench coat furled out behind him like a cape as he slid down the rails of a flight of stairs to the mechanical section of the building, revealing his well-trimmed body with little or no body fat and a great deal of muscle.
He reached his objective in the building's electrical heart. He took a duffel bag from his shoulder and unzipped it, revealing a small electronic device within. He took out the cover for the phone lines and started to connect wires to the device.
The blonde man from the lobby came in and started to speak. If one would look at both of them and presume they were related, they would be right. "Wie geht es?" He said.
"Ruhe, ich versuchen, zu arbeiten." Trench coat said.
"Liniert Schneiden das Telefon?" His brother asked.
"Ja," Trench coat said. Was it not obvious enough?
"Hans hat mich herabgerufen. Er hat einen leichteren weg vorgeschlagen." The other produced a protective facemask and a chain saw. He started it up and began to buzz through the main conduits for the phone lines.
"NEIN, NEIN!" Trench coat called. "Sie werden ab dem Alarm setzen!"
"Dann darf arbeiten." The other called over the roar of the chain saw.
Trench coat got to work. Siblings could be so pretentious at times. He knew if he got all the way through, the alarm would go off. He started working madly. What needed to be done was simple. Just did he have enough time? The buzz saw started to get to him. He had to concentrate… There! Done! And not with a moment to spare for his brother just cut through the last conduit.
"Das ist der Weg, es zu machen." His brother said smugly.
"Ich werde Sie ficken." Trench coat said, angrily.
His brother laughed and moved on.
In the parking garage, however, the supply truck that had been circling entered without a sound. The bay door opened and about fifty men came out, dressed in casual wear made by European chains, except for one, who wore a suit created by Savlie Row.
This man had a small beard, that seemed to suit his devil-like appearance, beady eyes that concealed a great deal and hair that was combed over to his right and was jet black. This man was Hans De Vries, and he was on a mission. This mission however, would change several lives and the city of Los Angeles forever. He and about ten of his men took the elevator up to the sixtieth floor, where his men got out their equipment and got them ready.
Let the mayhem begin.
…
Jonathan climbed out of the shower and dried himself off. He saw that the sun was almost down. He put on his jeans with the black leather belt as well as his socks and shoes with the black muscle shirt he wore underneath most of his clothing.
Heleny was still hard at work. Only about twenty minutes more and that would leave them to catch up on old times…
The gunshots rang out in the hallway followed by screams of terror from several women.
Jonathan grabbed the Falcon and shoved the DY357 into his waistband with the barrel beside his groin. He opened the door ever so slightly. About four men were in plain view, sporting assault rifles, Dragons and Sig 552s mostly, with pistols at their hips.
One of the men came close to the office where Jonathan was. He clicked the safety off the Falcon.
A scream behind him caused his attention to waver to another office. Jonathan watched from his hideout as the terrorists rounded up hostages like cattle and shoved them out into the main room with equal respect.
When Jonathan was sure they weren't looking, he crept into the hallway and snuck out through a fire escape stairwell.
…
Hans De Vries stood at a podium of sorts as his men sorted the hostages out. Personally, he would have preferred them to actually talk to them, tell them to come rather than running in, guns blazing as his men had. They were loyal, yes, but not the brightest. Most of all, De Vries disagreed with their use of weapons. They were mostly Dragons and Sig 552s. Mind, he did keep a Heckler & Koch USP in a shoulder holster, but he always preferred a pistol, a refined, smooth way of dealing death on your opponent, rather than a large, bulky assault rife, wielded mainly by brutes that weren't much sharper than a marble or someone who just liked spraying lead all over the place. Even a submachine gun would be too brutish for him. A nice, accurate pistol, maybe with a silver finish, and a laser sight. The Falcon 2 was his favorite, followed closely by the Walther brothers, the PPK and the P99, with of course, regard to the P-5, 9mm. Of course, left with little choice, he would use an automatic weapon. His training years ago as a Black Ops Commando for the neo-Gestapo order that had sprung up in 2008 had trained him for unarmed killing, as well as a proficiency with a variety of weapons from a commando dagger to a full blown nuclear missile .Of course, were he surrounded by hostiles or very angry with one, he would use an assault rifle or a submachine gun, but he preferred to avoid them. He was a cunning, intelligent man, and he needed a weapon to match his persona, such as Trent Easton and his legendary DY357-LX.
The shooting finally seemed to stop. De Vries raise his voice to announce the crowd, much as an MC does to announce some big event. "Ladies and gentlemen, ladies and gentlemen, May I have your attention, please? Thank you."
The screaming and sobbing began to desist. De Vries began to talk in a reasonable tone, much as a diplomat does at some obscure summit meeting. "Due to Chesluk Industries' growing excellence in the field of nuclear decommission, we have decided to make a small transaction. You will all be witnesses, a receipt as it were. Now. I wish to speak with Mr. Chesluk. Where is he?"
Chesluk made a move to stand up, but a manicured hand caught his arm, preventing him for doing so. He was surprised to see the hand belonged to Heleny.
"Ryan Kimberly Chesluk," De Vries waded his way into the crowd, beginning to rattle off statistics. "Born Detroit, Michigan, 1980. Graduated, Harvard University, 1998. Hired, 2000, at Reiko Enterprises, what this building used to be. Chairman, Chesluk Industries, 2009. Married at present…"
Chesluk stood up. "That's enough." He said, valiantly.
De Vries turned to face him. "And father of three." He finished. "Mr. Chesluk, how do you do." It was not a question. "It's a great pleasure to meet you." They clasped hands, whether Chesluk liked it or not. Personally, he would have preferred not touching the man, but he had no choice. De Vries nodded to one of his men, Trench coat's brother, Karl, who grabbed Chesluk and headed for the elevator, followed by the wiry black man, Perro, and Trench coat.
As they rode up, De Vries began to whistle a small tune to himself. One he had known since he was but a child. He noticed something on Chesluk. "Nice suit." He commented. "John Phillips of London."
Chesluk turned to De Vries with a look that seemed to say, "How the hell did you know that?"
De Vries merely chuckled as the elevator bell dinged. "I have two myself." He exited the elevator. "Rumor has it Arafat used to buy his fair share."
The room was very elaborate, but with several models strewn about the room on pedestals, the past, present, and future of Chesluk Industries right in this room, a sacred shrine to the employees.
"You know, that is beautiful." De Vries said, pausing to look at each one, giving all the respect they deserved at the painstaking efforts that had gone into making them. "I often enjoyed making suck models when I was but a boy. I always wanted them to be so precise, with attention to every conceivable detail, a stickler for such detail. I was rather much a perfectionist, you know."
"That's what all this is about?" Chesluk said. "Our oil-drilling project in Newfoundland? It's already started. The rig's already up and running, and it's protected by the coast guard. You won't be able to sabotage it."
"I believe you." De Vries said. "I read the article in Maclean's in four different languages. But I've said too much. I could, Mr. Chesluk, conceivably babble on for hours on end about men's fashions and industrialization, but I wouldn't want to keep my associate Perro waiting. He's got some questions for you, which I would appreciate if you would be so kind as to answer. They're mere fill in the blanks, so you won't have much trouble."
Perro sat in a chair behind a computer terminal with the words "INPUT ACCESS CODE" on the screen.
Chesluk cocked an eyebrow. "You just want to access our computer? Why didn't you just go onto our company website?"
"What we want wouldn't be on there." De Vries said indifferently. "The code please, Mr. Chesluk."
"Forget it." Chesluk said, "You'll never be able to access our confidential files or black mail me or my executives…"
Blackmail! The word itself was an insult to De Vries. He would go to all this trouble just to cause a bit of grief in some pathetic meaningless lives? No way in hell! The very thought of something so simple coming from a complex man like he was enraged him, and he spat with brazen hostility that didn't show any attempt at being concealed. "SIT DOWN!"
Chesluk did as he was told.
De Vries took a deep breath. He had been a little too rough with the poor bastard. It wasn't his fault he didn't know what was the true intention here. He said, with a more civilized tone "Mr. Chesluk I'm not really interested in your files. But I need the code because I am very intrigued by the four thousand and twenty, six hundred million kiloton yield nuclear bombs you have stored in your underground vault from your decommissioning works, and the computer controls the lock for the vault."
Well, Chesluk thought. This guy's really done his homework. "You want the warheads?" He said. "You guys are either terrorists or out of your minds. I'm guessing the former."
"Terrorist is such an ugly word, Mr. Chesluk." De Vries said. "I prefer the term adventure-seeker."
"By destroying the world?" Chesluk's question was like a stab from a rapier.
"By reshaping it." De Vries seemed impervious to the stabs from Chesluk. "I know of one little thing that my daughter, Cassandra is planning. She's the head of the dataDyne Corporation. Although she is a big girl, I'm merely helping her along by doing something I enjoy too. Now, the code."
Unbeknownst to anyone, Jonathan was lurking outside the room, listening to the conversation through his CI communicator, which he found in his pocket. He had only just arrived and knew nothing of the vault, or the bombs within. All he knew was he was in deep shit, and the Falcon and the Magnum he was carrying were his only friends.
"The code is useless to you." Chesluk said. "There are fourteen safeguards on our vault, and the code is one of them. I can only help you with one, but you'll never break the seal."
"Well, than you don't really have a reason to help us."
Perro laughed. "I told you so," He said, his voice betraying a voice similar to that of a New Yorker.
"It's not over yet." Karl growled, concealing the vicious animal that lurked beneath the surface, which would tear anyone or anything into several pieces.
"That really is a nice suit, Mr. Chesluk." De Vries said. "It would be, how do you put it… a crying shame to ruin it. Look, I'm going to count to three ok? At the end of the counting you give me the code or I shoot you:" He drew the USP from his holster and removed the silencer, to show he meant what he said.
"One,"
The thumb went to the safety.
"Two."
There was a small snap as the catch went up, the kind you'd hear if you stepped on a nut.
"Three."
The index finger went to the trigger.
"All right." Chesluk gave in. His hand went to the sole of his shoe and retracted the heel cap. A small chip lay inside, which he extracted with his fingernail and gave to De Vries. "This code key will let you access the lock for the vault. If you'd have killed me, it would have been useless."
"Now, that wasn't so difficult, was it?" De Vries said as he tossed the chip to Perro who inserted it into a small port. The words "Access Granted. Input Access Code" appeared on the screen.
"Now, the access code, if you please." De Vries said.
"I told you, I don't know the code." Chesluk said. "It's the name of some obscure chairman half way across the world. The only use I'd be to you now is if you'd get some perverse satisfaction from killing me."
"All right, have it your way." De Vries said. The USP came up and its single report propelled the better part of what was once in Chesluk's head half way across the room. Jonathan bit his lip to avoid the cry of disgust and anger that was welling up inside him, and he snuck off back up the stairwell.
"You'll have to do it the hard way, Perro." De Vries said. "Karl, dispose of the body. Perro, come with me to the vault. Fill me in. How long will it take?"
Perro bit his lip and played with his glasses as he thought. "Half an hour, forty-five for the code, maybe two hours at the most for the locks, and a half hour for the final lock. The electromagnetic seal."
"You can deal with it, right?" De Vries said.
"Well, I'm not here for my charming personality." Perro smiled.
"Then get to work." De Vries said. "I'll be in touch."
…
Jonathan ran onto a deserted floor of the skyscraper. The Plexiglass walls that proved the building was still under construction gave the floor a hall of mirrors look, with tools and supplies scattered all about.
"Why the fuck didn't you try to save him, Jon?" He yelled at himself. "Because then you'd be dead meat," He answered himself. "Oh, what am I doing here? I'm not a hero, I can't take on 50 terrorists, all probably as trained as I am! Oh, of all the times Perfect Dark could have showed up, she doesn't when I need her most! Figures!"
Out of the corner of his eye he caught sight of a phone, probably used by the construction people. Jonathan ran to it. He needed help, reinforcements. A SWAT team would be better than nothing.
He picked up the receiver, but there was no dial tone. He slammed it back down with the word "Shit!" They had cut the damned phone lines. These bastards certainly knew what they were doing. "Think dammit, think!" Jonathan willed himself. He turned his head up and saw a metal valve on the roof. A sprinkler. The fire alarm! He saw the darling red box and leapt to it.
…
Robert Fresen put his brown moccasin shoes up on the security desk. This was a great gig. He got to sit on his ass, watch the game, and he would get such a pay off for helping De Vries. All he had to do was act like a guard and dress like one. He presently a Chesluk guard uniform, which he found to be very comfortable.
The camera focused on the running quarterback Fresen saw on the TV screen. He was almost there, twenty yards, ten…Touchdown!
Right when the announcer yelled it, an alarm sounded behind Fresen. He turned in the swivel chair to see a large readout of the tower. A red light was flashing on one of the floors. He got out his walkie-talkie and got on the channel to De Vries. "We've got a fire alarm." He drawled into it.
"Call 911." The voice on the other end said. "Give them an area code close to here and then disable the system." The channel sounded it closure, but was opened again. "Robert, on what floor did the alarm sound?"
…
Piotr Ivanovitch squinted against the wind on the roof of the tower. He connected a few cables for his job to get the telemetry tower operational using the antenna at the top of the tower. It swayed dangerously like an overgrown pendulum in the intense wind. He had learned plenty of this technical stuff in what used to be the KGB, as well as all the other basics, stealth training, firearms training, unarmed combat, the like, which made him perfect for this job.
His concentration was briefly interrupted when Hans came through with an urgent message.
"Che lo è?" An ex Italian National named Marco asked in his native tongue.
"Non niente. Inviare Fritz giù al pavimento di seventieth e ritornare lavorare." Piotr replied. Who ever was deserving of Fritz, Piotr did not want to be.
…
Jonathan looked out the nearby window, marveling at how thick it was. Surely it was bulletproof, at least. One would need a cannon to get through. They were designed, however, to let sound through. Jonathan also had his CI communicator on full output to try and pick up the sirens, if they were even coming.
His wish was granted soon enough. He heard the oncoming police sirens as he saw the hovercars with their blinking red and blue lights, oh those darling flashing lights! Jonathan was never happier to see them. However, his joy was short-lived. The convoy of hovercars, including a large fire truck turned to the right in mid air, away from where they were needed most.
"OH, YOU STUPID MOTHERFUCKER!" Jonathan pounded on the glass. "NO! TURN THE DAMNED CONVOY AROUND!" He knew he would never be heard, but this was not a time where Jonathan's reasoning was at its best.
The elevator bell dinged behind him. Someone was coming out onto this floor! Jonathan ran as quickly and as quietly as he could to find a hiding spot.
The man in the trench coat came out, wielding a CMP150 in his hand and a duffel bag with the strap around his shoulder.
"The alarm has been called off." He called. "No one will come to your rescue. Now show yourself." He crept around, his probing eyes moving madly behind his glasses, and his footsteps making as little noise as possible. His hand moved up and cocked the CMP150. "I promise that I won't hurt you. This will only be offered once, so give yourself up while you still have a chance."
The probing eyes caught sight of a small pile of plywood nearby. He crept up to it, snuck round a side of it, leapt to the part that used to be concealed to his eyes and fired. Nothing.
A loud buzz sounded now. Trench coat ran to the scene of the disturbance. He arrived just in time to see the circular blade of the local radial arm saw stop moving.
He then felt a piece of metal jammed into the back of his neck. He let out a sharp intake of breath as it caught him off guard. His mind automatically identified the metal by its texture and shape with the barrel of a gun.
"Drop it," The voice behind the gun said. Trench coat knew that by the sound of the voice and the will behind it this man would kill without question and without remorse.
"You won't hurt me if I do so?" He asked coolly.
"Yeah, why shouldn't I?" Jonathan asked.
"Because you're obviously a policeman of some sort." Trench coat said. "There are rules for such people."
A policeman? That's more or less what Jonathan had become, ever since Perfect Dark came along. No more undercover work, no more real intricate adventures, just dealing with punks and sleaze balls who had a trouble with authority. This could help if they didn't know he was part of the Institute. An alias was better than nothing in this grand caper.
"Yeah," Jonathan said. "That's what my captain keeps telling me. Course, I don't listen very good."
He brutally pistol-whipped the man. He regained his composure after the blow, and lashed out at Jonathan, who tried to get behind him and perform a move that would disable him. Trench coat rammed Jonathan into the wall, where he took Trench coat's arm. The CMP150 spat out several rounds in all directions.
Jonathan threw Trench coat, his duffel bag coming off as he rolled into a stacked pile of wood, which came down on him. As Jonathan's arm came back, it hit a nearby switch, which activated a nearby forklift. It roared to life and took off. Jonathan performed an elegant shoulder roll as he got out of the way, and it hurtled towards the trapped Trench coat. He yelled as the prongs crashed into him, the ends perforating the soft flesh and out the back. The scream was cut off abruptly and there was a small tinkle his glasses fell off and one of the lenses smashed on the ground.
Jonathan stood up, retrieved the fallen Falcon 2 and his new ally, the CMP150. He also went for the duffel bag and emptied the contents out on a nearby worktable. He found three spare 32 round 9mm magazines for the CMP150, a lighter, which he stuffed into his pocket, a wallet containing a few euros, and an ID. "Franz Mitchell, Atlanta Georgia."
That couldn't be right. Whoever processed these fake Ids for maybe 50 or so people and at this level of quality must have been a professional. This man could have passed at any border crossing. Jonathan also found an open package of German Davidoff cigarettes as well as a walkie-talkie. If only he could get through to someone for help. Where would be appropriate? Think Jon, think… the roof!
As the light bulb that accompanies an idea illuminated, the elevator bell dinged again, as if it was intended to coincide with Jonathan's idea. Another terrorist caught sight of Jonathan and drew the CMP150 he had. Jonathan was quicker on the draw however and the three rounds he shot blasted the man back into the elevator as the doors closed and the elevator returned to where it came from.
Jonathan looked for the nearest stair well and took the way up to the roof. Maybe he'd have more luck getting help this time.
…
"Now, I wanted this to be professional." De Vries said to the crowd of hostages while he munched on an Eat-More bar. "Efficient, in and out, not a lot to ask, is it? Regrettably, your dear Mr. Chesluk did not see it that way, and therefore won't be joining us for the rest of any of our lives."
Heleny recoiled. That murdering bastard! He didn't care did he? Oh if she got the chance, she'd rip him in two. Of course, now it meant she was in charge and people would be looking to her for answers. If he did anything to John… where was he, anyway? Heleny never saw him around in the hostages. Could he have snuck away, maybe with one of those guns of his? Maybe? Was he alive now? Not likely. Since there was no proof, she would just have to wait and see.
De Vries continued. "Now, you may go anywhere you wish, with the exception of out of this building, you are free to move about, but don not have any illusions of power. WE are in charge, and we have left nothing to chance."
Just as De Vries stopped talking, the elevator door opened. One of the terrorists, Alan caught sight of the slain man in the lift, with the growing pool of red. One of the hostages saw too, who screamed.
De Vries turned, taut as a coiled spring and ran for the lift.
"Its Terry," One of the other terrorists said, a Sig 552 hanging loosely at his side.
"I know who it is." De Vries said shortly. "Alan and I will take care of this, Laniel. You just keep them back."
"A security guard we might have missed?" Alan asked, his eyebrows up.
"No, they're usually rather slow and very fat, living off a pension." De Vries said. "This is something different. Look at the grouping of these shots. Only a professional marksman could have done something this precise. His weapon hasn't been fired, but these blast marks are consistent with a CMP150." He took a deep breath and thought. "What floor did the elevator come from?"
Alan knelt down inside the elevator, pushing Terry's limp body aside. He shuddered at the cold and clammy skin that had lost all human fell and opened the memory box just below the now useless emergency phone. He read the small monitor and relayed the information to De Vries. "The seventieth."
De Vries nodded. "He was checking on Fritz, wasn't he?"
"Yeah," Alan said, standing up and his mind figuring the details out. "Who ever did this must have stolen Fritz's gun and shot Terry."
"Then we must conclude that Fritz is dead too." De Vries said. "Get Karl down here. I'm sure he'd be more than happy to go hunting around the building looking for the man responsible and end our little problem. We can't afford to have someone running around the place disrupting our plans like this."
Alan nodded and got out his walkie-talkie. He knew that when Karl got wind of this, there would be hell to pay.
Alan's thought was very much the truth. When Karl found out, he went wild. He let out a bloodthirsty, animal-like scream, picked up a nearby vase and hurled it across the room, where it broke into a million pieces, wrenching a scream form several hostages.
De Vries caught him by the shirtsleeve. "Get a hold of yourself!" He snapped. "The way you're going, you'll get us killed. Once we get the vault open, if he's still alive, you can tear the goddamned building apart looking for him, but until then we don't deviate from the plan! Understood?"
"What if HE interferes with the plan?" Karl growled, with extreme self-control.
De Vries' eyes betrayed the underlying plan he'd concocted. "I was hoping you'd ask that. To prevent him from doing just that, take two men and hunt him down. Take what you need and do it quickly and silently."
…
Jonathan finally left the stairwell and made his way onto the roof. He climbed onto the highest point he could and took out he walkie-talkie from the duffel bag. He found the "Talk" control stud and pressed it. He didn't exactly have a speech prepared, so he just played it by ear.
"Hello, mayday, mayday. Terrorists have seized the Chesluk skyscraper in the business district. 50 or so terrorists in all, 45 or more armed with automatic and/or heavy weapons with side arms. Can anyone hear me? I repeat, terrorist attack on the Chesluk building."
Little did he know, that another source was listening to Jonathan's transmission. De Vries still had the channel open on his walkie-talkie while Karl and his team, consisting of Alan and another terrorist named Richard.
"The roof!" De Vries said. "It's the only place he can transmit. Go, go!"
…
Lindy Alistair sat in the LAPD radio control booth. She sighed. First there was a phony fire alarm from that area, now someone, probably drunk was not only irritating her, but also violating strict airwave laws.
"Attention, whoever this is," she said. "This channel is reserved for police business only."
"Don't fuck with me, lady!" Jonathan screamed on the other end. "Did I sound like I wanted a pizza? They have already killed one hostage and they're reinforcing their positions while you're screwing around with me on a radio!"
"Sir," Lindy said, trying to be as nice as she could. Her boyfriend had recently dumped her for some big-busted bimbo, leaving her, sad, angry, lonely and depressed and this guy wasn't helping matters any. "If this is an emergency, please dial 911. Otherwise, I'll have to report this as an FCC violation."
"Yeah, do that!" Jonathan yelled. "Get the police down her to arrest me, just send someone…"
The distress call was cut short by a hail of heavy caliber fire. Jonathan stuffed the walkie-talkie back into the duffel bag and returned fire, running backwards to try and see some of the enemies.
Karl stepped forward, reloading his Calico Liberty III machine pistol. That was the second magazine out of his five, all packing 50 rounds of 9mm ammunition. "Nobody kills him but me." He growled as the other two cocked the Sig 552s they carried.
Jonathan ran for his life, popping out every now and then to return fire. His back hit a nearby wall, where he saw a ventilation duct. He shot off the hinges and ducked inside, the bullets clanging on the metal outside. He noticed the CMP150 read empty, so he slapped in another magazine.
The shaft he had to go through was dark, narrow, damp and small, probably never having meant to accommodate someone walking through it, particularly someone as tall as Jonathan. All of a sudden, the floor gave out from under him, as if it had never been there and Jonathan was falling. The CMP150 and the duffel bag fell off as his fingers felt something. It was too late to grab on, but he caught the next opening and pulled himself inside. This was even worse! He could only crawl through it. Boy was it hot! He finally came to a grate and banged it out. He jumped out and landed hard on a desk.
He cursed, but the crash attracted two of the terrorists. Jonathan shot one of them with the Falcon, but as the dead man fell, the other grabbed the corpse and used it as a human shield. Jonathan took cover behind the desk, took careful aim and blew the man's head off.
Karl saw both men fall and called for reinforcements. Another four men came, running for the entrance. Jonathan was ready for them, however. He found a small weapons locker nearby which held dual Cyclones. He switched them from the rapid-fire mode to their magazine discharge. When the four men came running into the room, the Cyclones lived up to their namesake, as the hail of fire ripped up everything in the room, including the four men. Karl took a bullet to the shoulder and retreated. It was better for him to fall back for now, and set a trap for this… person later, than to die now. But he wouldn't make any mistake. This man would pay.
Jonathan took one of the dropped weapons, the Calico and checked around. He slung it over his shoulder, picked up a shotgun from the fallen men, one of the duffel bags containing the same items as the last one and continued on.
…
Perro turned off the large heavy-duty drill he was using to access the vault. Now that he'd broken through the first seals, the locks were cut with such ease with this thing. He took off his safety glasses and let the drill cool down. He got himself a Pepsi, and cracked it open. This vault didn't stand a chance with him and the drill. It was so easy to use! Just point and click with a mouse with the help of an x-ray scanner to find the locks and the drill did most of the work. Who know? Perhaps he might even impress De Vries.
Speak of the devil! The old fox was now on the radio. "Yo," Perro said into it."
"Perro, how's it coming." It was not a question.
"Three or four to go." Perro said. "Why?'
"We might have a problem." De Vries said. "Don't waste any time getting the vault open. Let me know when you've got to the last one. We'll be down."
The channel closed. Perro shrugged, drained the Pepsi in a thirty-second chug and fired up the drill again.
…
"If you had used your head and sealed off the elevator shaft with the intruder control circuit," De Vries said, small flakes of spittle landing on the desk. "There was a junction box nearby, may I point out, then he would have been neutralized and six of our men wouldn't be dead."
"I don't want him 'neutralized'." Karl growled as a medic dressed his shoulder. "I want him DEAD!"
De Vries opened his mouth to reprimand Karl for his insubordination, when the radio crackled. For a fleeting moment, it sounded as if the dialogue coming from the radio sounded as if it was coming from De Vries.
"This is Sergeant Ryan Townsend of the LAPD. If the person who radioed for help on this frequency please acknowledge this transmission."
Jonathan took a quick look around to make sure the area was clear before he answered. He didn't want to get caught talking by an armed hostile. "Yeah, I'm here." He said. "How many of you guys are out there?"
"Just me." Townsend said. "They wanted a black and white to survey the scene before they make their move."
"Well tell them to get down here." Jonathan said. "Here's the scoop: this here's the party line and the neighbors have itchy trigger fingers and don't really like to be disturbed. Maybe forty or so hostages on the sixtieth floor, with maybe fifty terrorists all over the place. I've capped off about eight now, but they haven't made any demands. One hostage was killed, but there was nothing I could have done to save him. These guys are good. They've got automatic weapons, maybe even a heavy weapon or two, military pistols, assault rifles and I wouldn't be surprised to see some high powered explosives in the mix too. They're mostly European from the clothing brands they wear and the cigarettes they smoke. They're probably well-financed and very slick. You got all that?"
"Yeah," Townsend said. "What do I call you though?"
"Like I said, this is the party line," Jonathan said, thinking. "So just call me…Ed."
"All right Ed." Townsend said. "You just stay put and let us deal with theses guys."
"All yours." Jonathan said, the thought of him not being alone anymore giving him a good feeling, that pushed away the ebbing fatigue he had been feeling.
Before long, the sirens began to wail outside as several hovercars touched down, men of all uniform types coming out and setting up lights. One particularly disgruntled man came out of one car and flashed his badge. Townsend knew him well. Chief of police Dwayne Chalmers. He knew he was going through as bad time, his wife divorcing him and taking most of the stuff with her, and this didn't help his attitude any.
"All right," He said, shortly. "Who's in charge here?"
"I am, sir. Sergeant Ryan Townsend."
"All right then, Townsend," Chalmers said. "What do these guys want?"
"If you mean the terrorists, no one knows." Townsend said. "We've not heard a peep from them."
"Then who the hell have you been talking to?" Chalmers said, aggravated. This was really one of those days.
"We don't know that either." Townsend. "We don't know his real name, but he's the one who called for help. Might be as cop or something like that."
"TV's here." One of the men called.
Chalmers saw the hovervan come peeling round the corner on a low altitude approach and said "Aw, shit."
The SWAT commander, Darrel Johnson got his headset ready and ordered one of the teams to get into position as Chalmers gave the order for the large searchlights to be activated, sending bright beams of light on to the austere skyscraper.
Jonathan saw one of them and got on the walkie-talkie. "Ryan, what's going on?"
"Can't talk now, Ed." Townsend's voice sounded strained on the other end. "Listen, if you are what you seem to be, you'll know when to sit tight, and when to think pretty damned fast."
"Oh Christ, you're coming in, aren't you?" Jonathan said. "That's not a good idea. You know what you're dealing with!"
"In position." Johnson announced.
Chalmers gave the order "Kick ass." With the sort of gusto you'd hear from Teddy Roosevelt on the bow of a dinghy going into battle, particularly one that had little chance of succeeding.
"Go!" Johnson said.
De Vries had heard all this. He sent Perro down to the external security station where he'd activated the external cameras. How had he put it… "You're the eyes now." He knew Fresen and a few others would have locked down the ground floor with the intruder control circuit.
"Ok, boys." Perro said. "Abracadabra, Hocus pocus, with my powers beyond those of mortal men, I see… six men making their way to the rear entrance, armed with standard rifles, pistols, maybe a cutting torch in there too, but not much of a threat."
Hawk, the squad leader too position near the door, his pistol drawn. "Hoover," He ordered and pointed to the lock.
The smallest one came up and started to pick the lock. After as few minutes of struggling, he said, "It's not happening." And withdrew.
"Ok," Hawk said. "Scorch, burn it."
The man with the portable oxy-acetylene tank on his back stepped forward and started to burn through the lock. No one saw the red dot on Scorch's leg.
"No fatalities." De Vries said, "Just wound them."
The Dragons roared. Scorch's leg almost came clean off as he fell screaming. The rest of the men fell, one of them producing a brief Catherine wheel of gunfire as he fell.
"Hawk!" Johnson said. "Riff! Thick! Shrap! Hoover! Report!" He switched frequencies and ordered the car to be sent in.
The heavy armored car rolled up the street at a fairly fast rate. It was far too heavy to be transported by antigrav units, so it rolled around on wheels at impressive speeds.
Two of the strongmen in De Vries' pack of cards ran to the southeast corner of the twentieth floor, where Perro had directed them to go, for the armored car was closing fast. One of them opened a case he was carrying and set up a tripod near a window. He smashed it out as the other set a large rocket launcher on the tripod. He grabbed a missile, shoved it down the barrel and took careful aim. When the armored car came crashing up the steps, there was a loud roar, a puff of smoke, and the rocket streaked out, hitting the car broadside.
"Hit it again." De Vries ordered.
"You motherfucker!" Jonathan shouted into the walkie-talkie. "Let those guys pull back! You've got their attention."
"Thank you, Mr. Modern Cowboy." De Vries said. "I'll consider it. Hit it again!"
"BASTARD!" Jonathan said.
There was a call of "Halt!" as one of the terrorists came running round the corner. Jonathan ran for cover, empting the shotgun magazine in a few double blasts, tearing the better part of the man's chest away. He was carrying another duffel bag. Jonathan began to rummage through it. There had to be something to help those poor bastards dying out there.
His wish was granted when he recovered a small brown package. Jonathan recognized it immediately as an explosive charge, the kind the Institute used on demolition mission. He could easily have rattled off statistics about it, CL-20 charge reinforced with C4/RDX, complete with a sealed and tamper proofed timer, and embedded with Teflon coated shrapnel. Nasty.
Jonathan summoned the elevator. It had to be quick. He heard another rocket go and the faint explosion. Now, where would they be? Any floor between fifteen and twenty-two, if they didn't want to be traced. How long would it be to get down there? Thirty seconds? A minute? Think, John. He set the timer for a minute thirty, set the charge down, and pressed a button for the twentieth floor.
Just as the third rocket was loaded, the charge went off on the twentieth floor, engulfing both men and the rocket as it sped for the building. The explosion engulfed the entire floor, sending shards of glass and various other types of debris out all over the place.
Townsend got up from where he had ducked to avoid a cloud of dust and got on the radio. "Ed, you ok?"
Jonathan coughed and dug himself out of a bit of rubble. The blast had come back up the shaft and spewed flame out onto his floor. "Yeah, I'm fine." He replied into the walkie-talkie.
"What was that?" Townsend asked.
"Well, I said I wouldn't be surprised to see some explosives in the mix and it looks like I was right." Jonathan said, grinning slightly.
"Who I that?" Chalmers demanded. "Is that him? Gimme that!" He snatched the radio from Townsend and pressed the talk button. "Now you listen here and you listen good. I don't know who the hell you are or who you think you are, but you have just destroyed a building. I've got two hundred or so guys down here covered in glass."
Jonathan spoke without thinking. The last thing he needed now was some desk jockey telling him what to do. He wasn't up here, risking his life. He wouldn't know. "Glass?" He said. "Who gives a shit about glass? Be thankful I saved your guys in the car! Who the fuck is this anyway?"
Chalmers was caught off guard by the string of profanity, but he regained his composure and drew himself to full height as if Jonathan was right in front of him. "This is Chief of Police Dwayne R. Chalmers and I am in charge of this situation."
"Oh, so YOU'RE in charge." Jonathan said. "Well, I've got some pretty bad news for ya, Dwaynie boy. Up here, it doesn't look like you're in charge of anything. Besides, I'm sure you made a complete ass of yourself on national TV."
Jonathan was right. Chalmers found himself staring down the lens of a TV camera. He turned to Johnson, murder written all over his face. "Get them out of here." He growled. He opened his mouth to speak to Jonathan, but he was quicker.
"Listen, you're not part of the solution here. You're being part of the problem. Quit being' part of the damned problem and put the other guy back on."
Chalmers shoved the radio back into Townsend's hand and stormed off. "Hey Ed, how you feeling?"
"Pretty damned unappreciated, to be honest." Jonathan said.
"Hey, Townsend said. "You're my hero. You're the hero of a lot of the other guys down here. Maybe not old man Chalmers, but he's an ass anyway. But you be careful up there, you hear? You be careful and you'll make it out alive."
"Thanks Ryan." Jonathan said. "Listen, lie low for a little while. Use those spotters you've probably got and tell me what you know. I'll be in touch. Ed out."
…
Perro sat back as the drill finished with the final lock. He had beaten his expected time considerably and opened another can of Pepsi as a celebration. Business first, however. He opened the frequency to De Vries and reported that he was almost through.
"We'll be down when you've set up the key for the final lock." De Vries said and closed the channel.
Karl's attention was on the small TV behind De Vries. There was a new bulletin on, which seemed to be very engaging.
"This is Reginald Peterson reporting live. Tonight, terrorism has struck the city of Los Angeles. An elite group of terrorists have taken the Chesluk skyscraper as well as civilian hostages inside. This reporter has learned that there is a man against these forces inside the tower, whom we believe to be Jonathan Byers of the Carrington Institute."
Jonathan's most recent file photo came up as Peterson began to rattle off statistics about Jonathan's past.
"That's him!" Karl growled.
"Hans," The radio said. "We have contact with the intruder on the sixty-sixth floor."
"Subdue him and bring him to the roof." De Vries ordered. "Karl, come with me. I believe you owe him a painful death"
Jonathan crept around the halls of the executive sixty-sixth floor. The Calico was ready in his hand in case he encountered anyone else.
The walkie-talkie crackled, making him jump.
"Hey Jonathan, you there?" Townsend asked.
Jonathan replied. "How the hell di you know my name?"
"Some dumbass reporter just conveyed your life story over the news." Townsend said. "The terrorists probably know who you are too now and that you're with the Institute."
"Yeah, but I've pretty much become a cop for the past few months." Jonathan said. "Looks like both old man Chalmers and I both got it on national TV."
"Look, we've got readings that some sort of device has been activated near the vault." Townsend said. "Could you check it out?"
"Sure," Jonathan said, but before he closed the channel, Townsend got back on. "Jon, our spotters are seeing a lot of ad guys headed your way. You can't take them all on. You'll have to find another way to reach the vault."
"Can do." Jonathan said as he headed for the stairwell to the top floor. Another terrorist, an East Indian name Sarradin, greeted him. The Calico spat and he keeled over. Jonathan took an AWP sniper rifle from the dead man's back and used it to take out some of the snipers across the way. Three men fell and the AWP read empty. Jonathan drew the bolt action back, took another clip from the dead man (He wouldn't be needing it anymore.) put it into the slot and closed the bolt. He took out two more snipers and took a look around through the scope. The long way around on the rooftop was blocked by machinery, making it impossible for him to reach the other side and the elevator that could take him down to the vault. His only chance was a wire that connected the tow sides across the semi circular building. He put the AWP on his back and said to himself "Oh this is a bad idea, Jon."
He started a grueling, hand over hand climb on the wire, his hands taking all the strain of his body weight. After a while, naturally, they began to hurt, for it was a very unforgiving cable he was on.
The whole way, he kept repeating to himself as a morale booster "I'm gonna make it, I'm gonna make it, I'm gonna make it…" Half way across, he looked down and saw just how high up he was, and what a precarious situation he was in and he said "I'm gonna die…"
Karl found one of the dead snipers across the way. He got out his walkie-talkie to call De Vries, but he spotted Jonathan on the wire, who was about three-quarters of the way across. He grabbed the fallen Dragon and fired.
Jonathan saw him take aim and fire. He knew he was finished, a sitting duck.
One of the rifle rounds struck the rope and sent him falling, Jonathan clutching onto the rope for dear life…
He crashed through a window onto another floor. By God, he was alive!
That could have changed abruptly however. A terrorist wielding a Sig 552 met him. The Falcon came out and fired two shots as Jonathan ran for cover He peeked out to finish him and took the Sig. He took cover behind a wall and peeked out to finish two other men, and dropped the empty Sig and brought out the Calico. He also collected a couple of grenades from the fallen men.
As he rounded the next corner, an automated sentry gun probably placed by the terrorists fired at him. Jonathan primed the grenades and threw them, one to disable the gun, the other to destroy it.
The next thing he felt was the hard hit of a rifle butt on his head, and his world going black.
…
Jonathan regained consciousness and the first thing he felt was him being hauled by his armpits. The next thing he realized was that his weapons were gone as well, even the ammunition in his pockets.
He was plopped down in a chair and saw a man sitting across a table from him.
"Well, well, well," He said. The voice Jonathan knew that belonged to De Vries. "Mr. Jonathan Byers. You've been quite the irritant. I must congratulate you, for you've killed twenty-one of my men. All of them are highly trained, so this is no mean feat."
"Gee, thanks." Jonathan said.
"Don't think I'll let you live with that, Mr. Cowboy." De Vries said. He probably said that because of the magnum Jonathan used. "It's about time you joined them. You won't be able to stop the nuclear arsenal I can control from this tower, or what I plan for it. That I promise you. Now, I believe you killed my good friend Karl's brother. He would like to return the favor"
Jonathan leapt into action, overturning the table, and punching the two men behind him, Karl in his wounded arm and the other, Ivanovitch in the face.
One of his weapons went flying. The magnum! It was just on the edge of the building, his only chance!
Jonathan dived for it as De Vries shouted, "Kill him!"
Jonathan barely felt or saw the bullets clanging around him. There, he had it! Too far Jon! He was falling off the building. He was dead for sure now…
The construction elevator came up to meet him. It was so wonderfully placed there! Sure it may have broken a rib, but it also saved his life. Jonathan held on with one hand and kicked off with his legs on the glass wall and fired three shots, breaking through the glass when he met it again.
The door opened and Ivanovitch appeared holding a pistol. Jonathan emptied the revolver onto him and snatched the pistol. It was a Desert Eagle. He smiled grimly as he kicked a door leading to the stairwell open.
He proceeded down, taking out three of the terrorists with supremely accurate shots. He grabbed another Sig 552 with a scope and went down the next flight. Three more came up, which he finished and spotted another two rappelling down. He killed them and a cry came from behind him. A man with a knife came up behind him. Jonathan clubbed him with the barrel of the Sig, stunning him and giving Jonathan that vital moment to empty the magazine onto him.
Jonathan exited the stairwell and went through a nearby door. Another sentry gun fired at him. Jonathan rolled out of the way and deactivated it. Inside one partially complete office, he found a handheld heat seeking rocket launcher. How could these guys just leave this stuff lying around? Then again, they weren't expecting him to be here.
Almost as if it were on cue, a large hovercopter came at the window, firing the nose mounted Vulcan cannon.
The glass shattered as Jonathan took the rocket launcher and fired. The projectile traced the hovercopter's after burner, despite its vain attempts to escape. It exploded, the two dumb fire missile pods going off and blowing tow holes in the top of the building as the hovercopter itself crashed into the side of the building. Jonathan dived out of the way out of the explosion and spotted a nearby elevator shaft. He wrenched the doors open, and saw the elevator coming down. He spotted a couple of magazines for the Eagle and leapt on top of the elevator.
A terrorist popped out of an open door. Jonathan finished him and reloaded his pistol. Another came rappelling down, at the right. Jonathan finished him and saw another two up at the top. One of them dropped something onto the elevator car. One of the explosives! Jonathan knew there was no way to disarm it. He shot the magnetic locking system and tossed it into another open door. It hit a terrorist in the head, and exploded.
Jonathan took out another two and did the same thing for another bomb. The two bombers at the top seemed to finally get the hint and put a bomb on the elevator cable. It went off, sending the elevator into a free fall. It stopped shortly at the lobby. Jonathan regarded this as a lucky break and dropped down. Someone up there must still like him!
Four men fired at him, with Dragons. Jonathan fired the Eagle and finished them all, taking a Dragon for himself. He remembered the layout of this place and now there was a large security barrier closing off the entrance to the vault.
Almost in answer to his prayer, Jonathan saw a large mounted cannon nearby. He took it and said grimly "Come to Papa,"
He fired and a brilliant beam of laser light came out, vaporizing the barrier. Jonathan was genuinely impressed. He'd have to ask De Vries where he got this.
Speaking of De Vries, Karl came running out, wielding twin OICW submachine guns. These were extremely advanced, state of the art military weapons that incorporated a high velocity round, average accuracy and a small grenade launcher. Sort of a SuperDragon-lite.
Jonathan fired the laser at Karl, overheating it. The beam merely bounced off Karl's shield.
"Sie werden besser als das machen müssen!" Karl shouted and fired a grenade. Jonathan leapt clear as the laser exploded. He fired the Dragon, Karl's shield now down to a green tinge. It was almost down. The rifle clicked empty and Karl laughed. "Sie machen dieses zu leichte für mich." He said as he let loose another volley of 5.56 mm rounds.
Jonathan found another weapons locker in the security station. He shot out the lock with the Desert Eagle and grabbed a couple of Cyclones, twin MagSec 4s and a couple of grenades. He finished the Eagle magazine on Karl, taking the shield down.
"Glückliche eine Zeit aber es wird nicht dauern!" Karl yelled, firing another grenade followed by a salvo of high fire rounds.
Jonathan fired both of the Cyclones, the 7.25 mm rounds only hitting the Body armor Karl had strapped onto himself. "Sie hätten mich töten sollen, als Sie die Chance gehabt haben." He said, continuing to fire. "Gegen mich, stehen Sie keine Chance."
"We'll see about that," Jonathan said as he returned fire with the MagSec 4 on three-round burst. Two of the shots hit Karl's shoulder. The one he'd taken fire on! He yelled, but then said "Ausgezeichneter Schuss," He let out a fat chuckle. "Und Ihres zuletzt."
Jonathan continued to weave through the blanket of heavy fire Karl was knitting and emptied one MagSec into Karl's unprotected knees. "Schmerzen Sie nur macht mich stärker, Herr Byers!" He screamed as he fired again, two grenades this time. Jonathan primed and tossed one of his own. It landed near Karl, but not close enough for him to be caught in the blast. The shock wave however, knocked him off his feet. As he got back up, Jonathan ran for cover. "Dies ist nicht viel von einem Wettkampf." Karl said as he got up and fired. Or at least, he tried to. His grenades were empty He switched to the rifle rounds and fired.
One of the rounds zipped through Jonathan's shoulder, causing him to cry out and fall to the ground, the last MagSec 4 skittering away on the linoleum. His best chance! Jonathan tried to get up and retrieve it, but Karl turned him over and put a foot on his chest. He leveled one of the OICWs at Jonathan's head and said savagely "Dies ist für meinen Bruder."
Jonathan found a grenade he had clipped to his belt behind his back. He primed it and with a lightning move, wrenched it upwards into Karl's groin. He gasped and doubled over as Jonathan shoved it down his shirt and ran.
Karl scrabbled for it, but it was too late. It was at his belt and he couldn't get it out. With a whisper of "Sheisse," Karl exploded.
Jonathan picked up the other OICW and went forward into the vault entrance. The door was wide open and he spotted a small, dark package nearby. He recognized it immediately. It was a small, homemade EMP bomb, probably used for the electromagnetic seal. He had ferreted some idiot out of one just last month.
Jonathan sat for a moment. How many were left? De Vries, the whiz kid Perro, the two bombers and maybe four others. Eight left! Not too bad. He had spent over four hours in hell now.
He went into the dark passageway of the vault and crept around the halls. He saw the two men who had been dropping bombs on his in the elevator shaft creep around the next corner. He followed them, listening to what they were saying.
"Karl's dead." One of them said. "The intruder's probably here somewhere."
"We'll have to go ahead as planned." He heard De Vries say. "Perro, you go up and get the truck ready. Get the cloaking device online too. We'll be up shortly."
Jonathan had heard enough. He crept away and saw a large plexiglass wall. On the other side he saw several large and menacing nuclear missiles. He stood there for a little while, in awe of the terrible beauty of one of the most destructive weapons on the face of the earth.
"Warning." A computer voice called. "Nuclear missile activation. Target is Washington, DC. Silo four, unit 12-B"
Jonathan ran across one gangways not too far from the launch pit. This had to be the correct silo. He had to stop that missile and any others.
He never saw De Vries at the gangway drop controls. He pressed a small control stud and Jonathan fell into the launch pit.
"Liftoff in twenty seconds." The computer announced. Jonathan spotted a small fireproof bunker nearby where he would be safe. He ducked into it as the ten second countdown began. The fireproofed door closed, hopefully giving him adequate protection against the hell he would soon be engulfed in by the rocket engines.
Jonathan had found more ammunition for the OICW in a small plastic box as well as another magnum. He shoved it into his waistband and opened the doors when he heard the rocket far away.
Two men swarmed in as De Vries rode in on a small lift in a plexiglass cylinder in the center of the room.
Jonathan finished one as De Vries called "It's hopeless, Byers! Give it up!"
"Yeah, that's what you think." Jonathon said as he finished the other man. He fired at De Vries, but the glass was bulletproofed. He smirked. "How does it feel to be beaten, 009?" The reporter had even given Jonathan's agent number out.
"You're about to find out, De Vries." Jonathan sneered as another launch announcement came.
"Warning. Nuclear missile activation. Target is Moscow, USSR. Silo four, unit 12-C."
De Vries was planning a rocket attack on both of the nations! The telemetry tower atop the building would probably change the trajectory of the rockets, each nation thinking the other did it. A tidy little Word War!
"Liftoff in twenty seconds." Jonathan ducked into the next bunker, no ammo this time. His OICW was now empty, so all he had was the magnum.
The rocket took off, and Jonathan came out. He blasted the four men that came out this time, taking cover behind a small wall.
"Damn you, Byers." De Vries said as the lift began to rise. Jonathan grabbed onto the underside of it and rode up with it, his shoulder and rib protesting with the strain.
"Warning." The computer said. "Nuclear missile activation. Target is Chesluk Industries, Los Angeles. Silo 4, unit 12-D."
Of course! No evidence. De Vries and his merry men would get away before it hit and fight in the war that would occur. He had stop De Vries and the launches.
As the lift stopped, Jonathan shot the lock off the trap door and followed De Vries onto a catwalk.
De Vries drew his USP and fired, the shot missing. Jonathan wrenched the gun from him, his adrenaline giving him an edge. De Vries grabbed Jonathan's arm, kneed Jonathan in the stomach and sent him twirling. Jonathan hit a railing, that prevented him from going over the edge and helped with the rebound.
De Vries came hard into Jonathan, knocking both men over the edge onto another cat walk. Jonathan held onto the railing, De Vries clutching his feet. Jonathan kicked him several times in the face, finally sending him falling into the launch pit. De Vries landed just as the rocket engines ignited, incinerating De Vries.
Jonathan ducked into a control booth as the rocket took off. Now, the rockets! He had to stop them. The computer gave a live update on the rockets' progress. "Time to target one, to minutes. Time to target two, three minutes. Time to target three, one minute."
Jonathan looked hard for the destruct button. Forty-five seconds! He selected the first two launches and pressed the destruct button. The computer then said "Missions aborted. Rockets 12-B and 12-C destroyed."
Now for the last one. Jonathan pressed the destruct button for the last one. And with thirty seconds to spare. A yellow light shone that read "Transmission error." No! He didn't have the time for this! Twenty five seconds! Override! Where was the override? Twenty. There! He pressed it. Sending. The message read. Fifteen. Damn you, send the destruct message faster! Ten! No! Nine eight, seven, six five, four, three, two…
Jonathan heard a muted explosion that shook the building.
"Mission aborted. Rocket 12-D destroyed 100 miles above target"
Jonathan breathed a sigh of relief. It was all over now. He went up to the lobby again and exited the building, to a great deal of cheers and applause form the LAPD men and the rescued hostages.
A girl ran up and held him tight. It took him alittle while to realise that it was Heleny. "Ithought that I'd lost you, Jon." She sobbed.
Jonathan squeezed her back, his shoulder twinging. "I thought you had too." He half muttered from how tired he was.
"Hey Ed," a familira voice said. "How ya doin'?"
Jonathan turned to Ryan Townsend in the flesh. "Better now, Ryan." He said. "This was supposed to be a quiet weekend for me too."
"Well if this is quiet, I'd hate to see what a loud one is." Townsend said. Jonathan laughed, a good natural laugh.
…
(End flashback.)
"Well, there you have it." Jonathan said. "The other guy Perro was arrested and is still serving his time." He sighed. The candle in the center of the table was starting to burn low. "I haven't told anyone about this except Carrington when I made my official report."
Joanna took his hand. "Jonathan, I didn't know." She said softly to comfort him. "That could not have been easy. Those were professionals. You were very lucky, you know?"
"Yeah," Jonathan said. "Thanks for listening, Jo."
Joanna smiled. "That's what I'm here for." She smiled
…
when they returned to the hotel, Joanna went to sleep almost immediately. Jonathan however, stayed out on the balcony, looking at the austere skyscraper he had saved so many years ago.
He had a bad feeling about this…
End of chapter.
Whew! That was tough. I didn't have too much time a day to wirte this is, so I hope you understand. Anyway, review please!