Chapter Twenty Eight
New Jersey, Rand mansion grounds...
For a brief moment, Yelena's transceiver buzzed, with another incoming transmission. Assuming it was another attempted communique from Kelso, the woman debated whether to risk answering or not, this time – still being on the fence about what really happened back at the Archives – but she was denied the choice, by the sudden – void – of active Infolink frequencies.
She recognised it instantly, since it was the same kind of void, as she experienced during her and Irwine's unsuccessful operation in Mayrhofen, six months ago.
Selective lack of coverage – well. Someone knows I'm here. And just as I received a transmission... coincidence?
Nothing as crude as a jamming field – and if she hadn't encountered it before, Yelena might have been stumped by it – but it was unmistakeable. She picked up her pace.
Now on the stairwell leading to the third floor, she began paying more attention to her immediate surroundings. The sniper was somewhere on this floor, and if her HUD chronometer was accurate, the 15 minute time limit she informed Radford of, would soon be expiring. He wouldn't be long in emerging into the enclosed compound within the grounds. And she had to get rid of that sniper before then.
Passing the various apartment doors, she could hear noises from within – gabble of voices, active TV's, a cat meowing in one, clearly hungry, a dog barking in another... the barking in particular, was loud enough to swamp some of the other receptions she was getting. She grimaced, shaking her head.
YA nenavizhu sobak. Gromkiye, protivnyye, kishashchiye blokhami zveri.
Meaning it, as she tried to selectively tune it out. Her and dogs never got along, not since childhood, and one time when a dog jumped her and tackled her to the ground. Irwine liked them. Jamella adored them... having asked several times to get one as a pet, during their time in Antigua. But while she usually indulged the girl, Yelena's answer to a dog was a firm no, while Irwine decided not to take sides.
Jamella's argument was that dogs can feel a person's animosity, and that it was Yelena's problem they didn't like her, because she didn't like them. But be that as it may, it was not something the cyborg woman was willing to put to the test. She and dogs – oil and water. Period.
Cats, on the other hand... she always was fond of them. Maybe at some point...
Yelena shook her head again, putting it out of her mind, as she rounded a corner. Now was not the time to get distracted by considering pets.
Where would the sniper be? She tried to get a general bearing on where exactly she was on the floor, in relation to that window where she spotted the scope glint.
North-northwest... in a vacant apartment, most likely.
She thought. Fortunately, most were occupied, and with noises coming from them, so that narrowed her options. She also listened for any active non-Infolink channels. Reaching the end of the hallway, the last apartment door, she couldn't hear anything from it, as she was about to touch the door. But something else caught her attention.
A very soft, near-inaudible even to her cochlear implants, electronic whining sound. Her hand stopped in mid-motion, centimetres away from the door. Her eyes narrowed, pulling it back.
Laser-grid alarm?
She examined the doorframe, also with her tech-goggles. Nothing immediately obvious, but the whine was there.
Must be on the inside. Clever. I cannot break and enter, without sounding an alarm, and I cannot disable it, from out here. If I could see the emitters inside – if I had xray capable Smart-Vision – I could use a multitool on them from out here. But that's not an option for me.
Biting her lip, Yelena considered what to do. Making a mental note to herself, to get hold of better tech-goggles, ones with Smart Vision and xray functionality. No off-the-shelf model offered that, not that she knew of, not even the most high-end ones on the market. So she would probably have to raid a military storehouse or something, to have a hope of finding a pair like that. Right here and now...
This level of security suggested this was the apartment the sniper was in. On the other hand, it could also be a security-savvy tenant. And this was a rich suburb, so it was not unlikely.
Do I break-in and set off the alarm, or find another way in? I don't have much time left... Radford will be out of the sewers any minute now.
Yelena's instincts were very much against setting off any alarms that she could avoid. Just – professional habit – and she prided herself on her ability to remain a ghost. But sometimes...
No choice. No time!
She kicked-in the door, suppressed Zenith in her left hand, one of her ultrasonic blades in the right one. Instantly, a beep-beep-beep sound caught her attention, as a recessed shape on the ceiling moved – tracking her.
A turret! Completely inactive until this moment, since her subsonics didn't pick up it's signature!
On instinct, Yelena threw herself across the lobby, landing hard on her back, Zenith up and tracking the machine, now spinning to keep track of her, a pattern of shots peppering the floor. She squeezed-off shots as fast as she could depress the trigger, her AP ammunition making short work of it – but the damage was done.
Screams and gabble from outside, at the sounds of automatic fire... and a booted male foot, suddenly kicking the pistol out of her hand, before stomping hard on her neck to pin her to the floor, putting his full weight on it, as a sharp spike of pain went through the woman's vertebrae. It belonged to a heavyset Inter-Guarda trooper, now raising a TMP to her face, an ugly grin on his face.
"The rogue slut. Somehow I thought you'd be tougher..."
With a snarl, Yelena jerked hard to the side, and kicked upward, catching him in the side of his helmeted head, just as he fired a burst. One round singed her cheek, the others going wide, as he stumbled to the side. Before he could recover, her blade slashed him across the lower waist, nearly bisecting him right through his armour, and chopping his left leg off at the thigh. With a wet gurgle, he collapsed in a blood-gushing heap, dead within two seconds. A spurt of it ending up all over her face.
Messy. Blades are efficient, but messy.
Yelena smirked in approval, kipping back to her feet, just as a second IG trooper showed up in the doorway leading to another room. Behind him, she could see a sniper rifle on a tripod, pointing out the window.
Sniper... and the first one was his spotter. Bingo.
"Die!"
He snarled, squeezing-off shots from his own Zenith. Three rounds were stopped by her upper chestplate, one penetrating to the second layer of her outer armour, but none even getting through it to her subdermal layers.
The other two went wide, as she slashed the blade across his gun hand, taking half his fist off, along with the weapon's barrel and half the receiver. He screamed, clutching the gushing stump, as he dropped what was left of the gun.
"After you." – Yelena hissed, reversing the slash as she stepped-in closer, and finished the job by carving him vertically through the face. She glanced at her chestplate.
I am so glad AP rounds are not most troopers' first choice.
So much blood... all over the apartment. Messy was an understatement, as she briefly looked around, licking some blood off her lips in sudden arousal.
Quickly suppressed beneath a scowl. She had to pacify the tenants, before one of them called the police. Two options presented themselves, as she rushed back out of the apartment, finding herself face-to-face with half a dozen faces, ranging from terrified, to confused, to angry. Several more could be seen coming down the hallway from behind.
Kill them all... or incapacitate them nonlethally. Trying to reason with them was a waste of time, all it would take is one calling the police, to put her in an impossible position.
Killing them was the efficient solution, with her suppressed pistol – but now that the sniper was out of the picture, she had the luxury of time. And it has been three and a half years since she killed a civilian. She wasn't about to revert to that, unless ABSOLUTELY necessary.
"What the hell is go—" - one of the angry ones, a large, middle aged balding man, started, before Yelena's hoof caught him in the temple, in a precisely measured snap-kick, putting him down for the count. Without her padded shin-coverings, there would probably be a concussion, but it was the best she could do.
"Omigod- fuckin hanz—" - another, younger, chubby one began, eyes widening at her blood-covered face, fumbling with a pistol, before he was cut off by a Buzzkill shot to the chest, as the woman quickdrew her non-lethal weapon and fired its one shot. He went down too, with a brief arc of electricity. She kicked his weapon back behind her, precluding anyone else from going for it.
The less heroics, the better...
The next two, women, only screamed in terror, cowering, as she quickly KO'd them with hinge chops to the necks, replacing the Buzzkill's cartridge in the next two seconds. The fifth one tried to run back down the hall, before an electro-dart to the back took him down.
She reloaded the Buzzkill again, rounding the corner. Four more cartridges for the weapon – three more people down the hall. She zapped the first, knocked the second out with another kick, while a third, a preteen girl, screamed as she clutched the hand of the knocked-out one... her mother, presumably.
"She'll be alright!" – Yelena assured her quickly, feeling rotten about it, especially with how she must have looked to the girl, with blood covering her face, before she planted a very measured, almost gentle chop to the girl's neck, knocking her out too. Reloading the Buzzkill again, she pressed on at a fast jog, taking a moment to wipe her face clean of the trooper's blood. The bullet-graze on her cheek burned, and she imagined the scar there would take some time to regenerate.
In one of the other apartments, she could hear a voice, frantically on the phone snarling to 'pick up'.
No you don't!
The aquiline woman thought, sprinting inside. A male teen, phone in hand, turned in alarm, before an electro-dart plunged into his gut, knocking him out, the phone tumbling out of his hand.
~"911 dispatch, what's the emergency?~ - a bored-sounding female voice issued from it a moment later. Too close!
"Wrong number, sorry to bother." – Yelena replied quickly, closing the link. Not wasting a moment, she sprinted back out, looking for more, as she reloaded the Buzzkill again. Two cartridges left.
She managed to save those, by knocking-out the two leftover tenants, clearing out the third floor. But it reminded Yelena why she generally didn't like nonlethal weapons... not only were they of questionable effectiveness against any kind of armour, but their ammunition was bulky and took up a lot of space in her belt satchel. Still, she was glad she got in the habit of at least having one available for situations like these.
As for the other floors... she had time to take a look at the walls in the apartment the sniper was set up in, and a couple of others – they were soundproofed. Not unusual for an upper-middle class apartment building, which she assumed this was. That meant that the gunfire was likely confined to this floor, noise-wise.
She could only hope. Just then, the walkie-talkie buzzed.
~"I'm inside the maintenance area. You take care of that sniper? Over."~ - Radford's tone came in through the static.
"Yes. Proceed. More company might be likely, but you're clear for now. Over." – she replied. That Infolink-blackout bothered her. A lot. But it wouldn't affect him, already being inside the grounds.
Unless there were other defences ahead... she decided to go back to the sniper's spot, and set up her own overwatch of the man.
~"What's that supposed to mean? By the way, Sammie bailed... I've got his hacking kit, but no real clue how to use it. Over."~ - the man's voice came back.
Yelena scowled.
"What do you mean, 'bailed'? Where is he?! Over." – demanding sharply. Some of the English idioms still eluded her.
~"He left. Once I told him what happened at the checkpoint... right now I'm almost convinced I did go fuckin' crazy! Over."~ - Radford came back, disgustedly.
"You TOLD him? Why?! He could have called—" - the woman started angrily, but he cut her off.
~"He DIDN'T. He promised he wouldn't and I believe him. Leave it at that! But he didn't want any part of this, and I can't blame him. Now cut the crap ruskie, and tell me what else is up ahead! The door leading to the grounds is unlocked, I got a clear path to the mansion entrance. Right? Over."~ – he demanded gruffly.
Yelena's eyes narrowed in annoyance, now looking at him through the sniper's scope, standing by the compounds's wooden gates, connected by a gravel path to the main driveway leading to the mansion. Brent Radford had guts, she had to give him that. The number of people who dared to talk to her like this, was a single-digit figure. But almost involuntarily, she had to grin to herself.
Indeed, never judge by appearance. I like this old man! Even if I may have to kill him, if he compromises me further...
~"Proceed up the driveway, mister Radford." – slightly biting off the last two words, "No sign of danger. Once you get to the mansion, I hope the codes you have will bypass the inner security layer. I will observe through the scope. And again, I am not Rus—" - he cut the link before she finished the sentence.
Exhaling sharply through clenched teeth, the aquiline woman shook her head to herself, putting aside the walkie. Her finger on the sniper's trigger suddenly itched slightly, as she glowered at the detective's distant back. Still. She couldn't help but appreciate the old man's attitude. It reminded her too much of her own, at times!
~"Home Team, sound-off!"~ - suddenly came from one of the dead Tarvos mercs' headset, back behind her. The background noise sounded like a helicopter. Yelena froze momentarily. A male voice, the same one she overheard back on the Sirine Queen. It was the large, heavily augmented plasma-wielding operative she exchanged fire with.
Zelazny... well, at least I know who is jamming me. Thank you for announcing yourself, once again!
The aquiline woman couldn't help but smirk. This was the second time, that the man gave away his presence needlessly. The first time, it gave her advance warning of a pincer move on his part... this time, it might give her time to prepare a more... thorough... reception.
And she would need it. She hadn't forgotten about the man's ability to track her through the walls, back on the ship. Relying on HFC gas to shield her was not likely to work twice – if he adjusted his system to compensate, which he likely did. But unlike on the ship, this time she had room to move around at will. A marked improvement. Not to mention a sniper rifle which her victims so thoughtfully left behind. Her marksmanship was servicable enough, especially at these relatively modest ranges in an urban area.
Also, she had to keep Radford covered. If Zelazny found out about him, the detective would be a much easier prey, and a more urgent one – especially if Rand instructed his attack dog to prevent infiltration of his home.
I need to draw his attention away from the mansion...
She thought, as she contacted Radford briefly.
"More hostiles confirmed. You are on your own inside, mister Radford. I will draw their attention and keep it. Over and out." – she cut off.
Not far from the mansion grounds, a small park...
"Home Team, sound-off!" – Zelazny ordered via his headset, tone slightly raised over the noise of the helicopter's rotors, bypassing Infolik communications, which were unavailable, ever since they began selective-jamming, not long before they landed.
The two men in a car next to the front gates to the Rand mansion grounds, replied promptly with an all-clear confirmation. But the sniper team keeping an eye on the mansion itself, failed to reply.
The man's face darkened, as he began issuing orders.
"Right, looks like we got a breach. Squad Alpha, secure the mansion grounds. Alpha Three and Four, find good vantage points in these buildings and get set up." – he instructed the two marksmen.
"Beta Squad, with me. We need to find out what happened to the sniper nest."
As dusk gathered and the sun went down, the sight of heavily armed paramilitary squads made quite a few passerby stop and do a double-take. Zelazny had to grimace to himself – this wasn't exactly inconspicuous, he had to admit. But Rand's orders were clear.
In the distance, police sirens could be heard, growing steadily louder.
"Excuse me, what's going on... ? Who are you people?" – a passerby approached, his phone out and filming, clearly frowning at the IG emblem on their armour.
Oh for the love of...
"Anti-terrorist operation in progress. I'm gonna have to ask you to vacate the street." – Zelazny adopted his most 'officious' voice, giving the civilian a penetrating glare as he stomped past.
"You don't look like cops...! You don't get to tell me—" - the man protested indignantly, before one of the other troops passing-by smacked the phone out of his hand.
"Clear the damn street!" – getting in the man's face and shoving him away, who flinched, then retreated, glaring daggers, and collecting his broken phone.
"Cool it down, Three. We don't need civvies crying harrassment, we're drawing enough attention as it is. Ignore any questions from now on." – Zelazny muttered under his breath, once they were out of earshot of the man, turning a street corner.
"Sorry, sir." – the trooper scowled.
"Is it me, or are those cops getting closer, sir...?" – another one, a female, glanced in the direction of the sirens, growing louder by the moment. Probably less then two blocks away by now.
Zelazny paused, listening. Why would there be police attention... ? He assumed Rand would make sure they'd be left alone to do their job here... but those sirens definitely sounded like they were coming right towards them.
Finally, they came into view, at the end of the street – four police cruisers, heading their way.
"Spread out. Holding pattern. Weapons lowered, but keep them ready. What the hell's going on... ?" – the big cyborg made a few hand motions, himself stepping forward to meet the incoming vehicles, frowning.
Interesting. That looks like a... tense standoff... between the police and – yes. That is the operative from the ship. Zelazny. I wish I could hear what they're saying. Probably arguing over who has authority...
Yelena thought, back on the rooftops, now observing the mass of armoured individuals below. Zelazny and two of the cops seemed to be engaged in an animated argument, if gesticulating hands and raised voices were anything to go by. Weapons were being kept down, on both sides though. Even with her enhanced hearing, she was too far away to make out the words.
She counted the number of IG and police... twenty-two, combined. Not good, if they decided to stop arguing and engage in a coordinated search. And she knew that figure would rise very sharply and quickly, if they called-in backup.
She frowned, indecisive for a moment, skulking into deeper cover, setting the sniper rifle down on it's bipod again. Tempting as it was to take a shot at the police, and hope they overreact and attack Zelazny and his troops... that could backfire spectacularly. He was no doubt explaining to them why his unit was here, and who they were after. There would be momentary confusion, yes, but... it was too much to hope they'd simply kill each-other. And it would bring reinforcements, regardless.
Then again, if she simply did nothing, they would no doubt sort themselves out, and begin coordinating with each other. And that would inevitably corner her, not to mention put Radford at risk.
But what if... Yelena pursed her lips, focusing on Zelazny himself.
What if I take him out? Right here and now. I have a clear shot, and a sniper weapon. He is by far the most dangerous element here. And I'd rather not play cat-and-mouse with him again, in the future. That xray-capable Smart Vision of his is a problem. And who knows what else he has...
Staying prone, she edged herself and the sniper rifle closer to the roof's edge. It was a tempting opportunity. Yes, it would give away her position, yes it would have the rest of them, police AND IG units, scrambling after her, and bring reinforcements in, possibly drones and hunter-killers as well... but not having Zelazny, an S-grade asset, in the picture, would be a big advantage.
She bit her lip hard. Pros vs. Cons... it was a difficult decision. But, her tactical mindset prevailed. He was a threat. Possibly the biggest threat she faced, since Jensen. And as much as she would have preferred a more... fair fight... it wasn't worth the risk. She had a shot, he was right there, distracted by talking to those officers. She could lead the rest of them on a wild goose chase, and it would be a very good diversion for Radford, as well.
Goodbye, Michael Zelazny.
Exhaling softly, she gently squeezed the trigger, the scope's reticle centred on the back of the cyborg's head, not wanting to risk his custom armoured suit, and whatever subdermal plating he had. A sniper round could probably penetrate all of it, but it wasn't a guarantee. In that infinetessimally short milisecond as the bullet traversed the distance, she saw the beginning of an evasive twitch of his head, as his onboard active-defence sensor clearly reacted to the incoming projectile... but a sniper round was simply too fast to dodge. Especially at what was relatively short range, for a weapon like that.
Impacting the left side of his cranium, almost a graze, but still a full impact, the bullet blew half his head off, and the big cyborg crumpled, dead.
Instantly, Yelena scrambled back, cloaking, even as a staccatto of automatic fire whizzed upwards, followed by a more pronounced ricochet... a higher-calibre round.
Enemy sniper... lucky for me they weren't looking in my direction until I fired.
Was her fleeting thought, as she rushed back to the skylight, another sniper shot zipping right by her. Cloaked, they couldn't see her, just her last visible position. But they would be switching vision modes about now...
...she jumped-in, as a third round grazed the top of her head, taking a piece of scalp off, and leaving a very angry burn. Yelena saw white, dizzy for a moment, as she landed heavily inside the attic. Stumbling to her feet, she belatedly remembered she left the sniper rifle behind. Well... she sure wouldn't be going back for it!
Gently, she touched the top of her head... it felt like acid, and sticky with half-seared blood. A good patch of skin and hair was indeed gone, exposing bone beneath. And from the dull, pounding pain – she suspected she lost a top layer or two of her skull, too.
Not my preferred haircut, thank you...
She grimaced to herself, decloaking, taking a deep breath. That – was as close as it could possibly get. And by all rights, she should be lacking a head now, just like the late Zelazny. If she survives today, she would definitely start praying again. This was the hand od God at work, sparing her until her duty to her family was discharged. Yelena was sure of it.
If she survives... hearing the buzzing of drones outside, and distant yelling below. Now it was a hunt. And she was the prey. But at least Zelazny was history.
Eight... three... one... zero... here goes nothing...
Brent Radford thought, inputting the entrance door code that Aria Rand gave him. Given his increasingly paranoid state of mind, in light of everything that happened today, he wouldn't be surprised if the wrong code would have triggered a concealed turret or something, shredding him to bits on the spot.
But the doors opened soundlessly, into an impeccably maintained, ornate lobby, with crystal chandelliers lining the ceiling, relief-patterned walls, and sconces containing statues lining them.
~Welcome home, missus Rand.~
An AI-sounding tone echoed pleasantly. The old man smirked. So far, Aria Rand was right on the money.
~"I'm in. Over."~ - he informed Irene via walkie-talkie. There was no response, but through the static, he could hear sounds of weapons fire and police sirens. Shrugging, he signed out.
Well, that sounds like she's drawing attention, all right. Best make use of it.
Keeping his head on a swivel for any additional security, the detective proceeded into the lobby, trying to keep quiet. He couldn't help but shake his head at the ostentatiousness of it. Imagining this must be what the inside of an ancient king's palace would look like.
Like Aria promised, the place seemed to be empty. No staff, no servants, no bodyguards. Clearly, Rand's security protocols didn't include putting anyone inside. But he remained cautious, his revolver in hand.
He eyed the twin wide staircase leading to the balustrade which seemed to be the mansion's second floor. Looking above, he could see another floor, just as richly adorned. The place seemed to be three stories high, with this lobby serving as a central nexus.
But he hesitated to use it. There were plenty of nooks and crannies up there, that might contain a camera or a sensor. Pulling a pocket secretary out of his coat's inner pocket, he consulted the rest of the codes Aria gave him. One was a master security code, that was supposed to let him access the mansion's Smart Home interface. Until he logged-in, and let the interface 'add' him to the list of allowed tenants, he didn't want to push his luck going upstairs. To be fair, the AI did recognise him as Aria Rand, but... a bioscan would dispel that illusion quickly, unless he manually deactivated any scanners.
So he went back, looking at the doors on the bottom level. A dressing room, what looked like a staff bedroom at the far end, and what must have been staff living room. Very clearly separated down here, from the 'high class' folks whose accomodations were no doubt upstairs.
Typical rich bastards...
Radford grimaced, looking around each chamber. No terminal. Clearly, the staff weren't allowed to access the mansion's security at all. Sensible from Rand's perspective, but... it put him in a bind. He had to reach the upper floors, without triggering a scanner on the way. Lucky for him, the lobby was clearly a low-security area.
He looked at the pocket secretary again.
"Access vocal interface. Code Aria-441." – he intoned out loud, for the AI to hear him.
~Voiceprint not recognised, missus Rand.~ - the pleasant-sounding female tone replied. He grimaced. He had to fake Aria's voice... which was likely beyond his ability.
"Access vocal interface. Code Aria-441." – he spoke again, this time in a higher pitch, trying to sound more feminine, mimicking Aria Rand's speech pattern as best as he could.
~Voiceprint not recognised, missus Rand. Be advised, you have – one – attempt remaining, before remote lockout.~
Right. Lesson learned, keep my mouth shut. I don't sound like Aria.
The detective gave up on it. He didn't want to find out what exactly 'remote lockout' entailed. But his gut told him it included triggering an intruder alarm, and maybe even alerting the police.
He explored the rest of the rooms lining the lobby. A staff bathroom and toilet, and a large kitchen, clearly meant to service the entire mansion. No terminal anywhere. However, returning to the staff bedroom, he saw a pocket secretary lying on one of the beds, almost hidden under a pillow.
~"Hey Jill, how 'bout our bet? You try to ride that dumbwaiter up to the third floor yet? You owe me 50 creds if you didn't. And I'll KNOW if you didn't!"~
Radford's face lit up. Of course! A place like this must have a dumbwaiter... then he frowned. Looking at this Jill's clothes in a dresser next to the bed, she was a fairly tiny woman. She might fit inside a dumbwaiter... but that didn't mean he could. Still, only one way to be sure.
He returned to the kitchen, looking around more closely. There it was... a shuttered recess in the wall, next to a pair of fridges. Opening the shutters, he could see the lift was fairly small... but it didn't look impossible to fit in. If he adopted a near-fetal posture, he just might make it... and probably spend the next week nursing arthritis.
...but the notion gave him pause. If the lift got stuck due to his weight, he might end up trapped in a space not much bigger then a shoebox.
Yeah... let's run a few tests first. This looks sketchy as hell.
Piling up a number of heavy flour bags and a large container of rice that he found in the pantry, then topping it up with a potato bag, he estimated the combined weight would more or less equal his own. Then he pressed the button up. For a moment, the mechanism whined in protest, then the dumbwaiter began ascending – slowly.
He leaned in to look up the shaft – it did move upward, but the strain was evident, as the strained whine continued. But it reached the top. Radford shook his head to himself, anything but reassured.
Oh boy... well. No guts, no glory...
He lowered the lift again, emptying it. He didn't dare run any more tests, since if it broke down, he wouldn't even get a chance to use it. Taking a deep breath, he clambered inside... spending a good few minutes trying to squeeze-in, feeling very literally buried alive. His back was killing him, as he hit the button. Praying that the mechanism wouldn't fail mid-ascent, and fighting a brutal onset of claustrophobia.
The dumbwaiter made it's labourious way upward again, but very near the top, it jerked hard to a halt. Cold sweat broke out on the detective's brow, as he could hear the emergency-latches engage... slipping agonisingly downward, a milimetre at a time. He had moments, at most, before the thing plunged back down, likely breaking his back on landing.
Desperately, Radford wriggled-out, gritting his teeth in pain... but his revolver got caught at the lip, and stayed inside. He fell to the carpeted floor just as the dumbwaiter plummeted down – taking his Diamondback with it, before he could reach back in to take it.
"Great... owww! I'm really too old for this crap..." – the man grunted through his teeth in pain, spending a few moments on the floor, rubbing his sore back and bruised shoulder, where he hit the ground.
At least Sammie's hacking tool was considerate enough to not slip out. Something, at least.