Three
8:27 AM
Arcade took a series of deep breaths, pulling the air into the very bottom of her lungs, holding it to the count of four before exhaling. The adrenaline in her system caused her heart rate to soar to better supply her muscles with essential oxygen. But beyond 120 beats per minute, the ability to use find more skills-those that require small muscle movements such as lining up a set of iron sights were greatly reduced. At above 130, those skills are virtually impossible. To the body, such abilities aren't immediately necessary to survival.
Arcade would beg to differ.
By controlling her breathing, Arcade interrupted the normal workings of the autonomic nervous system, effectively putting the brakes on her climbing heart rate. Arcade couldn't override her instincts, but fortunately could manipulate them.
She figured the guy in the lobby wouldn't waste any time in contacting his team, informing them they had been compromised and the target was on the move, heading upstairs. Arcade could get off at any floor, find a window and be gone in a matter of moments, but she needed her effects. If the kill team didn't get to them, the authorities certainly would've. Her passports had stamps of countries and dates, credit card numbers could be traced. The gun would ensure they investigated her thoroughly.
Every piece of documentation was for an alias, but one that she had used before. She took every precaution possible, but there was always a trail to follow for those who knew where to look, and at the end of that trail was the real her. She couldn't allow that to happen.
The elevator passed the first two floors without stopping. Arcade kept her breathing steady. She counted off each long second until the ding.
Arcade was out in the hallway while the doors were still opening, moving fast, heading left toward the stairwell at the end of the corridor, maybe thirty feet from the elevator. Closed.
She didn't need to press her ear against the door to hear two sets of feet leaping up the stairs. They were fit, strong, maybe twenty-ish seconds away. She needed time to secure her things, time she seemingly didn't have. Unless she made it for herself.
A fire axe hung on the wall in its protective case along the corridor. Arcade smashed the glass with her elbow and lifted it from its perch. Returning to the stairwell, he pushed the blade under the door handle, wedging the bottom of the haft on the floor. It was a good fit, sturdy.
There was also a fire extinguisher beneath where she'd taken the axe. Arcade hoisted it up in her left hand and moved back to the elevator. It was still on the 4th floor. She pressed the button to open the doors.
Suddenly the stairwell door shook violently but the handle remained rigid, the axe preventing it from turning regardless of how much strength was applied. They tried again, more forcefully but again the handle didn't budge. After that, there were no more attempts.
Arcade turned her attention back to the elevator. She placed the fire extinguisher between the open doors, leaned inside and pressed the button for the lobby. They closed as far as the extinguisher before retracting and repeating the endless cycle. Arcade estimated she'd bought herself atleast two minutes. She only needed one.
She reached her room without a sound and stood before the door. There could be others waiting for her inside. They'd be alert, ready. She imagined opening it to a firing squad of muzzles, but she had to do this. Standing to the side of the door, she turned around and kicked the door in, then immediately dropping down into a low crouch, reducing her profile, head lower than where center mass would typically be. It took a split second to survey the room, another second to check the en suite bathroom.
Clear.
There were the two in the stairwell, plus the surveillance outside, and possibly others elsewhere in the hotel. They were good, organized. If they were really good, they would've had a sniper.
Jokes on them though, Arcade's view looked out on the edge of Middle Park. She could get a view of the Libertonion from where she stood.
Arcade went into the bathroom and took the lid off the toilet tank, retrieving the ziplock bags within. One contained her passport, plane ticket and credit cards. She removed the items and placed them inside her coat. The second had a loaded Glock 22 within, with an attachable suppressor. It always paid to prepared, Arcade reminded herself. She tore the bag open, took the gun, screwed the suppressor in place and racked the slide back.
An attaché case containing a change of clothes and the rest of her possessions was already packed and sitting on the bed. Arcade grabbed it with her left hand and went, keeping the Glock out of sight down by her right side. She walked briskly down the corridor, alart, away from the stairs and elevator, heading for the fire escape. She would be long gone before they realized what had happened.
She stopped.
If she left, she would leave without knowing nothing about her would-be killers. Whoever had sent them wouldn't just call them off. She was on someone's hit list now. If they had found her so quick, they could do so again. Next time, she might not spot them so quickly, if at all.
They were a numerically superior force, but they lost the initiative. One of the first things she's learned about combat was to never give away the advantage.
Arcade turned around.
They came into her room breathless, guns in hand. One moved to the right of the door, the other stayed to the left. The target's door was ajar, the lock broken. The taller of the two, the more senior, took a second to double-click the send button of the radio transmitter in his inside pocket. A whisper came through his wireless flesh-coloured earpiece.
The assassin made a quick hand signal to his partner and they burst into the room. The first went in fast and low so the second could fire over him if needed be as he followed directly behind. The first man swept the left hand side of the room, the other the right. Maximum speed, aggression and surprise to make anyone inside defensive, stunned, slow to react.
The room was empty. They checked the bathroom—more of the same. While one covered the other, they examined the closet, under the bed, anywhere they might conceal a man, no matter how unlikely. They had been told to be thoroughly, to leave nothing on chance. They checked behind the curtains, and even outside of the window—nothing.
Each room was a mess. The target had obviously fled in a hurry, not hanging around long enough to take all her belongings. Clothes were strewn about on the floor, the bed was unmade, toiletries left by the sink. It was sloppy, unprofessional.
Both men relaxed slightly, breathed a little easier. She was gone. They hid their guns in case anyone came their way. When the elevator had refused to appear, they had no other choice but to run back up the stairs and break down the stairwell door. It hadn't exactly been quiet.
They left the room, pulling the door shut behind them. The more senior of the two lifted his collar and reported into the attached microphone that the target was gone. He was careful with his choice of words, not to imply any mistake on his part. They weren't worried, all of the buildings exits were covered, one of the other team members would spot him and move in—might even be doing so at this very moment. The target was as good as dead. Each of the team members was due a large bonus when the job was complete and they hadn't even had to fire a single shot.
Their boss had told them to be careful, that their target was dangerous, but now the nerves they'd felt seemed misplaced. Their dangerous target had fled at the first chance she had, and now was now someone else's problem. They shared the same thought. Easy money.
Their faced changed when they learned the target hadn't left the building, that none of the others had even reported a visual. The two men looked at each other, their expressions silently echoing the same question.
Where was she?
Arcade stepped away from the spy hole of the door opposite and raised her handgun. She fired, squeezing the trigger 7 times in rapid succession, emptying the magazine of roughly half of it's capacity. The hotel door was thick, solid pine, but the .40 S&W rounds inside the Glock penetrated with just enough energy to cut through it with barely any loss in velocity.
Lowering the handgun, Arcade heard two heavy objects hit the carpet, one thud after another.
The door creaked in front of her. She'd kept it shut with her foot, having broken the lock to gain entry. She pulled it open with her left hand and stepped into the hallway. In front of her, the first man was slumped on the floor, propped up against the door frame of Arcade's room, head hung forward, and blood running from the mouth and collecting into a pool on the carpet. Apart from a twitching left foot, he made no movement.
The other was still alive, lying face down on the floor, making a quiet gurgling noise. He'd been hit several time-in the gut, chest, and neck where the ruptured carotid artery sprayed against the wall with a long, bright red crimson arc. He was trying to crawl away, his mouth open as if screaming for help but making no sound.
Arcade ignored him and reached inside the dead man's jacket, searching unsuccessfully for a wallet. He went to take the man's radio receiver, but it was in pieces, a bullet having passed straight through on the way to his heart. In a shoulder holster, Arcade found a Vom Feuer AP Pistol, with two spare magazines in a pocket. The AP Pistol was a classic, reliable weapon with a 16-round magazine but at the same time it was a heavy, bulky handgun that, even with an attached suppressor, was impossible to conceal completely. With subsonic ammunition being non-existent for the gun since it used its own proprietary armor piercing round, it wasn't exactly ideal for a wet work operation like the one they were in now. If the guy wasn't already dead, Arcade might have shot him again.
The AP Pistol normally wouldn't have been her preference but at times like this where there was no such thing as too many guns. Arcade took the handgun and tucked it into the back of her pants, the grip supported by the waistband, the suppressor running down her coccyx. The body jerked suddenly, perhaps some muscle spasm and tipped forward. The jaw fell open and a cascade of collected blood poured out, followed by half of a bitten-through tongue flopping onto the carpet. Arcade raised her hand towards her nose and turned her attention to the one who wasn't dead, yet.
He stopped crawling when Arcade's heel pressed down between his shoulder blades. Arcade rolled the man onto his back and squatted down next to him, pushing the Glock's suppressor hard into the man's cheek. He forced his head to one side to keep the violent arterial spray directed at the wall and away from herself. Where it hit, the pressurized blood tore at the floral paper.
The man was trying to speak but could only manage a wheezing exhale. The bullet lodged in his neck had ripped through his larynx, and he could only make the most basic of sounds. He tugged at Arcade's coat sleeve, trying to claw at her, not giving up the fight despite his inevitable fate. Arcade respected his perseverance.
Like his partner, he was also armed with an AP Pistol and equipped with a radio and earpiece. Arcade grabbed his AP Pistol and pressed down on the mag release to eject the magazine, then proceeded to rack the slide back to chamber out the round. Once that was done, she checked the rest of his pocket. They were empty except for a few sticks of chewing gum, more spare mags and a crumpled receipt. She took the gum and the recept, seeing it was for half a dozen coffees and discarded it. Arcade unwrapped one of the sticks of gum and folded it into her mouth. Peppermint, she nodded her approval.
"Thanks."
She shook off the hand and moved towards the stairwell to check for others. No sign of any more assassins but voices carried up from below, female, complaining about the elevator. Arcade made her way down the corridor, careful to avoid the darkening stains on the carpet and moved the fire extinguisher from between the elevator doors. She stepped inside and pressed the button for the lobby. She'd left some of her belongings in the room, but she wasn't concerned. The toiletries were brand-new, the clothes hadn't been worn yet, and everything that had been handled would be free from fingerprints thanks to the silicone solution on her hands.
As the elevator doors closed shut, Arcade was greeted to her reflection. She took a moment to straighten her appearance. In her current surroundings, if he looked anything but presentable, she would be noted. As the hum started, she heard a faint scream. Someone had just gotten something of a surprise.
What a mess.