Dillon hefted a Heckler & Koch
9mm UMP submachine gun and motioned to Ben.
“You’d best get a head start while I go to work. Just one thing before you go…”
The
technician, looking highly uncomfortable indeed, paused in his headlong flight
out the door. “Yes?”
“Thank
you.” Dillon extended his hand. Ben looked at it in surprise for a few
seconds, and then shook it. Ben’s face
was one of obvious relief. Probably
had second thoughts about turning loose a crazy man with a bag fulla guns in
his boss’s home. And if he doesn’t, he
should, Dillon thought.
“The main
security room is four doors down. I dunno how you’re going to get in there,
though. My keycard won’t open it.”
“I’ll use
my own key.” Dillon jerked his head
toward the door. “Scram. I’ll give you
one minute to get off the floor.” Ben
nodded and left. Dillon checked his
holstered automatics once again. Several
grenades were clipped to his belt as well as a flare gun and several different
types of flares stowed away in his jacket pockets, along with spare ammo
clips. He hefted the H&K, yanked the
door open and stepped boldly into the corridor.
Four cyborg guards had exited the elevator and the doors were
closing. Dillon got a glimpse of Ben’s
face just before the two halves of the door kissed.
Dillon cut
loose with a withering stream of bullets that caught the cyborgs in their
legs. Blood and lubricating fluids
spurted from veins and tubes. Bone and
plastic splinters flew. The cyborgs
collapsed in a collective heap and dragged themselves along the floor at a
frightening rate of speed toward Dillon, fat yellow sparks leaping from their
shattered legs. Dillon smoothly drew his
flare gun and fired on the floor in front of them.
The cyborgs
yowled and cursed as the bright, pure white flare flooded the corridor with
intense light. Dillon whirled, keeping
his eyes tightly shut. He could hear
more shouts of pain, rage and dismay all around him as other guards, alerted by
the shots, burst from rooms on either side, only to be blinded by the flare.
The flare
abruptly went out. Dillon made his
flares himself, and they only burned for one minute. His enemies would be blinded for a long time,
but he was able to go on and do what needed to be done.
Dillon ran
to the door leading to the main security room, jammed a grenade in the handle
and yanked the pin. With a Whoomp!
the door was blown off its hinges and Dillon quickly followed, taking advantage
of the smoke and noise to spray the room with quick, lethal bursts of deadly
bullets.
Men
screamed and tried to fire back, but they barely got their guns clear of their
holsters. In all the time they’d been
working here, they’d never run up against opposition such as this. Dillon turned and fired back through the
door, taking the guard who had been sneaking up on him full in the chest,
throwing him back clear across the hallway to smash against the far wall. The guard slid to the floor, leaving a wide,
sticky red smear.
Dillon
heaved a grenade out into the hall and then ducked as if went off. He was rewarded with screams of dismay and
pain. He quickly popped outside and
sprayed the hallway with bullets, first left and then right. He ducked back inside, ejected the empty
clip, slapped in a fresh one, and again sprayed the hall.
He heard
desperate, frantic orders to pull back.
Good. They’d take a minute or so
to regroup and figure out how best to hit him again. But that was okay… he already had an idea of
how to get out of here. But first, he
had to find out where Kris was.
The
security setup wasn’t far removed from similar systems Dillon was familiar
with, and it wasn’t long before he was cycling through the series of security
cameras in various rooms and sections of the castle.
***
“What in
bloody hell is going on?” Frayne
demanded. He jammed his gun in Chew Mi’s
side. “What’s happening?”
“How should
I know?”
Indeed,
there were alarms and sirens going off, and flashing emergency lights had
popped up from the floor, indicating the quickest route the staff should take
to clear out. Armed guards were shoving
past quickly exiting technicians.
Spying Chew Mi, they headed towards her.
Chew Mi
roughly knocked Frayne’s hand off her arm and smiled dangerously. “Guess who just bought themselves a weekend
being tortured by yours truly.”
“Don’t be
such a nit. If what I think happened has
happened, you’re going to need every gunman you can find.”
“And what
do you think has happened, you smirky bastard?”
“Dillon’s
loose.”
Chew Mi
snatched Frayne’s gun from his hand and cracked him across the face while her
men surrounded Frayne’s mercenaries.
“You must think I’m stupid! I put
Dillon somewhere that nobody could get out of!
I don’t care how good he’s supposed to be; he couldn’t get out of the
Fishbowl!”
Frayne spat
out a thick gob of blood. “Ask your men what’s happened, then.”
Chew Mi
snapped at the first man in line.
“Report!”
“It’s the
prisoner you threw into the Fishbowl.
Somehow he got out, got hold of his weapons and he’s gone berserk. He’s killed everyone up on the security
floor!”
“How did he
get up there?”
“I have no
idea. He must have destroyed everything
in the main security room, because the communication systems and the backups
have all gone dead.”
Chew Mi
raised her fists to the ceiling and screamed in pure hatred. “Get up there and kill him! Regain control of the floor. And I don’t care how many of you die doing
it!”
“Bad move,”
Frayne said.
“I suppose
you have a better idea?”
Frayne
sighed. “Don’t you understand yet who
you’re dealing with? He gets to your
security room, raises a considerable amount of holy hell and while you and your
men rush up there wasting time, he’s long gone.
He’s only one man against an army.
He can’t afford to stay in one spot for too long or you’ll overrun him
with sheer numbers… and he knows it.”
“So what
are you saying? He’s gone already?” Chew Mi demanded. Her eyes were still furious, but she was
listening.
“Sure he’s
gone. And I know exactly where he went:
to rescue the girl. He’ll want to get
her before he escapes.”
“And why
would he do that?”
“Because he
fancies himself the friggin’ hero of this show, that’s why. And he won’t leave the Quinlan girl in the
hands of the dastardly villains. He’ll
go right to her. But what he doesn’t
know is that the Whale is there as well, and if you don’t wanna miss a good
fight, I suggest we hurry up and get moving.”
***
But Dillon did
know that Frederick Whalen was in the room.
He’d seen the huge bodyguard on the security camera, and that was why he
went in machine gun first when he burst through the door of Numby’s
office. He rolled, bounded to his feet
lightly, and spun about, searching for Whalen.
Where the hell does a bastard that big hide? Dillon
wondered as he became increasingly more and more aware that Whalen was not in
the room.
Dillon
stood up straight, frowning. He looked
over at the couch and saw Kris and Lady Thelma lying on it, both out cold. The body of Dr. Numby looked somehow small
and pitiful lying near a beautiful handmade Pakistani rug. Dillon didn’t like it. Whalen wouldn’t have
gone anywhere without Lady Thelma, which meant he had to be somewhere near . .
. but where? Dillon hadn’t exactly snuck
into the room, and even the stone deaf could have heard all the noise he had
made busting into the place. Maybe he
went to investigate the alarms and sirens that were still going off all over
the castle?
And
maybe you just oughta stop playing 20 Questions with yourself, get the girl and
get the hell out before he shows up along with Frayne and Chew Mi!
the common-sense part of his brain yelled at him. Dillon hurried toward the couch…
And the
Pakistani rug jumped up and attacked him… seizing him in a bear hug.
For one of
the few times in his life, Dillon had been caught totally by surprise. The rug had somehow grown arms that had
wrapped completely around him and were squeezing him with frightening strength. Dillon blindly whipped his head forward and
heard something that sounded suspiciously like bone crunch. The arms relaxed slightly and Dillon brought
his legs up into the rug’s chest and shoved with all the power in his
considerable leg muscles. The rug went
flying one way and he went flying in the opposite direction to somersault to a
panther-like landing on his feet.
The Whale
threw the rug aside and Dillon saw how the trick had been worked. Using his prodigious strength, the Whale had
actually ripped up a section of the parquet wood flooring with his bare hands,
wedged his body into the space underneath, and arranged the rug over the hole.
The Whale charged
Dillon. He fired off the last few
bullets left in the clip and watched in amazement as the bullets hit Whalen in
the chest with no effect whatsoever.
Dillon
ducked under Whalen’s swing and was nearly knocked off balance by the
wind. Dillon seized Whalen’s ankle and
whipped the limb up into the air. Whalen
executed a complete somersault and crashed onto his back with an impact that
knocked paintings off the walls and knick-knacks off the fireplace mantle.
Whalen
moved quicker than any man that size had a right to move and twisted like a
giant alley cat, getting to his feet as if he were yanked upright by a bungee
cord. Dillon ejected the spent clip and
wasted precious seconds fumbling for a fresh one while Whalen seized the
advantage and charged.
Dillon
twirled out of the way with the grace of a bullfighter and cracked Whalen a
good sharp blow upside the head with the butt of the Heckler & Koch. Whalen shrugged it off as his elbow lashed
into Dillon’s side, throwing him onto Dr. Numby’s desk. Before Dillon could react, Whalen had grabbed
the desk, which had to weigh at least five hundred pounds, and flipped it. Dillon tumbled through the air like a badly
tossed Frisbee to strike the wall where Dr. Numby’s collection of swords
hung. The impact of Dillon’s body
hitting the wall knocked the swords off their hooks and they clattered around
Dillon, who rolled out of the way of the larger blades.
Whalen
jumped over the desk, his eyes gleaming with delight. Glad you’re enjoying
this little workout, Dillon thought as he snatched up a sword and hurled it
right at Whalen’s throat. See how you
enjoy having this!
Whalen
caught the sword almost lazily, as if he plucked swords out of the air every
day. Whalen grinned at Dillon, broke the
sword in half in his bare hands, and tossed the two halves over his shoulders. Then he charged again. Dillon slid between his legs like Jackie
Robinson sliding for home and when Whalen turned around, Dillon let him have it
with everything he had in a punch right over the Whale’s heart.
The Whale’s
entire body jerked as if he had stuck his finger in a light socket. A horrid, blubbery gasp escaped him. His eyes bulged and he tried to draw in a
breath. Dillon reached under his jacket,
got one of his automatics clear before Whalen slapped it out of his hand, but
the big man followed it up with a straight punch that made Dillon see red as he
flew the length of the room and collided into the far wall hard enough to leave
a man-shaped impression. He hit the
floor, all the air knocked out of him.
Whalen
wasn’t doing much better, but then again, after the punch Dillon gave him, he
shouldn’t have even been alive. A punch
like that would’ve stopped the heart of a normal man, but as Frederick Whalen
was proving, he was nowhere near normal.
The door
swung open and armed men piled into the room, taking up positions where they
had clean lines of fire. Dillon used the
wall as a brace while he pushed himself up to his feet. Whalen was bent over, hands on his knees,
drawing in deep breaths as his color returned to normal.
Frayne
shook his head. “What a shame. I’d have paid good money to see that one.”
***
Colonel
Alvin Thompson looked up from his desk as Gregory Tipp entered Thompson’s
private command car located at the rear of the twelve-car B.I.T.E train. Tipp’s face was bright with excitement. He eagerly shucked off his topcoat, threw it
carelessly onto a high-backed chair, and walked over to Thompson’s desk.
“You took
your sweet time about getting here,” Thompson complained mildly, gesturing at a
silver, eighteen-cup capacity coffee urn burbling happily in a corner. “Coffee?”
“I’d rather
have a belt of something stronger, but I know you don’t allow that sort of
thing before a mission.”
“Absolutely
not,” Thompson confirmed. “And all my
lads know better. I don’t care if they
drink a barrelful of booze once the job’s done, but nobody on my team goes on a
mission if they’ve had so much as a mouthful of Listerine. I’m sorry, Greg. Technically you’re my boss, but those are my
rules and—”
Tipp waved away Thompson’s
regretful words. “This is your court, Alvin,
and I’ll play by your rules. I’m not
here as your boss. I’m here as a
colleague to help smooth out the rough spots.
Coffee will be fine, just throw an extra couple spoonfuls of sugar in it
and that’ll be enough of a jolt to keep me up.
Now what’s the play?”
Thompson gestured at the mapboard
he had been examining. “I just received
confirmation from one of my scout teams that Dillon was taken hostage by
private guards in the employ of Dr. Aristotle Numby. I understand that he’s been under
surveillance for some time now, but he’s got a lot of powerful friends in
influential places and we haven’t been able to get the authorization to go into
his castle for Dillon.”
Tipp nodded and looked at the
schematics of the castle. “I know
Numby. Met him at a variety of
government functions. He’s reputedly a
brilliant man, but he’s also been known to bend the rules a bit in his work in
genetics and biomechanics. Numby’s been
one the major players lobbying for a relaxation of the laws regarding
cybernetic augmentation in the United Kingdom.”
“Well, he’s got Dillon, that’s a
fact. My men questioned several barflies
in Numby Dell and they swear that Dillon and the Quinlan girl were taken by
‘Dr. Numby’s windup warriors’.”
Tipp looked up sharply. “That a quote from your lads or the
barflies?”
“The barflies.”
“And you interpret that to mean—?”
Thompson shrugged, walked over to
the urn, and began pouring coffee for Tipp into a huge black mug with B.I.T.E.
in red letters emblazoned on the side, the letters forming huge fangs in a
gaping snake’s mouth. “Numby’s got
cyborgs up there that he uses for his personal use is the only thing I can
figure.”
Tipp looked back down at the
schematic. “Big place. What did you have in mind?”
“First off, do you have the
authorization to give me the go ahead to take the castle?”
Tipp took the steaming mug of
coffee and blew on the liquid twice before taking a cautious sip. He looked at his friend with steady
eyes. “Don’t worry about it. I’m giving you the word to take the castle
any way you deem necessary.”
Thompson frowned. “Dammit, Greg, don’t go putting your arse in
the grinder if you don’t have to! If we
bust in there and kill some people and don’t find Dillon or any evidence of
illegal cybernetics—”
“Then I guess you’ll just have to
bloody well make sure that you do, hmm?”
***
“I’m going
to end all of this right here and now,” Chew Mi promised grimly. An even dozen of her men had their guns
pointed squarely at Frayne and his men.
Frayne was unarmed, but his men still had their guns and looked
perfectly ready to use them with or without a word from Frayne.
Dillon and
the Whale had been shoved into the middle of the two groups. Now that he was closer to the larger man and
could see through the bullet holes in his shirt, Dillon saw how the Whale had
survived being shot: the giant was wearing some kind of flexible body
armor. That, along with his considerable
musculature had been enough to spare him.
Dillon made a note to use armor piercing shells next time he had Whalen
in his gun sight. If there was
going to be a next time, because from the antsy way Chew Mi’s and Frayne’s
respective crews were acting they were just about to reenact the last fifteen
minutes of The Wild Bunch.
“Good idea,
twinkle.” Frayne confirmed and snapped
his fingers. A gun was tossed to him by
one of his men and he ran lightly over to where Kris lay on the couch. “First things first: I want that damned pain
in the ass ring, Dillon, and I want it right now. No tricks or I give your girlfriend here a
9mm hair dye using her brains.”
“Okay,
okay!” Dillon reached into a pocket and
pulled out the golden ring, the opal sparkling wetly in the bright overhead
lighting. “Listen, let’s just all take
it easy here before—”
Whalen
rabbit punched Dillon with enough force to knock him to the floor. The ring flew up into the air, turning over
and over, and for a few crucial seconds, everybody’s eyes were on it.
Chew Mi was
the first to snatch her eyes back on the one thing in the room that really
mattered to her: Frederick Whalen, the man who had slain her beloved Dr.
Numby. Chew Mi lifted her AK-47 and
screamed as she squeezed the trigger. A
dozen bullets took Whalen high up on the chest and blood spurted in a fine mist
as Whalen’s body jiggered and jumped.
The impact of the bullets kicked him backwards into two of Frayne’s
men. AK-47 must have been loaded with
Teflon bullets, Dillon thought as he watched Whalen’s massive body crash to
the floor.
The rest of
Frayne’s crew opened fired enthusiastically on Chew Mi’s men, who were just as
generous in their return fire. Dillon
stayed on the floor, covered his head, and hoped they’d use up all their
bullets in their sudden, bloodthirsty zeal to wipe each other out before
remembering he was between them.
Frayne
caught half a clip in his stomach and chest and fell right next to Dillon, his
eyes astonished, as if he could hardly believe that he was dying. Dillon looked over at Whalen, who was sitting
with his hands in his lap like a giant child, his eyes glazed and unfocused,
his shirt and jacket soaked with his own blood.
Frayne’s
crew and Chew Mi’s men were all dead, having shot each other into
hamburger. The room was filled with
smoke and the thick smell of cordite.
Chew Mi dropped her AK-47, grabbed up the golden ring and ran from the
room, cackling. “Now I have Odin’s ring
and it is I who will determine where it goes!”
“Swell.” Dillon got to his feet and stepped over
Frayne, his intention to check on Kris.
Frayne’s
hand seized Dillon’s ankle. Dillon
looked down at his dying enemy, who was trying to say something, but only
managed a gargling rasp as thick, dark blood bubbled past his lips.
“What the
hell do you want, Frayne? Die with a
little dignity, willya?”
“Too bad…
it had to end up . . . like this…”
“Not from
where I’m standing.” Dillon kicked his
foot free and went over to Kris. He
yanked her to a sitting position, unsnapped one of the pouches on his belt, and
pulled out a small white capsule that he cracked in half under her nose. She came back to consciousness in seconds and
was appalled to find herself sitting in a room that had been turned into a
slaughterhouse.
“What…
Dillon, what in …?”
Dillon
pulled her roughly to her feet. “I’ll
explain on the run. Right now we’ve got
to catch up to Chew Mi!”
“But why?”
“Why
else? The damn ring’s changed hands
again!”
