The Chase
Russia, just outside of Aldan; Sunday, June 12, 1:53 P.M.…
There was a light click! The handle of the hose jolted slightly in its place, signifying that the tank was full. Murray grabbed it and squeezed on the handle, lifting it out of the hole and placing it back in its holster alongside the gas pump. Closing the lid on the side of the van, he turned around, his heel pivoting on the loose gravel, as he turned towards the small store adjacent to the gas pumps. As he paid the man at the counter for the gas, his friend slipped out behind him, unnoticed by the short goat as he walked right out with several items hidden in his trench coat. After the money and its change were exchanged, Murray nodded and headed back out the door towards the van.
As he slipped into the driver's seat and pulled the door closed, he glanced over at Sly in the passenger's seat. He reached into his coat and pulled out one of the items: A can of Red Bull.
"Nice!" Murray said as he took it casually out of Sly's hand.
"Eh, couldn't resist going back to the old tricks just for a little bit. Again, technically I'm on leave, not official business."
"Good to have you back, pal." Murray replied as he sped off. "Plus, having that badge of yours really helped us to get those guns past security without a problem. If only you could be a thief and have that badge at the same time…"
"If only." Sly echoed.
The van slowly pulled out away from the gas pumps, heading out onto the desolate mountain trail and entering a tunnel. There was a long, echoing roar as they sped through the small tunnel. They eventually emerged on the other side into the bright daylight once more.
Sly turned around to face the other two occupants of the van, sitting in the back.
"Any luck, Bentley?"
"The live satellite images aren't showing any signs of malfunction; they're working fine."
"So? What's the problem?" Sly's impatience was reflected in his voice.
"Well, see, when I try to zoom in on this particular area – where the Volcano itself is and the entire surrounding area – it shows just a gray cover. A virtual fog, if you will. It's a special kind of censor that's given off by a particular device that instantly clouds any satellite's view of a given area. So, when I try to get a close enough look at the area around the Volcano…it comes up blank. Just a plain, gray sheet."
"Sounds suspicious enough to me. When we're about three miles away from it, we'll stop in the woods surrounding it and do some reconnaissance. Clearly, something's there that somebody doesn't want anyone else to see."
"They're waiting for us." Sly muttered. "Well, we'll give them a surprise, alright."
"Now hold on, Sly. We can't just go charging in like a bunch of commandos. We have to have a strategy…"
And so, the van sped off down the empty, rugged mountain road, with a full tank of gas. The ensuing debate between Sly and Bentley kept the four other occupants of the van distracted from much of their surroundings, save for Murray, who had his eyes on the road and his ears on the conversation.
Thus, the four of them were completely unaware of the familiar blue aircraft slowly lifting off from its perch in a hollowed-out cave several dozen stories above the lone gas station, its single occupant observing them carefully through a pair of high-definition binoculars. It hovered lightly over the road, waiting for them to turn a massive corner before it immediately sped forward. The pilot used this brief pause to load up his Uzi before he took hold of the controls again and began pursuing them.
"Look, all I'm saying is that, while these three guns that we have are powerful, they won't be nearly enough! What if they've got a whole army waiting inside? The most state-of-the-art weapons in the world? We have to assume that they're armed and ready for intruders."
"Perhaps they're ready for regular intruders…intruders bursting in with guns blazing. But not a subtle, sneaky attack."
"What are you saying?"
"I'm saying that we use a different strategy. Some rather unusual method of attacking. All after we do some good reconnaissance work first."
"I agree with that. We'll need to get a good visual on our enemy before we come up with a plan."
"At this rate, we'll be there in no time." Murray informed the others. "We're all alone on this road. No traffic, no accidents, no nothing."
"Um…I don't think we're completely alone." Penelope replied.
"What do you mean?" Murray asked.
All heads turned to Penelope, who was standing at the back of the van, peering through one of the windows in the rear door.
"There's some kind of helicopter back there…and if I'm not mistaken, I think it's following us."
Bentley wheeled back to join her and looked through the other window, while Sly leaned out the passenger-side window and looked as well.
Sure enough, there was a small, light blue helicopter hovering in the distance, gaining ground on them fast.
"How can you be sure that it's following us?" Murray asked, glancing in the rearview mirror.
"It's gaining fast." Bentley replied. "And I didn't notice it before. It's only just started following us."
"It could just be a tourist helicopter, or an army helicopter, or something…" Murray started to contradict.
However, Sly, who had already pulled out his bino-cu-com and was looking through it, zooming in on the rapidly-approaching craft.
Once he got a good look, his eyes widened and he slowly lowered the bino-cu-com.
"Uh…guys…? That's certainly not a tourist helicopter or an army helicopter."
"What do you mean?" Murray asked. Bentley also turned to Sly, while Penelope continued keeping an eye on it.
"I've seen that helicopter before. That same size…that same color…the large yellow star on the side; the logo of Interpol."
"Oh, no…" Bentley said as he first got the implication.
"Wait, you're joking, right?" Murray asked. "It couldn't be…"
"What is it?" Penelope asked.
"That's Carmelita's helicopter. Remember? It was never found after her death. It was stolen. And now here it is again."
"Oh, dear…"
"It has to be him! Sly, can you get a good look at the pilot?" Bentley quickly asked.
"I didn't need to. I know that it's him. Against all odds, it has to be. It's the man from LA." Sly's eyebrows furrowed, and he glared hard as he spit out the next words. "And the helicopter being in his possession just proves, once and for all, that he is the man who killed Carmelita." His grip on the bino-cu-com tightened, and his knuckles were white.
"But he was in that truck when the train hit it! …Wasn't he?"
"We never did stay in the vicinity to watch, Murray. In retrospect, driving away long before the train hit probably wasn't the best idea…" Bentley reflected.
"Well, never mind that now." Sly shot back, cutting Bentley off. "That was before, this is now. We need to fight back. Murray, where are the guns?"
"In the back, underneath the big computer."
Sly unbuckled his seat belt and jumped over the seat into the back of the van. He ducked underneath the large console, and saw the two larger guns lined up underneath it.
"They're both locked, loaded, and ready to go, Sly. There's some more ammo in the glove compartment."
"Alright, I'll take the rifle and my own pistol. Murray, we might need that shotgun. And like Moe said, you're the only one who can shoot it."
"But…who'll drive? Bentley can't do it…"
"That leaves only one." Sly glanced at Penelope as he turned the Ruger's safety off.
"I…I don't know if I'm up to it…"
"Penelope, you're the only one who can do it. Would you rather be firing guns at the helicopter?"
"Oh, no. I'll drive."
"Atta girl." Murray encouraged. "Don't worry, it's easy. Just focus on the road, and let me and Sly handle the rest."
"Wait! What can I do?"
"Well…you still have your grapple-cam?" Sly asked.
"As always."
"Does it still have the turret attached?"
"As always." Bentley repeated.
"Toss it to me. I'll attach it to the roof of the van, and you can help us shoot at him."
Bentley pulled the small device out from a secret compartment in his wheelchair and threw it to Sly, who caught it. As he started to climb over the seat, he continued. "I'll put it under the satellite dish so it'll have some cover."
Bentley's eyes widened. "Whoa! Wait a minute! I don't want the dish damaged, do you hear me? That dish is-."
"Would you rather have the entire van shot up and destroyed?"
When Bentley closed his mouth and hung his head, Sly wordlessly leaned halfway out the window, stretching his arm up to securely attach the small device to the metal roof of the van, directly at the base of the massive radar dish, making sure that the turret was facing behind them towards their pursuer.
Just as Sly attached it and started to retreat back into the van, he could hear the sound of rapid-fire from a firearm. He threw himself back inside just as he heard the familiar sound of bullets ricocheting off of the metal roof of the van.
"Yep, he's after us, alright. Bentley, aim the turret and prepare to fire! Wait for my signal!"
By now, Murray and Penelope had managed to switch seats, with the former strapping herself into the driver's seat and taking the wheel.
Bentley wheeled up behind her, took her by the shoulder, and muttered, "Good thing that I know how to drive one of these things. Trust me; if I could learn how to do it all by myself, then you can, too."
Even amidst the dangerous situation, Penelope couldn't help but smile at this comment.
"Bentley! Let's go!"
Sly and Murray positioned themselves at the back of the van, while Bentley remained safer closer to the front, wedged between the massive computer console and the seats. He pressed a button on the left armrest of his chair, causing a thin metal appendage to instantly rise up from a hidden chamber, with his bino-cu-com attached to the end of it. At the same time, his keyboard deployed from the right armrest directly over his lap, and his hands moved into position as he placed his eyes against the viewfinder. He could now see what the grapple-cam was seeing, and carefully aimed the turret directly at the attacker. He could now see a faint orange blast on one side of the helicopter; the muzzle flash from the Uzi that the pilot was holding out the window.
"Ready?" Sly asked.
"Ready!" Murray confirmed.
"Ready!" Bentley repeated.
"OK, Bentley! Shoot at him with your grapple-cam first! The return fire should distract him long enough for me and Murray to open one of the doors and safely get some shots off on him too."
"Roger!"
Bentley aimed the turret once again after a pothole threw off the initial aim, took a deep breath, and pressed the fire button, holding it down. Shot after shot pelted the helicopter, striking the metal directly underneath the windshield. Just as Sly hoped, the orange flare vanished as the Uzi was retracted back into the cockpit.
"Clear!" Bentley yelled.
"OK! Open fire!"
Murray kicked open the rear right door and aimed his shotgun out of it. Sly leaned out from behind the still-closed door next to it with his rifle ready. Both started unloading bullets onto the helicopter, the loud sounds prompting both Bentley and Penelope to briefly cover their ears before the latter had to put her hands back on the wheel to recover from a nearby bend.
After Sly finished off his first ten-shot clip and Murray finished off six shots, both retreated behind the other door, while Murray closed the open one just as the Uzi gunfire started up again.
"Reload!" Sly commanded before he obeyed his own order, pulling out the second clip and locking it in, cocking the gun once.
"You know what? Moe was right. This thing does have no recoil." Sly commented. "As a matter of fact…"
Sly then took the rifle in one hand, placing the butt of it against his shoulder and firmly grasping the trigger guard with his right hand while his left hand reached for the pistol in his holster. He pulled it out and flicked the revolving chamber open.
"Pistol's full." He flicked the chamber closed in the same manner, then turned to Murray.
"You ever heard the phrase 'Two heads are better than one'?"
"Yeah." Murray answered as he reloaded the Browning.
Sly cracked a smile. "Well, in this case, two guns are better than one!"
"Hell, yeah!" Murray agreed, raising his own shotgun and cocking it dramatically. Then the rapid-fire stopped again. "Let's kick some ass!"
Murray kicked open the door, and Sly jumped into position. All three guns were trained on the helicopter, as was Bentley's grapple-cam.
"FIRE! Bentley, you too!"
At that moment, all four guns started unleashing on the helicopter once again. Murray's shotgun, Sly's rifle, Sly's pistol, and Bentley's grapple-cam. Four different weapons all unloading onto the same target. However, this time, that didn't stop the assailant. He stuck the Uzi out the window and fired down amidst the hail of bullets.
The sound of ricocheting bullets was clear and close, startling Sly into jumping back behind the closed door. Murray fired off two more shots before one bullet ricocheted on the inside wall of the van, inches from his head. He yelped and dove behind the closed door next to Sly. Bentley continued firing at the helicopter.
At that moment, Penelope yelled, "Hang on!" as she turned on a sharp bend, the long fall down the cliff wall directly in front of them right before she turned away. Sly and Murray slid briefly to the side as the van swerved hard, and Bentley wheeled backwards against the wall with a slight impact. Almost immediately, the rising wall of rock behind them covered the helicopter, briefly giving them a breath from the fight. Murray reached out and closed the door once again.
"Phew!" Bentley exclaimed. "We sure got him that time, didn't we?"
"Obviously, it's not gonna be enough to stop him." Sly replied grimly as he placed a third clip into his Ruger.
"What do you mean?"
"Well, first of all, this guy survived being in a police car that had an explosion right under it, flipping it over, and sliding along a freeway upside-down. Second, he survived being in a big rig with a tank of gasoline that was hit by a train at a railroad crossing. Clearly, he's got as much durability as the Terminator. Second, that's an Interpol helicopter that's made for situations like this. I speak from experience, on both sides of the law. That thing is built with reinforced bulletproof steel, and the windshield is also bulletproof Plexiglas."
"What? Why didn't you tell us that before?" Bentley inquired loudly. "We wasted all of those shots for nothing?"
"Not for nothing. His arm was sticking out the side window. We could've hit his hand and knocked the Uzi out. Just because it's reinforced doesn't mean he's invincible. We just need to get him through an opening in the window or windshield, such as his arm leaning out to shoot at us."
"OK, so how are we gonna do that?"
Before Sly, or anyone else, could respond, the helicopter suddenly appeared behind them again from around the corner.
"There he is! Time for round three! Murray!"
"Clear!"
Murray kicked open the door, and he and Sly began firing again, Sly with his two weapons and Murray with his one. The Uzi responded, and there was a simultaneous exchange of gunfire from both sides.
In the exchange, a single bullet from Sly's pistol finally grazed his arm, and he shook briefly before yanking his arm back into the cockpit. Without even setting the Uzi down, he looked at his arm, and realized that the bullet hadn't even come into contact with his skin, but had simply sliced a hole in his sleeve. Unfazed, he stuck the weapon back out the window and continued firing.
As Penelope rounded another turn, Bentley swiveled the grapple-cam around once more. Sly and Murray dove back behind the closed door, and the open door swung around, almost closing once, then opening back up again.
Eventually, the gunfire stopped once more as both sides started to reload.
"Guys! This isn't working!" Bentley declared. "It's useless! We can't hit him! He's just too far away!"
"It's just like LA." Sly mused. "We're gonna have to get him closer."
"Closer? Are you crazy?"
Sly looked up from placing in the fourth clip and glared at Bentley.
"You got any better suggestions? Penelope, slow down a bit. Just a bit, and stay focused on the road and the road only!"
"OK!"
The van's speed slowly started to drop, and the helicopter drew closer. Now they could more distinctly see the windshield, with multiple cracks in it from the bullets, and they could barely see the shape of the pilot inside through the cracked glass.
Sly finished locking and loading, as did Murray.
"Ready! Aim! Fire!"
Both started unloading again, this time close enough to see new cracks forming in the windshield, clearly starting to damage it and make visibility through it much more obscure.
The Uzi fired relentlessly, this time making waves over the back doors, and along the roof of the van. Several shots struck the satellite dish, sending a shower of sparks raining down off the roof of the van and onto the road behind it, also causing it to stop spinning.
Bentley noticed the destruction of the satellite both through the view of his grapple-cam and the shower of sparks, which also caused Murray and Sly to retreat.
"MY SATELLITE DISH! HE DESTROYED MY SATELLITE DISH!"
Another wave of gunfire assaulted the van, tearing up the dish even further and barely missing the grapple-cam.
"THAT'S IT!"
Bentley started unleashing a long, uninterrupted line of gunfire from the grapple-cam, not letting up in the slightest. The bullets bounced off of the metal and glass on the front of helicopter.
"Penelope!" Sly yelled across the van. "Slow it down further! We need to bring him closer!"
"Got it!"
The van's speed dropped even more, now down in between 50 and 55 mph.
"That's good!"
The helicopter was approaching fast, the Uzi still firing away.
"How much ammo does he freakin' have?" Murray asked in an obviously annoyed tone.
"He's got to run out eventually…and so do we." Sly realized.
He turned to Bentley. "Bentley, this isn't working! At this rate, we'll waste all of our ammo. I'm already on my last clip for the rifle."
"Well, what do we do? We know for a fact that he's not gonna give up!"
"I think I've already got an idea. Your grapple-cam!"
"What else can it do?"
"It's a grapple-cam, isn't it?"
"…You can't be serious."
"It's all we've got left. If it can get close enough before he notices, you can open up a good amount of point-blank shots on him!"
"But we'd have to get him really close to the van! And I mean really close!"
"Done! Penelope, slow down even more! We want him right on our tail!"
As the speed dropped below 50, and Penelope rounded one sharp turn followed by another, Sly finished inserting his fifth and final clip.
"Alright Bentley, you ready?"
"This is the only grapple-cam I have left, so this needs to be just right! I won't have time for a second chance."
"That's fine. And if he notices you and starts shooting, use the self-destruct feature."
"OK."
Just then, the gunfire resumed. Murray had barely managed to close the door before the bullets peppered the back and roof of the van, tearing up the ruined satellite dish even further and also taking out one of the rear windows.
"My van can't take much more of this!" Murray yelled.
"Wait for it…"
Another wave. The satellite dish had holes all over, and the glass shards were scattered at Sly and Murray's feet.
"Wait for it…"
They rounded another bend, the helicopter still pursuing them, and the firing stopped.
"Bentley! Now!"
Bentley aimed the grapple-cam at the helicopter, now probably only 20 to 25 feet away from them. He could clearly see the pilot unloading the empty magazine and placing in the new one.
"Go for the landing strut! The landing strut!"
"I've got it, I've got it!"
Easy…easy…
"Bentley!"
"It's away!"
The hook shot out of the grapple-cam, whizzing out over the rushing road beneath them and eventually clasping firmly onto the thin metal strut beneath the helicopter. Bentley pressed the second button, and the grapple-cam instantly started to pull itself along the rope, instantly detaching from the van and flying straight up to the helicopter before landing securely on the strut.
Bentley paused, listened over the grapple-cam's microphone. He could faintly hear the clicking of the magazine being inserted into the Uzi. Then, suddenly, another burst of gunfire, now sounding both in real life and over the microphone. This caused Bentley to briefly recoil from the blasting volume. But at the same time, he breathed a sigh of relief.
"OK, Sly! It's attached! He's firing, but not at it. So hasn't seen it yet!" Bentley reported as Sly and Murray shot back at him once again. "Do you want me to start shooting at him now, while he's close, vulnerable, and distracted?"
Sly, after finishing his fifth clip and retreating behind the door, looked back at Bentley to respond. He started to open his mouth, then stopped.
As Sly turned back to Bentley, he happened to glance past Bentley, over the seat, past Penelope, and through the windshield. Something ahead in the road caught his eye.
A tunnel.
Sly's eyes widened, and the light bulb went off in his head.
"Hang on, Bentley. Don't fire yet." Sly stood up, placing the rifle down on the floor of the van and replacing his pistol to his holster.
"What? Why?"
"I think I've got an idea." Sly raced back up to the front and stopped just behind Penelope.
"Penelope, see that tunnel up there?"
"Yeah."
"When you go through it, floor it. Go as fast as you can."
"Um, OK…"
As Penelope turned to look at the road and quickly-approaching tunnel again, Sly reached over the seat and grabbed his bino-cu-com. Placing it to his eyes, he zoomed in on the distant tunnel. It was a long, dark stretch of tunnel with only one dim, orange light on the ceiling at the halfway mark. It was situated at the base of a massive wall of rock that stretched up higher than the windshield could allow. But just at the other end, he could barely make it out: A massive rock wall just beyond the end of the tunnel, where a sharp bend was.
"Oh, yeah. I've definitely got an idea."
Sly eagerly dropped the bino-cu-com and turned around, heading back to Murray, who was still firing away with his shotgun.
"I hope you know what you're doing, Sly!" Bentley yelled as he ran past him.
"Trust me, I do."
He then put a hand on Murray's shoulder.
"Murray, get ready to retreat. We're heading into a tunnel. Let him shoot at us all he wants. He's got a spotlight that'll give him better visibility. We won't have much visibility in there, and his light could blind us from being able to fire clearly at him."
"Got it!"
"Once we enter the tunnel, he's sure to stop firing; either to reload or to switch on the spotlight. When he does, close that door and find a safe place to hide so that he can't shoot at you through the windows."
"Yeah, OK."
As Murray finished off the last few rounds, Sly headed back to the front seat and looked through the windshield. The tunnel was rapidly approaching, now only about 100 feet away.
"OK, Penelope; floor it!"
Penelope sped up, and the speed quickly increased from 45 up to 65 in a matter of seconds, and still rising. In an instant, they were in the tunnel, darkness surrounding them.
The firing from the helicopter ceased abruptly, and the helicopter lowered down, moving dangerously close to the road, and barely managing to fit through the opening of the tunnel. The chopping of the rotors echoed off the walls and reverberated through the four occupants of the van. But the gunfire had ceased.
"He's stopped! Murray, close the door!"
Murray reached out, grabbed the door, and pulled it shut. He stepped back and crouched down just behind it, kneeling down on the metal floor and carefully placing his shotgun at his feet. He then remembered something. He quickly picked it up, flipped it over, and switched the safety on. He set it down again and moved back against the wall of the van.
"Alright. The light should come on right about…"
Just then, a massive beam of light shot out behind them, splitting clean in two as it beamed through the rear windows, illuminating some of the interior of the van. After a moment, the gunfire resumed.
"OK, he's firing! Penelope, there's a bend at the end of the tunnel. Slow down some and be ready for a really sharp and last-minute turn!"
"You got it, Sly!"
"Bentley!" Sly turned to Bentley. "When I give the command, aim up through the opening and start shooting at him."
"Right."
"And, at one point while you're shooting, I'm gonna give you the command to activate the self-destruct. Regardless of whether or not he's seen you or starts firing back, I want you to do it."
"OK!"
The shooting continued relentlessly. For what seemed like an eternity, the four of them all sat there, ducking defensively as the stream of bullets consistently tore away at the van.
Then, there was a brief flash of orange from above as they raced under the single light.
"Alright, we're at the halfway point! Get ready!"
It was another long stretch of tunnel as they started the second half. Bentley had his eyes glued to the viewfinder of the grapple-cam, watching the Uzi fire away directly above his device. Murray had his eyes locked on one of the rear windows, at the helicopter behind them. Penelope and Sly were focused on the road ahead of them.
"Bentley, NOW!"
Without a word, Bentley started firing the grapple-cam again, catching him completely off-guard.
All that he heard was the sudden sound of bullets ricocheting off of metal dangerously close to him, some outside and some inside. But he saw no weapons aiming at him from the van he was pursuing. Instinctively, he yanked his arm back inside the cockpit, but in the process slammed the Uzi's barrel against the side of the helicopter. At the same instant, he felt the impact of a bullet on the handle of the Uzi, just below where his hand gripped it. Before he had time to reconsider his decision, he dropped the weapon and pulled his hand back inside. He grasped the wheel with his now-free hand, struggling to recover from the temporary distraction and stay away from the ceiling, floor, and walls of the tunnel. He swerved to the side briefly, but recovered. The gunfire continued. He looked to his left, outside the open window, and saw numerous flashes just beneath the opening. Somehow, they had attached a firearm to the side of his helicopter.
The darkness slowly started to give way as the opening approached.
"OK, he's retreated!" Bentley reported. "And he dropped the Uzi!"
"YES!" Murray cheered.
"OK, Bentley. Get ready to use the self-destruct now!"
The end of the tunnel loomed ahead, now barely 50 yards ahead.
"Wait for it…wait for it…"
The streaks of bullets continued just outside the cockpit. He looked to the right, where his two other weapons – the Springfield and the Mossberg – were laid across the passenger's seat. He grabbed the Springfield and cocked it, already full loaded. He stretched it out the window and aimed it down at the source of the bullets, preparing to fire.
Just then, the van emerged from the tunnel and into daylight once again.
"Bentley, blow it up now!"
Bentley released the firing button and held down the red self-destruct button. Over the viewfinder, the grapple-cam's POV started to flash red, and a light beeping sound could be heard. Then, suddenly, a long, thick black firearm emerged from the window. A shotgun. It then aimed down, barrel pointed directly at the grapple-cam.
Just then, the grapple-cam exploded. The helicopter had also just reached the end of the tunnel when the fairly large explosion appeared, completely engulfing the side of the helicopter and causing the stunned pilot to drop the shotgun as the blast caught him off-guard.
The helicopter emerged from the dark tunnel, and the pilot, still recovering from the blast, leaned hard to the right to get away from the force of the blast. In the process, he jerked the wheel to the side and also pulled back on it.
Sly, Bentley, and Murray all watched as the helicopter reared high up just as it exited the tunnel, lifting higher up into the air, and slightly leaning to one side. It made no effort to turn, and was now heading straight for the rock wall directly in front of them.
"Hang on!"
Penelope veered a hard left, sending the van skidding almost on two wheels, and leaving black skid marks on the road. Bentley and Sly were both thrown back against the right wall, while Murray was still firmly in place. Loose items, including the weapons, also slid along. Murray reached out to catch Sly's rifle before it could slam against the van's wall.
Penelope continued to accelerate until they were out of harm's way. She moved forward a little more before slowing down as she approached the turn. The van screeched to a stop in the middle of the road.
Almost instantly, Sly jumped up and threw open the rear doors, jumping out and looking up as the helicopter, further away behind them, still continued to head straight for the cliff face. Murray and Bentley jumped out after them, and Penelope quickly threw off her seatbelt and headed out the driver-side door. All four of them stared in mute shock as Sly's plan worked almost perfectly. The pilot was still noticeably recovering, and there was still a cloud of black smoke hovering around the helicopter. There were deep scorch marks in the side of the helicopter, and several pieces of metal peeling and hanging off.
The helicopter moved forward, heading straight for the rock wall.
It was almost as if it had been put into slow-motion. The helicopter's front end completely crushed as it slammed into the rock wall, the sound of twisting, bending metal and breaking glass as clear as day. The helicopter's rear end seemed to jolt up briefly, the tail rotors lifting up slightly higher as it tried to bend in on itself. The landing struts bent down and split away from the main body of the helicopter, falling down, bouncing off of the cliff edge once, then again, before clanging to the ground below. The rotating blades on top also seemed to bend down slightly. Then the blades finally caught the rock. There was a loud, almost painful screech of metal, accompanied by a shower of sparks and metal shards, as the blades rapidly impacted into the rock one after another, parts of them disintegrating from the impact, and breaking away from the chopper and flying out in all directions. There was a shower of sparks at the base of the blades, followed shortly after by a small explosion. The cockpit was now almost entirely completely crushed between the wall and the rest of the helicopter.
Then, just as half of the body was crushed and grinded against itself, there was a third explosion, much larger and more powerful than the first two combined. It started from inside and below the helicopter, instantly engulfing the entire body of the aircraft in a fiery blast. Pieces of metal and glass flew in all directions, and the body still remained pressed against the wall. The explosion shook the entire frame, and there was a second explosion a while after it, this one right at the tail of the helicopter, completely destroying the tail rotors and sending those blades flying as well. Large chunks of rock were still tumbling off the wall and breaking as they hit the ground below.
Just as the orange vanished and the helicopter was consumed in thick black smoke, there was a deep, loud groaning that could be heard, along with more cracking of rock. The tail of the aircraft started to dip down, bending towards the ground. The rest of the body followed, and it slowly started to pull away from the rock wall. After a brief pause where the smashed front end of it seemed to be hooked onto the cliff face, the helicopter finally broke away.
The four of them watched silently as the body started to tumble down, almost slowly, along the rock wall. Its tail was now pointing straight the ground, the front end up in the air. Then it continued to spin, now with the tail lifting up and pointing more towards the rising rock wall, and the front end now facing the direction of the tunnel that it had just emerged from. As it fell like this, the tail clipped a large, jutting rock. This impact not only caused the tip of the tail to break off, but also caused the helicopter to spin again, now with the front end facing down towards the ground. It was in this position that the smoldering, crippled, and crushed wreckage slammed hard into the road, the front end taking even more abuse as it slammed down with a deep crunching of already-crunched metal. It stood like that, standing straight up for a moment, before it slowly started to tip over, the rear end slamming down onto the ground as well, and the helicopter now lying perfectly upright on the ground, smoke still pouring from the interior.
Even after it settled down, pieces of debris and crumbling rock continued to fall, and the fire inside continued burning.
The four witnesses were mute, completely stunned by the spectacular sight.
Eventually, Sly was the first to move. He slowly began walking towards the wreckage. He could already feel the heat from the smoldering metal as he approached.
"Sly, wait!" Bentley called after him, quickly wheeling up behind him.
Sly continued walking, stopping several yards from the hot wreck. Breathing heavily and with one hand drifting cautiously to his holstered pistol, he did a thorough once-over of the entire wreck, glancing at every large piece of debris, and looking through all the holes in the body of the helicopter.
Suddenly, there was a loud clanging of metal to his left.
Sly whipped out the pistol, aimed, and fired twice.
The bullets ricocheted loudly off of the piece of metal that had fallen from the cliff face, which had landed slanted against the base of the cliff and was responsible for the noise.
Sly realized his mistake and slowly lowered the gun. He slowly craned his head up and looked up along the entire cliff wall. There were a few pieces of wreckage, some still burning, lodged in the rock, but no visible movement or sign of life.
He lowered his head and looked back at the helicopter. He focused on the cockpit, hoping to catch a glimpse of the burning body. But the flames and the smoke were too thick, and he couldn't see anything of importance.
"Sly!" Bentley called again.
Bentley's voice drowned out amidst the crackling of the flames and the soft roaring of the smoke. The additional clang of falling metal also helped. He looked around, slowly moving to the other side of the wreck. He was just next to the tail, about to get a good look at the right side, before he suddenly felt a glove grip his arm.
He spun around, and saw Bentley.
"Sly, it's over! OK? It's over. No one could've survived that! Look at those flames! And besides, we were all watching from the moment it came out of the tunnel. Did you see him jump out at all? Or any sign of him escaping or otherwise surviving?"
Sly slowly turned back, looking up at the cliff, then back down at the burning wreckage so close to him. After a long pause, as Bentley's hand moved away, Sly replaced the pistol to its holster with a sigh.
"You're right. Let's go." Sly muttered, slightly hanging his head as he turned and started back towards the van, where Murray and Penelope were waiting.
"Yes, let's."
"I'll take the wheel now, Penelope." Murray offered. "Oh, and nice job back there!"
"Oh, thanks." Penelope replied, half-nervous, about both the burning wreckage and the danger they had just narrowly escaped.
The four of them returned to the safety of the van, Murray sliding back into the driver's seat, and Sly into the passenger's seat. Penelope and Bentley returned to the back, with the former picking up all of the weapons scattered across the floor and placing them back safely underneath the computer console.
As the van sped off on the road, Sly's mind was a blank. The only thing he saw, as he stared out the window at the scenery passing by, was that image of the burning helicopter, and his inability to see inside the cockpit.
Several hours later…
The gray Jeep bounced along the road, turning around another bend and leaving the gas station behind.
"Есть что-нибудь по этому пути после этой АЗС?" Whitman asked the driver.
"Ничего." The pig replied curtly.
Whitman turned back to Braskel, sitting in the backseat.
"He says there's nothing else from the gas station onward."
"Nothing?" Braskel asked. "No town or hotel or anything?"
"Nope. It's just bare mountain road from here to…"
"Then my suspicions were correct." Braskel interrupted, leaning back in the seat with a content look on his face. "It truly was obvious the moment we found out that the boat's destination was Russia."
"Well, I guess that means it was worth getting seasick 12 times for." Whitman muttered, shuddering briefly in disgust. "But the Krak-Karov Volcano has been abandoned for 15 years. What could he possibly be looking for there?"
"I don't know. But we'll catch up to him there. We'll still remain at a distance, observing him from afar. It should be considerably easy. After all, that Volcano is surrounded on all sides by dense forest, and it's set in a crater. It's too perfect."
"Something about that old Volcano gave me the creeps, and good." Whitman replied. "They spent only about a week searching the place after the incident in 1990, then they all just cleared the hell out. And quite a few men didn't come back…"
"You know what it was. It was reported as an accident. One of their temporary gangways broke with all of those men on it, and they all fell into the lava."
"But my question is why was it abandoned so quickly? After only one accident?"
"Apparently they found nothing else good there except the Clockwerk parts. You know what the deal was: Anyone who tried to ask was slammed with all of that 'Confidential' crap. I mean, something as amazing as the Clockwerk coming out of there could've meant that there were other amazing weapons or something there. But that's all beside the point. The point is that Cooper and his old friends are heading there, and we're going to stop them. I have a strong feeling that the end of the road is near."
There was another jolt as it hit a pothole. The three occupants bounced briefly, and Whitman covered his mouth.
"Damn it, does he have to go so fast?" He muttered. "Getting seasick is bad enough, but this road is killing me, and his driving sure as hell isn't helping. Why did we have to hire such a bad driver?"
"I told you, our car wasn't strong enough to handle this old mountain road. A Jeep was the only available vehicle that was capable of heading up this road, and the driver came with it. I'd prefer paying a few bucks for a ride rather than shredding up our uninsured Interpol car's tires and breaking an axle or two."
"How could you even trust that Russian? Maybe he said that just to rip us off."
"Look, I did some quick research, and found that a good amount of vehicles have been torn up on this road because they weren't tough enough. Would you rather be slapped with the bill for our car being trashed?"
Whitman's silence was a good enough answer.
Just then, the Jeep entered a tunnel, and blackness surrounded them.
"You know, Glen, I think our trip here is like this tunnel. Yes, it's generally dark. But we've had a light or two in between."
As he said this, they passed under the single light.
"And on the other side, we finally reach our goal."
"Wait! What's that?" Whitman asked, pointing straight ahead.
Braskel's thoughts were interrupted, and he leaned forward to look between the seats at the road ahead.
Just barely visible, at the end of the tunnel, there was something in the road. Something large, black, and with slight flickers of orange.
"Is that what I think it is?" Whitman asked nervously.
As they drew closer, the fire and smoke was now unmistakable.
"It's burning, but fast. I think this was recent."
Then the Jeep emerged from the tunnel.
"Tell him to stop!" Braskel ordered.
"Стоп! Стоп!" Whitman repeated to the driver.
The Jeep slowly skidded to a halt just outside the tunnel, on the left side of the road. The three men looked at the burning wreckage. It was a twisted, smoldering lump of metal that was nearly unrecognizable, especially amidst the smoke and flames.
However, the long tail stretching out behind was unmistakable. Plus, although it was half-covered by smoke, half of the familiar, large yellow Interpol star was visible on the side, surrounded by the light-blue metal.
"Is that what I think it is?" Whitman asked nervously.
Braskel threw off his seatbelt and placed a hand on his holster.
"You two stay here." He commanded as he exited the Jeep.
Drawing his pistol, Braskel slowly approached the burning wreck.
Whitman and the driver watched as he cautiously approached, his pistol aimed at the wreck as he slowly and carefully walked around it.
…
He watched as the monkey exited the vehicle, drawing a pistol and carefully approaching the burning, twisted wreckage. His eyes moved back to the Jeep, where there were still two more occupants. One was a pig, sitting on the driver's side (which, in this particular vehicle, was on the right side). The other was a mouse, sitting on the passenger's side on the left.
He emerged from his hiding spot directly next to the exit of the tunnel and approached the vehicle.
…
Braskel swung around to the other side of the burning wreck, the heap now between him and the Jeep. He tried to look into the cockpit, but there was simply too much fire and debris for him to see anything clearly.
Just then, he stumbled briefly on something that clattered as his foot hit it. He looked down and saw a massive shotgun – a Mossberg, to be exact – lying on the ground. He slowly kneeled down and picked it up. He checked the chamber and saw that it was fully-loaded.
Just then, he heard a scream.
…
The driver of the Jeep threw himself back against the door, as far away from the opposite window as he could. He could only stare in mute horror as a massive fist punched right through the passenger-side window of the Jeep and grabbed the mouse by the back of his head.
Before Whitman even knew what was happening, he felt an extremely tight grip squeeze the back of his head painfully. He tried to reach up for it, and at the same time let out a scream. But before he could do anything else, he felt himself being pushed forward, and the next thing he felt was the powerful impact of the dashboard against his forehead. The hand jerked him back, and slammed him forward again.
As he was being thrown back and forth repeatedly, patches of blood starting to appear on the dashboard, he continued screaming repeatedly in pain, his yells being briefly cut off by the slamming of his head into the dashboard again and again.
The pig yelled out in terror, frantically removing his seat belt and kicking the door open. He jumped out and started running towards the other man, who was just coming around the heap of burning metal with his pistol raised.
Braskel saw the Jeep's driver running up to him, babbling in frantic Russian. He didn't understand what he was saying, but he really didn't need to. He looked from the pig to the Jeep still sitting in the middle of the road. He looked through the half-open driver's door, and was horrified: His partner, Whitman, had a massive hand grabbing onto the back of his head. That hand was repeatedly throwing him back and forth in the Jeep, slamming his forehead against the dashboard again and again. Even from this distance, Braskel could see the unmistakable red starting to fall from his partner's forehead.
Standing extremely tall behind the Jeep, his head higher than the roof, was the attacker. He looked down at the mouse with obviously no remorse as he slowly and painfully killed him.
Braskel's eyes widened.
"Oh, dear God…Get back, get back!" He yelled to the driver before raising his pistol.
However, the attacker heard him as well, and ducked his head below the roof of the Jeep moments before Braskel fired the first two shots. One flew high over the Jeep completely, while the other ricocheted off the roof.
The attacker was now almost completely shielded by both the Jeep and Whitman, and he was still slamming the former's head painfully against the dashboard. He noticeably slowed down a bit, but that only allowed for him to slam his head down even harder.
Braskel raised his pistol again, trying to focus as hard as he could and hoping to get a decent shot at the attacker. He finally got it, through the driver's side window. He waited until Whitman was pushed forward again, and fired.
He heard the shot. He knew that he had not hit Whitman, and there was nothing outside the passenger's side window but the mountain of a man. But he didn't see any sign of injury on his target, or any kind of reaction from him, even though he was absolutely sure that he had hit him. He simply continued bashing his partner's brains out.
At that point, Whitman's screaming slowly stopped. No longer was he yelling out for help and in pain, but only a quick, rough groan could be heard after every impact. The attacker realized how weak his prey was, and slowed down even further, pausing after every hit only to slam him forward with even more strength. At one point, Braskel was certain that he heard a loud crack. The worst part was that he was unable to tell if it was the dashboard or Whitman's skull.
The attacker paused, still holding the back of Whitman's head. Blood was dripping down freely from a massive gash in his forehead, running down his face, along his cheeks, nose, eyes, and dropping off his chin. His mouth hung open, and his eyes were half-closed.
There was a long pause.
Then, with all his might, the man yanked Whitman's head back as far as he could, then slammed it forward one last time. There was a second, even more horrible crack. When he pulled the mouse's head back again, it slumped forward, blood dripping from the mouth.
Braskel stared in mute horror, barely able to keep his gun straight.
The attacker then pulled open the door and dragged the body out, pulling it out of the seatbelt roughly rather than unbuckling it. He dragged the body out along the ground, leaving a noticeable trail of blood.
Braskel recovered with a quick shake of his head, and trained his pistol on the man as he came around the back of the Jeep.
The moment he saw the figure emerge into the open, he fired three more shots.
Only after he fired the third shot did he realize that the figure was holding his dead partner's body up in front him as a shield, and that was what absorbed the last three shots.
Eyes wide, Braskel stumbled backwards. He watched as the towering figure, still holding the corpse, approached him. He was moving impossibly fast, but impossibly slow at the same time. As Braskel backed up, he could feel the heat behind him increasing steadily, and he knew that he was unintentionally drawing closer to the still-burning wreck.
Then the figure was in front of him. Braskel aimed his pistol again, only for Whitman's body to suddenly lurch forward and completely block his view. All that Braskel felt was the sensation of stumbling backwards and slamming onto the hard, unforgiving gravel and dirt road with a large weight resting on top of him.
He looked up and found himself face-to-face with the bloody, dead face of Glen Whitman. Braskel frantically reached up and grabbed the body by the shoulders, throwing it aside and off of him.
As he threw the body off, he was aware of a massive shadow cast over him. He looked up and saw the mountain of a man towering over him, blocking out the sun.
His eyes were wider than ever, and his mouth dropped open.
"Oh, sh-."
That was all he had time to say before the figure reached down and took him by the throat with both hands. Braskel reached up with both of his hands, his left hand reaching for his own neck while his right hand aimed right at the attacker's face.
It was then that he realized that he had dropped his pistol when Whitman's body landed on him.
Fear now completely dominating all other thoughts and feelings, both of his hands slid over to the massive fists crushing his windpipe, desperately trying to slip even a few fingers in between his neck and the man's hands. But he couldn't find even the smallest bit of breathing room.
Then he was moving. The large man took long, hard steps as he drew closer to the helicopter's remains. Braskel managed to twist his head around behind him to see the burning wreckage draw closer. Now he could hear the roaring of the flames, feel the heat of the fire, smell the horrible smell of the thick black smoke…
Then, for a brief moment, he stopped. The man released one hand, but kept the other firmly grasping him. He kneeled down, and with his free hand, picked up the weapon that Braskel had dropped. Braskel noticed that, even as this man kneeled down completely, he was still unable to feel the ground with his own two feet.
The man straightened up, holding the gun in his left hand, and continued on.
Eventually, they stopped just a couple feet from the wreck. There were burning pieces of debris all around, and the heat from directly behind Braskel was so great that he could feel sweat collecting rapidly on his forehead.
The man looked up at Braskel, and both stared deeply into each other's eyes for a moment. Eugene Braskel could see nothing, nothing at all in those two deep, black eyes…nothing except for death.
Then, in a flash, the man raised the pistol, pulled the trigger once, then swiveled it to the right slightly and pulled the trigger a second time.
In less than half a second, Braskel could feel a whole new pain shoot through his body as the two bullets pierced both of his legs at the knees, one at a time. He could feel the metal penetrate his body, and could feel the blood ooze out from the wounds. He soon lost all feeling in both legs below the knees, even pain. He could sense both limbs instantly going limp.
The man lowered the gun and continued moving forward a bit more. Now Braskel could practically feel the flames licking his back.
The man stretched his arm out to its fullest length, so that the smoke brushed up against the helpless monkey's back. Braskel tried once again to pry some space between his crushing hand and his own neck.
Then, with one effortless motion, the man swung his arm to the side, then swung it forward again and released his grip, sending the now-crippled monkey flying straight into the burning wreckage.
Braskel flew straight through the flames and into the body of the helicopter, through the opening where one of the side doors had been, landing on the floor of the interior of the helicopter. Almost instantly he felt his entire back, from the back of his neck to the back of his knees, instantly sting in unbelievably hot pain. The scorching metal almost seemed to fuse to his body, burning right through his clothing, through his fur, right to his skin.
He unleashed a long, high, horrible scream of pain. He instantly started thrashing his arms around, but found that those were the only limbs he could move. Both of his legs were still completely paralyzed.
As his arms waved around, he realized that both of them were already on fire. He knew then that, if they could catch on fire, so could the rest of his body.
He looked down along the length of his torso and saw that, sure enough, all of his clothes had caught on fire. Now his body was burning all over.
He continued screaming wildly, thrashing around in pain and trying desperately to move. Eventually, he managed to roll over onto his stomach. This only made it worse, as the scorching metal now got its share of his front side, too, burning him up and down the front of his body as well. His scream got worse, higher and higher, as more and more pain registered throughout his entire body. He shook around, unable to move either forward or back. He placed his hands down on the floor, hoping to pull himself forward, but the moment his palms touched the floor, he instinctively jerked them away.
He was trapped. Surrounded on all sides by a burning hell. Hell on earth…
Just then, at the last moment, he remembered something else that made his eyes widen and made him briefly forget about the pain.
The spare magazine that he had for his pistol, still clasped to his holster.
The timing was perfect. Just as this thought crossed his mind, the bullets started going off, ignited by the fire.
The first shot, sounding so close, rang loud and painfully caused another sharp sting on his waist. He could hear it ricochet off somewhere inside the helicopter. He covered his head with his hands as the next three went off in rapid succession. Then another two. Then a seventh one. He knew that only two were left, as his model took only nine rounds per magazine. He had heard them all ricochet off the metal, yet none had hit him. He was hoping, in fact praying, that one would hit him in the head or something and kill him quicker.
Then the next two went off. He had no idea whether it was the first or the second, but one of the two bullets finally granted his wish, although not the way he would've wanted. The bullet rebounded into his right arm, striking just below the elbow, inches from his head.
He yelped out in pain again as his right arm instinctively jerked up from the impact. It stayed up in the air for a moment before flopping down motionless onto the burning metal floor, also paralyzed. He could feel the pain burning from the elbow up as it laid against the hot metal.
That was all nine shots. It was done. He was to die by slowly and painfully burning to death.
Braskel continued screaming, nonstop and consistently. He didn't know what good it did now. It did none. It was the only way to react to the pain. He was unable to not scream. He kept screaming and screaming and screaming, feeling as if he was burning forever. His entire field of vision was either orange or yellow. At one point he thought he could see the unmistakable shade of red, pooling around him. He could feel a strange liquid-like sensation, as if his skin was liquidizing and dropping off of him.
Then, finally, mercifully, it was over.
…
He watched as the monkey thrashed around inside the burning wreckage, screaming in pain immediately after landing inside. When he caught on fire, his screams only got worse. Then, suddenly, gunshots started going off. He instinctively moved back from the wreck until all nine shots had gone off. Even through that, the monkey survived and continued screaming as he burned. It seemed to last almost a minute and a half, if not two, before he finally collapsed, dead.
He stood and stared at it for a few long moments.
Then, suddenly, he heard a car door slam behind him. He spun around to see the third man – the pig – jump back into the Jeep and instantly kick up dirt and gravel as he slammed the acceleration. He then turned the wheel hard all the way to the right, spinning around a full 180 degrees and heading back towards the tunnel.
He looked down at the pistol in his hand, knowing that the monkey had fired six shots from it, and he himself had fired two shots to cripple the late monkey. There was one shot left.
The Jeep entered the dark tunnel. He slowly raised the pistol, closed one eye, staring right down the short barrel, trying to get a good aim at the driver.
He fired. The final shell shot out from the chamber, clattering to the ground below.
He paused for a few seconds, opening his closed eye and lowering the gun.
Nothing. The Jeep was still speeding off. He had missed.
He looked down at the pistol, then nonchalantly turned on his heels and casually tossed the now-worthless weapon into the fire as well. He turned and kneeled down to pick up the mouse's lifeless body, grabbing it by the neck as well. He turned and, with slightly more effort than it would take to skip a pebble, tossed it into the burning wreckage as well.
It was too perfect that these men were clearly law enforcement officials. Now, with their remains in an Interpol-owned helicopter, nothing would seem immediately out of the ordinary. Their corpses would be burned completely, eliminating traces of the bleeding forehead. They had been killed in the same way that he was almost killed; engaged in a gunfight with the Cooper gang, a distraction causing them to crash into the wall and explode, but not before the mouse's head had jerked forward and slammed into the controls, knocking him unconscious and leaving him to burn to death in the wreckage. Meanwhile, the monkey, who had survived the initial impact, was killed when his own magazine went off as the bullets were ignited by the flames, and two bullets had hit him in both legs, crippling him and leaving him unable to escape.
That is, if their bodies were ever found.
He slowly walked around the wreck to the other side, the side he had escaped from. He bent down and picked up his one last remaining weapon: The Mossberg. He picked it up and slung it over his shoulder.
He looked up at the massive cliff face, with a few pieces of debris and small fires still dotting it.
It had been quite tough, he had to admit to himself. After the explosion, making it to the right door and opening it without falling out was quite difficult due to the helicopter leaning to one side. However, once he had gained a firm grip on the wall, he simply had to wait until the last moment to leap out and land on the highest ledge, with the shrubbery and rocks – not to mention the massive burning helicopter – being his cover from the four observers.
He spun on his heels, creating a small circle in the gravel beneath him, and started walking down the road, away from the wreckage, away from the two dead bodies, and closer to his target.
To be continued…