PART TWO: TO HELL AND BACK

Chapter Nine: Falling on Blind Eyes

They'd had their orders just ten minutes ago. Luther's pretty young receptionist, pulling in some overtime to keep her boss' coffee warmed up whilst he chattered with the boss, had been threatened by some nut job with a Desert Eagle. She was a little shaken up, and right now she was down in the staffroom hurling up, but she hadn't had to see the mess I'd left in the lobby or scattered all over the building.

No, that had been bad.

Now they had me cornered in Luther's office. I'd torn my way through the building like a demon, but I was trapped like a rat now, and I'd probably die like one.

There were six men outside Luther's office, all well-armed and ready. Professionals. All toting automatics. Stepping out there would be like walking into a wall of lead. I slammed a clip into my Desert Eagle, got sharp and leapt out into the foyer.

Bullets rained down so hard on me that the door behind was blown inwards, splinters of wood raining down around me as I hit the receptionist's desk. They whistled past my face like hail.

I pushed my back up against the desk, leaned around the side, and let off two quick shots. One security guard slumped to the floor as his chest caved in, a look of foul revulsion spreading off his face. Another winced as a bullet grazed past his leg.

As I watched a volley of bullets tore past the space I'd occupied just seconds ago, leaving gaping black holes in the steel walls. I took a deep breath, stood up and pumped three bullets into the nearest guard before rolling to the side. He jittered violently and fell backwards. Falling down, I let loose another shot. It blew out another's eyeball and he stumbled around screaming for a few seconds before falling dead.

Still three more to go, I thought grimly. They were spreading apart now, surrounding me like hunters cornering prey. Only one thing for it. A decoy.

I reached into my pocket and took out my Beretta. Checked the socket. Empty. As the footsteps drew closer, I threw it hard to my right, where it hit the floor with a loud thud like gunfire. The guards opened fire on the empty space, making the mistake that would end their lives.

I leapt out from the left, shooting the nearest guard in the back. He collapsed forward on to his friend, who spun around just too late to avoid another bullet to the face. The final goon managed to get a few shots out, causing me to roll aside and shoot him in the groin. He screamed, collapsed and rolled on the floor.

I stood over him like a demon, my gun pointed down over his quivering body.

"Luther," I asked. "Where is he?"

"Upstairs," the goon choked. "In the boss' office. The lobby, I think. Please, god, kill me. KILL me!"

I obliged him, ending his agony with a shot to the head.

Above me a camera watched the carnage, as cold as ever, but I knew full well that on the other end of it Simon Grant was watching in horror as I stepped over the smoking remnants of his loyal guard. He knew that once I'd finished with Luther, it would be his turn next. And he'd feel the pain. Lots of it.

I walked towards the staircase that led up to Grant's office, two huge storeys, the brains of AvaMed. Choked back a few painkillers on the stairs. The pain in my chest was flaring up again, harsh as brimstone. I needed it gone. I was about to face Mack Luther.

His voice was audible even as I stepped out on to the luxurious laminate flooring of Grant's secretary's office, a huge, warmly-lit room with priceless paintings and sculptures dotted around. Large bay windows, sealed behind horizontal blinds, looked out on the city. In the centre of the room, sat on one of the benches that surrounded a smaller version of the lobby statue – the snake and the syringe – was Mack Luther.

"Sorry, honey, I've got a busy night ahead of me…" he said into his cell-phone. "We're doing a deal here that'll make us the biggest pharmaceutical corporation on the East Coast… Oh yeah, baby-doll, I've got the President as my bitch now. You want some rag-head country invaded, I can do it… That's right, baby. I'm your big man."

He burst out laughing, like something from a Vincent Price movie. I stepped into position.

"Okay, honey, I'll see you later… no, she doesn't know a thing. This is our little secret, sweetheart. Keep up for me."

I raised my gun. "Your wife?" I asked, nonchalantly.

He flinched so hard that he almost fell off his seat. He'd suddenly gone very pale.

"You!" he cried weakly. "You're dead! What are you… you're dead!"

"Just keep telling yourself that," I replied. "Afraid the boys downstairs might disagree with you, if they were still capable of speech."

"Oh god," he moaned. "Please, no."

"Where's the vaccine, Luther?"

"Grant's office. Above us. Listen, I was only doing what I was told. Just following orders. It was Grant. It was his idea. Listen… please."

I frowned and flipped off the safety. "You should have spared the big willy talk on the phone back there. You should have been saying your goodbyes."

"Please…" he begged, almost in tears. They fell on blind eyes. "I have a wife and kids. You wouldn't kill me in cold blood, would you?"

"And who was that on the phone? Your loving wife? You've gone too far this time, Luther. I bet you didn't think twice about all those other guys with wives and kids whose lives you happily signed away. I guess they didn't matter as much to a man as important as yourself, huh?"

Luther stared at the floor. Then he looked up at me, his eyes glistening. "Make it quick, then," he balked.

I did. A single shot to the heart.

He winced, fighting for breath, clutching at his chest, and collapsed on to the floor, He shuddered once and then lay still, blood pooling around him.

I stepped away from the body, walking towards the short staircase at the end of the room.

Just one more thing left to take care of: Simon Grant.

To be continued…