Panic (22 page)

“Red Leader, check in. Over,” the voice came through again.

Jerome held the radio up to his mouth. “This is Red Leader, checking in. Over.”

There was no response for a few seconds. “Roger that, Red Leader. Out.”

“They know something’s wrong,” said Jerome. “We didn’t have the code. They’ll be sending a team to engage us. It’s time to put the next phase of the plan into action.”

“Take up your positions,” said Leopold. “We only get one chance at this.”

Chapter 39

The few lights in the house snapped into darkness. The soft glow that had given the rooms a warm and welcoming feel vanished in an instant, replaced instead by inky blackness and the occasional burst of white light from the storm flashing outside. The darkness gave more weight to the rain, which sounded like gravel hitting a tin roof. Leopold tightened his grip on the anti-personnel explosives and glanced over at Mary and Jerome, both stood ready for action, coiled up and tensed like springs.

Stark’s men were using classic engagement tactics. First, kill the power and disorient your targets. Second, surround and cut off exit routes. Third, neutralize. Leopold knew the drill. He listened intently through the clattering of the rain for the sound of movement, but there was nothing. He glanced at Mary, who seemed to be thinking the same thing. Jerome kept still, tilting his head slightly, listening. There was only the noise of the storm outside as they waited in the stagnant darkness. Just waiting and listening. Finally Jerome’s head turned sharply and he nodded to Leopold. They were here.

Leopold faced the doorway that led to the hall. Jerome and Mary covered the other entry points. Stark’s men would attempt to surround them on each side, but they wouldn’t be expecting a counterattack. They would expect a retreat. This single misapprehension would buy them a second or two to press their advantage, a fleeting chance of success. Christina’s fate came down to how those two seconds were going to unfold.

They came like a battering ram. Like a stampeding herd. Two men at each door, six in total, bursting into the room with their heavy boots and submachine guns. Like their comrades, they wore body armor but no headgear. They moved in unison, a single entity with lethal intent. But they weren’t expecting what happened next.

As the men entered, Leopold crouched and slipped out behind them before they had time to turn around to check their blind spots; a split second advantage brought about by the lack of light. Mary and Jerome did the same, and the three of them stood in separate doorways, looking in at the group of killers standing in the center of the room. The bodyguard nodded and each of them twisted the casing of their explosive, sliding them across the carpet as Stark’s men turned to face them, weapons raised and ready to fire.

The grenades got there first. The white phosphorous and other chemicals inside the devices crushed together on detonation, sparking an exothermic reaction powerful enough to raise the temperature of the target area to five thousand degrees Fahrenheit. The room was lit up with a blinding flash as the phosphorous ignited, sticking to the clothes and skin of Stark’s men. Leopold slammed the heavy door shut and dropped to the floor, avoiding the inevitable back-blast. He hit the ground hard, reigniting the pain in his ribs, just as the sprinkler system kicked in. Then the screaming started.

The white phosphorous was immune to the effects of the water pumping from the ceiling, and Leopold soon heard the
whoosh
of the white hot flames as they engulfed the room with astonishing speed and fury. He caught the acrid smell of melting fabric as the men’s clothes melted onto their skin. The screaming got louder and the heat intensified as the flames grew, seeking more fuel. Those who hadn’t passed out from the pain were still shrieking in agony as the blood in their veins reached boiling point and the last of the air was sucked out of their lungs by the hungry inferno.

Leopold gagged as the temperature near the door rose to an unbearable level, bringing with it the thick stink of chemical smoke and charred meat. The doors were modern and designed to resist fire, but it would only be a matter of time before the blaze got through. Hopefully they would hold out long enough for the flames to run out of fuel and die down, giving them just enough time to get to Christina before it was too late.

Stark was nine men down. With the mess at the library earlier, that brought the total dispatched to fourteen. The odds were getting a little better.

Chapter 40

Leopold sighed with relief as Jerome found the water supply to the house and shut off the supply to the sprinklers.  The system cut out almost immediately, leaving the three of them drenched to the bone.

“Give me a minute and I’ll try and get the power back on,” said Jerome, stomping through the puddles that had formed on the floor towards a utilities cupboard at the far end of the kitchen. He pulled open the door and examined the circuit breaker panel within, settling on one of the larger switches and flicking it into position.

A split second later, Leopold heard a low thrumming noise and the lights flickered back on, forcing him to squint.

“How long do we have before the fire trucks get here?” asked Mary, her hair soaked flat to her forehead.

“This is an old system,” said Jerome, closing the cupboard door. “The sprinklers are heat-activated, and work using a purely mechanical design, so it’s unlikely they’ve been hooked up to alert the emergency services. I can’t hear an alarm, so Stark has probably disabled it. Either way, nobody’s on their way to help.”

“Good,” said Leopold. “If Stark sees sirens, he might panic. The fire doors should hold for now, we can call for help when this is all over.”

“How can you know that?” asked Mary.

“The only way to completely extinguish white phosphorous is with sand or some other dry compound, which we don’t have. Thankfully, the room is pretty well sealed, so there’s not much air getting in. Without a steady supply of fresh air, the burn temperature will have fallen to a safer level. This gives us some time.”

“How much time?”

“Impossible to tell. As long as no more air gets in, the phosphorous will eventually solidify and cool completely. We just have to hope nobody unseals the room, otherwise the fire will start up again.”

“That’s a great theory,” said Mary, “but how about we get moving and put some distance between us?”

“My thoughts exactly,” said Jerome, pacing through towards the staircase.

The bodyguard led the way up to the second floor, where the hard wood floors gave way to sodden carpet, which squelched noisily under Leopold’s feet as he walked. He figured Stark would be holding Christina on the top floor, which would provide the most protection against an assault from ground level. Jerome checked his watch and nodded. The other mercenaries would know their attempt had failed by now, but the chances of another head-on assault were low. Stark’s men would have to employ better tactics this time, which made them unpredictable. And dangerous.

Leopold stood at the rear of the group as Jerome led the way, treading carefully across the soaking wet carpet and stopping every few steps to listen for movement. It was almost as wet inside as it was outside in the storm. The sprinklers had blown most of the lights on this floor of the house, but it was still possible to make out gray shapes in the gloom, and the heavy rain had faltered a little so the house was quieter than before. He gripped his Glock .45 a little tighter.

Then the walls exploded. Leopold hit the floor, a split second after the others, covering his head with his hands and screwing his eyes shut as the bullets began to fly, ripping the walls and doors to shreds with a deafening volley of flying lead. He felt a searing flash in his shoulder as debris flew all around him, and opened his eyes to see a thick pool of blood forming where a large splinter of wood had lodged itself. He pulled out the fragment and tossed it to the floor, using a free hand to stem the bleeding. He glanced up at the spot where he had been standing, which had been reduced to a series of gaping holes, and tried to catch a glimpse of the others. As the dust from the ruined walls settled, he saw the outlines of Mary and Jerome. They were crawling flat to the ground, using their elbows for traction in an attempt to reach cover around the corner, where the corridor turned at ninety degrees and offered shelter. Leopold followed, and quickly realized they were being driven down a blind alley, with no escape route in sight.

As he rounded the corner and caught up to the others, he got to his feet, shaking slightly as he leaned against the wall, and caught his breath. Mary and Jerome stood a few feet away on the other side of the corridor, their breathing a little more controlled than his, but still audible above the noise of the rain outside. He heard footsteps approach from behind them, muffled by the thick carpet but still clear enough. A floorboard creaked, and then there was silence.

A small metallic object rolled into view, hitting the back wall with a soft
thump
. After a few seconds, smoke began to pour from it, curling upwards and quickly plunging the corridor into a choking cloud. Eyes stinging, Leopold stumbled forward and felt around with his arms outstretched, trying to catch hold of Jerome or Mary as he heard movement ahead.

He felt his breath knocked out of him as something hard connected with his gut, and he doubled over, coughing and wheezing, inhaling more of the sour-tasting smoke, and fell backward into one of the doors that lined the hallway. He wrenched at the handle and fell through onto the floor, kicking out with his feet and slamming the door shut. Something heavy collided with it on the other side and Leopold stood and pushed his entire body against the door, using his weight to keep it closed. The door shook on its hinges. He heard a crack as the frame splintered and the door fell through, knocking him backward with enough force to send him rolling across the floor. He collided with a coffee table, knocking his head against the heavy wood.

Leopold looked up, slightly dazed from the smoke and the impact of the fall, and looked around, trying to gauge his surroundings. He was lying on the floor of what looked like a study, but the lack of light made it difficult to tell. Thanks to the faint glow of the street lamps outside the window, he could just about make out a few tall book cases and a large desk, complete with an ornate high back chair that looked like it was worth a small fortune. Other than the coffee table he had just slammed into, the room was empty and, as far as he could tell, had only one door. There was no way out.

Leopold sucked in a deep breath and got to his knees as a shadow approached from outside the room. In the doorway stood one of Stark’s men, surrounded by billowing smoke and wearing a gas mask. In the gloom he looked like a demon walking straight out of hell. Leopold blinked hard, getting the last of the smoke out of his eyes, and got to his feet.

The figure approached slowly, then stopped and pulled off his mask, revealing a maniacal grin and pockmarked face, visible even in the dim light. He stood at least a head taller than Leopold, who recognized the man’s features immediately: Viktor, the unit commander who reported directly to Stark. Leopold clenched his fists and stood ready.

Viktor tossed his weapon onto the floor and cracked his knuckles. Leopold didn’t wait for an invitation. He rushed forward and aimed a blow at the enormous man’s side, connecting hard with the ribs. He hoped to crack at least one, but if his opponent felt anything he certainly didn’t show it. Instead, Viktor reached out and grabbed Leopold’s throat with two giant hands and squeezed. Under the impossibly strong grip, he felt his head begin to get hot and swell as the oxygen and blood flow to his brain was cut off. The commander’s forearms were straining with the effort, the muscles wrapped together and tensed tight and thick like steel cable. 

As the last reserves of his strength began to fade away, Leopold noticed the rims of his vision begin to darken, a vignette of red that signaled his optic nerves were beginning to fail. His pulse thumped in his ears like a muffled drum.
What a curious way to die
. Each system slowly shutting down, bit by bit, until there was nothing left. He felt a kind of peace at the inevitability of it all. It didn’t even hurt any more.