Suicide Squad (16 page)

Its engine grinding, Chinook-2 howled toward its target. Two hundred feet to go. Any cars on the road below them scrambled to get out of the chopper’s way. It came in just feet above their rooftops.

One hundred sixty feet to go.

A large black van with a roof-mounted luggage attachment tried to pull out of the way, but the Chinook’s tail rotor slammed into the luggage, slicing it open, scattering its contents to the wind.

One hundred feet.

The Chinook was spinning now, but the pilot refused to surrender the controls. At the same time he raised the collective, he adjusted the throttle to increase speed. The copter nosed up slightly as it jerked ahead.

Fifty-seven feet to go.

He carefully manipulated the left tail rotor pedals, swinging the nose to the left while raising the collective as far as he could. The copter’s nose lifted again, but he knew it wasn’t nearly enough

He was over the parking lot and needed to decrease speed as he struggled to lower the collective. But the Chinook was coming in too fast. Its burning turbine belched fire and smoke. It careened sideways and rolled as it hit the ground hard.

Its twin rotors pounded themselves to pieces against the ground. Kicked-up dust and debris were everywhere, obscuring visibility while the passengers hugged the columns to avoid getting hit by the rotor shrapnel.

“Move. Move. Get out.” Flag had barely maintained consciousness. They followed him as he scrambled out of the ruined Chinook and headed for a freeway underpass where the SEALs waited for them.

* * *

A drone, flying three hundred feet above, followed their every move, faithfully recording everything it saw.

Sitting in her operations center office, Amanda Waller watched the video feed. When she saw they were all safe—even Flag’s damned Suicide Squad—she breathed a long sigh of relief. They made the first down, but the real game was just beginning.

Flag led the Chinook-2 SEALs and his Squad under the freeway to the ramp heading north, where they joined forces with the SEALs from Chinook-1.

“What now, Colonel?” GQ asked.

Flag checked his phone’s GPS. “We’re ten blocks from the objective. Gimme two columns. Longrifle elements will leapfrog and maintain overwatch. We come in any contact with the enemy, peel off. No John Wayne garbage. No taking them on by yourself, or even in pairs. Our real mission comes once we’re at base. I need everyone there. So let me repeat—you make contact, you fall back and we find another route. Capisce?”

Boomer shot him a dirty look. “Yeah, we got it the first five hundred times you told it to us.”

Flag turned back to GQ. “Your men ready?”

“Roger all, Colonel,” the soldier said as he turned to his SEALs. “First squad, left echelon. Second squad, take right. Senior Chief?”

“Sir?” Gomez, one of the SEALs, ran up to him.

“You grew up here, right?” GQ asked.

Gomez nodded. “Yessir.”

“Then you’ve got point, Senior.”

Flag addressed his Suicide Squad. “Watch how the pros do it,” he shouted as the twenty SEALs moved out, elegantly deploying into perfectly choreographed teams.

Deadshot nodded, somewhat impressed. In another life he’d been in the military. It was where he learned to become a sharpshooter. He respected their discipline. Unfortunately, they also had to follow orders often given by cowards who hid in control rooms while the snipers put their asses on the line. Best thing he could say about Flag was he was no chicken. He was here marching into hell alongside them.

“So what do we do?”

“Nothing,” Flag answered. “Unless I tell you. Follow me.” He started toward the city center, which lay less than half a mile away. A tall cloud of black smoke rose from it, a grim arrow pointing them to their target.

“Look at all this,” Boomer said. “We’re gonna die here, aren’t we?”

“Maybe.” Flag shrugged his shoulders. “Maybe not, but if things are as bad as I suspect, you’re gonna wish you did.”

Harley snorted. “So why are we marching into battle like good little soldiers?”

Deadshot pointed to the explosive in his neck. “This, and ’sides, you got anything better to do?”

“Give me a few seconds and I’m sure I’ll figure something out.”

The Squad followed behind, staring at the horrifying devastation that was everywhere. Buildings had collapsed—once tall and mighty, now headstones for the thousands buried beneath.

They were killers, all of them, unshaken by violent death that often came at their own hands. But this was more than any of them had ever seen before. More… and worse.

Katana followed closely, her hand close to her sword. She was ready to collect their souls if even one of them tried to step out of line.

* * *

Harley slowed down and paced alongside Katana.

“I’m thinking the good guys probably pay better than my guy. So, what does a superhero make, anyway?”

Silent, Katana kept walking.

“Oh, c’mon, K. It’s not a big deal,” Harley persisted. “You getting a grand a week? Two? Five? Don’t tell me you get more?”

Katana glared at her. “Move, or my sword will take your soul.”

“Well, K, you’re out of freakin’ luck. I lost my soul along with my virginity. Look, we’re both babes, right? On the same side, chromosomally speaking. I thought maybe…”

“You thought wrong. We’re not on the same side. We’ll never be on the same side.”

“Mr. J used to say the same thing. Now we’re closer than nipples on a pig. You and me, it could still happen. So give me a ballpark. They pay you by the fight, or you under contract? What about medical? I gotta say, this job isn’t that good on the ol’ skull and bones.”

Katana stopped in her tracks and grabbed Harley by the throat.

“One does not get paid to do what is right.” She pushed Harley back to the road. “Now shut up and walk, or I’ll see to it you won’t have any feet to walk on.”

“Hey, no problem, K. I get it. You’re embarrassed they don’t pay you. But I understand. Mr. J doesn’t pay me, either. So, between us chicks, you think that’s ’cause we’re minions, or is it the girl thing?”

Katana removed her sword and stared at Harley, who gave a big smile and hurried to catch up to the others.

“Okay. Okay. I’m zipping it.”

“Nice talk. Let’s not do it again.”

Boomerang saw Slipknot standing behind him. It was time for a little rabble rousing, and the Knot was just the guy he wanted to rouse. He slowed down as Slipknot caught up to him.

“You know, it’s mind games.”

Slipknot didn’t reply.

“It really is, friend. All mind games.”

“What’s that?”

He had him. “This bomb in the neck crap. It ain’t real, mate.”

“You’re saying the bombs in our necks aren’t real?”

“You believed Flag? A nanite bomb the size of a grain of rice? That tech is still years away, and I should know. My ’rangs are tricked out like a 1950s pimp. ’Sides, what’s a nanite bomb anyway? The thing is all made up.”

“Why?”

“Good question, mate. See, they trap us with our own minds. They make us think we’ll all go boom so we don’t resist, but look around you. We’re free. No bars here. We can run for it, you and me.”

“How do you know this?”

“I know. It’s all a con and I’m the king of cons. Anyway, we get to the corner, I’m ducking out. I’m gone. I’ve got a life to live. You coming?”

“Why ask me? We just met.”

Boomer laughed. “That’s the reason, mate. They’d never suspect the two of us working side by side. But you know, even without the bomb being real, they do have guns, and all I got are a bunch of pimped-out boomerangs. If I want to make this work I’m going to need a partner. So whadda ya say?”

Slipknot looked around. Everyone was calmly walking ahead into battle. Even Flag and the ninja. The timing couldn’t have been better, but he had a better thought. Boomer could be his distraction.

He smiled innocently. “Yeah. Sure. When?”

“On three. One… Two…”

Slipknot got his ropes ready. When Katana stopped to argue with Quinn, he tossed a grapple up to a balcony. Boomer pulled one of his boomerangs from his inside jacket pocket, ready to move.

“Three,” he whispered.

Slipknot activated his rope ratchet and launched himself upward. Boomer threw a boomerang at Katana’s legs—but she jumped like a cat and it flew off, missing her completely.

Slipknot was partially up the wall when he fired a second grapple to the roof, then smoothly transferred to that rope. Once he made it to the top he could disappear into the city. He was almost home free.

Katana’s sword found Boomerang’s throat. He knew if he moved she’d sever his head from the rest of his body. He raised his hands in surrender.

“You got me,” he said. “Sorry about the ’rang. Please don’t kill me.”

Another moment passed and his boomerang suddenly returned to his hands. He dropped it instantly and smiled at her.

“It’s what they do.”

* * *

Flag watched Slipknot scramble over the edge of the rooftop. Idiot. He tapped his cell phone until Slipknot’s mugshot filled the screen; the red “fire” button glowed below it. He was about a block away. Flag wanted to make sure nobody else was in the immediate area.

Once he was sure, he casually tapped the button. There was a sharp explosion, and something the size of a large melon came flying down from above, landing on a pile of garbage. It was Slipknot’s head. His eyes were wide with surprise. Harley turned to Deadshot and laughed.

“Now that’s a killer app.”

Flag found the others staring at him. He showed them his cell phone. Their mug shots were there on the screen, a red button under each of them.

“I wasn’t bluffing,” he said. “I never do. So if you wanna keep playing the
Hollywood Squares
version of ‘I’ll blow your frikkin’ head off,’ I’m ready. Who’s next? You, Deadshot?”

Lawton’s pistol was in his hand before Flag knew it. It was aimed at Flag’s face. Flag’s thumb hovered over the button.

The Squad stepped back. They wanted nothing to do with whatever the hell was going on, but they were content watching it unfold. It was a Mexican standoff.

Flag sneered. “You wanted to shoot me, you wouldn’t have waited for me to call up your picture.”

Deadshot nodded. “And you would have blown off my head before I got the chance to shoot.”

Flag slowly holstered his phone. Deadshot followed suit, and stared at the colonel.

“Next time, don’t threaten me. Just do what you think you need to do.”

Flag nodded to Katana, who released Boomerang. She sheathed her sword as he eyed the rest of the Squad.

“Do we all believe now?”

Harley looked around at the rest of the Belle Reve inmates. “Yeah,” she said. “We don’t push your buttons, you don’t push ours.”

* * *

Deadshot was quiet as he stared at Slipknot’s head. Harley sidled up to him and whispered in his ear.

“He’ll kill us all. One by one.”

“Not going to give him the chance. I can drop him, the ninja, maybe five or six military guys. After that I’m in trouble, but if we move together, we got them. You down?”

Harley grinned. “Always. But what about the crap in our necks? I mean, even if Flag’s at half mast, Waller’s watching us like we’re the Super Bowl.”

Deadshot leaned in closer. “Something tells me your friend is gonna figure that out for us, right?” He gave her the
I know you’re up to something
look, then started to walk off. He stopped and turned back for a second.

“Stay evil, Dollface. Spread the word.” She watched him head in Croc’s direction, then walked over to Boomer and threw an arm around his shoulder.

“Nice play with the Knot,” she said. “You weren’t going to run. Not then. You just wanted to see if we’d go boom.”

Boomerang gave her a confused look.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, Harley. I’m as innocent as the plague.”

“Whatever, Down Under—but now we know, and now we can plan. You wanna hear a story?”

“Does it have a happy ending?”

“Depends if you say yes or no.”

* * *

Diablo sat alone, looking down to the ground. His hands were pressed to the sides of his temples. Nobody was around and he preferred it that way. No friends. No ties. No guilt. But then Boomerang sat down next to him. He didn’t say anything for a while, which suited Diablo. Yet he knew it wouldn’t last, so he spoke first.

“You should go.”

“Mate, I’m thinking no. The thing of it is, I was speaking with the group. We need your help.”

“Anything you’d want is anathema to my needs. I’m not interested. So again. You should go.”

“No. You’re not getting it. We need you to slam Flag with a fireball when the time’s right. He’ll be too busy burning to death to have a go at us with that phone of doom.”

“Then what?” Diablo asked.

“We get out of this place. What do you think?”

“And once we do, then what?”

Boomer stood and stared at Diablo. “What are you, bloody Socrates with all the questions? I’m talking freedom, man. Freedom. You remember that, don’t you?”

Diablo shook his head. “We’re criminals.”

Boomerang was quickly losing his patience. “Yeah. I know. Being evil is great. Who else besides super-villains and fortune five hundred companies can get away with not paying taxes? C’mon. Do the bastard.”

Completely uninterested, Diablo stared silently. Boomerang finally got the message, and started toward Croc.

“Careful,” Diablo added. “He eats people.”

“Sorry, Mother Superior. He what?”

Diablo laughed to himself. He hadn’t done that in years. It felt good.

“He eats people. For meals. He’s a cannibal.”

“Are you shitting me, man?” Boomer said. “Eats people. Right. You almost got me.” He headed over to Croc, still laughing.

“Your funeral. His dessert.” He watched Boomer walk up to Croc. Then Harley suddenly sat down next to him.

What now?

“No,” he said, miles ahead of her. “Already told your pen pal. Not interested. Go away.”

* * *

Harley frowned and gave Deadshot a thumbs down. Down the road Croc pushed Boomerang into a parked car, denting it. She hopped up and joined them.