by Captain Sammitch and Chewy Walrus
MBL Consulting Complex:
The apartment building contained some of the most advanced security systems ever devised: elaborate scanners, sharp sensors, layers upon layers of security barriers, and an extremely powerful supercomputer to run the show. And at the moment, it was all useless.
Phil Smith and Leslie Kline were being followed through the building by six well-armed MAW agents led by Special Agent Steve Fisher, and unpowered security devices weren't of much use to them at the moment. Phil thought about using the panic room and decided against it -- the air tanks weren't pressurized yet, and there weren't enough supplies inside to hold out for long.
Time to improvise.
Phil stopped at the weapons bin and grabbed his .44, an MP5, and an ammo belt for each. He gave Leslie a pair of Ingrams and two 9mm ammo belts, and they both grabbed all the flashbang grenades they could carry -- no high explosives inside the building.
Phil looked at Leslie. "Right about now there would usually be some cheesy cliched line having something to do with making fireworks, rocking and rolling, the presence of a full metal jacket, or getting funky, but since the team is away right now, let's just cut to the chase and kick some ass. You okay with that?"
"As long as I can make my flight on time," Leslie said as she slapped a cartridge into each Ingram. "Where are they?"
"Just around the corner," a voice called. "Phil, we don't have to go through this."
"Save your breath, Fisher," Phil shot back. "And if you even hint at quoting some cheesy fascist cliche or even a catchy comic-book villain, I'll blow your brains out myself."
"There's still a chance to deal here, Smith," the agent replied. "Don't throw it away."
"If I had any intention of negotiating with you," Phil said, "I wouldn't be sitting back here with a shitload of heavy weaponry, now would I?"
"Fair enough," Fisher said. "But you know, being stubborn about this is only going to get your friends killed faster. You can lead us on a wild goose chase if you want. We'll just kill anyone and everyone who gets in our way, that's all." Fisher paused. "We're not here to kill you, Phil, but I have no moral compunctions whatsoever about wasting anyone who gets in the way."
"Then by all means," a familiar female voice chimed in, "let me in on this. I want a piece of the action, too!"
Fisher whirled around. A cold grin slowly spread across his face. "I figured you probably weren't in that Explorer on the bottom of the Hudson, either." He turned. "Your Gabriela is out here, Mr. Smith, and she's got guns. At the Academy, they told me that that's enough of a reason for me to shoot her right now. I would hate to see anything happen to her on your account."
Phil froze.
"That's right," Fisher said. "She's standing twenty feet from us right now, and nobody misses within twenty feet."
"I know I don't."
Fisher whirled around, trying to find the source of the unfamiliar voice. Something whistled through the air and ripped into the shoulder of his suit coat, pinning him to the wall behind him. Fisher's men spun around, searching for this new shooter, which gave Gabi all the time she needed to disappear -- and gave Phil and Leslie a chance to sprint down a maintenance corridor and slam the heavy door shut behind them.
Fisher pulled the object out of the wall. It was, in fact, a No. 12 construction nail, the kind you'd find in any high-powered nail gun.
From her perch on the catwalk overlooking the basement level, Charlene Montoya took in the whole scene and smiled. She emptied another pouch of nails into her nail gun and headed for an exit.
"They're gone, sir," one of Fisher's men said.
Fisher spun around and slammed the agent against a wall. "Thank you, Captain Obvious," he snarled. "Why don't we go find them?" He released the man and stormed off toward a stairway. "Split up," Fisher ordered. "And take out anyone who gets in your way."
A grey Hummer zoomed out of the bustling tourist trap that was Puerta Mibela. The roads weren't all that great -- filled with potholes and some debris still left over from the hurricane -- but the off-road capabilities of the Hummer that Phil had found during Hurricane Jason had more than served the team in getting around the island. Some backroads had been carved out in the meantime, which some of the other members took in getting to and from the Fish Factory, but Grissom Montag was in too much of a hurry now to worry about taking an indirect route.
A cigarette hung limply from the ex-mercenary's thin lips as his eyes narrowed, focusing on the road before him. The heavy strains of Our Lady Peace's "Superman's Dead" played over the stereo as Grissom nervously flicked his cigarette out the window and swerved around a fallen tree trunk that hadn't yet been removed from the road.
Grissom had tried dialing up Kit Piper as he drove, but with the road conditions being what they were, he decided it would be better to just concentrate on driving than trying to continually calling. No one was answering over at the Fish Factory, anyway, and it appeared that Kit's cell was switched off. If Montag knew anything, he knew it was futile to try to contact a man who didn't want to be found.
As he drove, Griss couldn't help but think about leaving Phil alone with those agents at the complex. "Not my problem," he muttered under his breath. "Phil brought this on 'imself, I reckon..."
Besides, he thought as he continued driving, I gotta find Kit for th' Doc. Could be trouble or what, I dunno, but I don't feel so bad about leavin' with two mercenaries there to protect th' place. Charley's not all that bad a fighter, either, given th' proper tools. No reason to upset y'self, Griss. You're doin' the right thing...
Grissom sighed as he saw Piper's station wagon parked in front of the Fish Factory. That meant MBL Consulting's financial adviser was here somewhere. Grissom turned the car off and slipped out of the front seat. One of his guns slowly materialized in the back of his pants. First rule of entering a building, he thought as he walked toward the front door, never go unprepared...
The first sound to hit Grissom's ears as he entered the factory was that of a telephone ringing in the front office. Griss rushed in, sliding to the phone and picking up the receiver. "MBL Consulting," he answered. "This is Grissom. How can I direct your call?"
"Montag!" the relieved voice of Dr. Henry Quantos answered from the other extension. "Have you found Kit yet?"
"Not yet, Doc..." Griss answered, eying Piper's closed office door. "Course, I just got here, so there's really not much I have done."
"Right..." Quantos replied. "Forgive me. Let me know how it goes."
"Will do," Grissom answered. "Later, Doc..."
As Grissom placed the receiver back on the hook, he approached Kit's door, rapping lightly on the wooden surface as he came close. No reply. Griss' gun materialized in his right hand as his left slowly turned the doorknob, only to find the door locked.
"Damn," Griss swore, backing up a few feet, readying himself. Then, getting a small running start, the Sandcrawler landed a flying leap kick into the door, knocking the thing completely off its hinges and onto the floor.
Griss heard a slight shriek and, as he looked up, he saw the huddled form of Kit Piper on the floor by his desk with his back to Montag. His body was shaking violently. "Wh-what... what n-now?" he stammered, his voice moist as though he'd been sobbing uncontrollably.
"Kit," Grissom said. The portly black man looked up at the mention of his name. His tear-flooded eyes widened in surprise and relief at the sight of Grissom, but the expression was short-lived, as the man once more broke down in tears.
"Aw, Kit..." Griss said, sliding his gun into his shorts and kneeling beside the blubbering mass of man. "What'd you do, mate?"
MBL Consulting Complex:
Phil kicked open the door of the maintenance elevator and crawled out of the empty shaft onto the fourth floor. He paused to catch his breath, then turned and helped Leslie through the door into the hallway. "You okay?" he asked.
"I'm fine," Leslie replied. "What's next?"
"I'm not sure," Phil answered. "I thought Grissom would be around here somewhere."
"Are you kidding?" Leslie said. "You're not gonna find him around here!"
"What do you mean?"
"Grissom's a merc," Leslie said. "He didn't have to tell me anything. I could tell without really having to think about it much. When you've been around this business a while, you recognize your own kind." She ran a hand through her auburn hair. "If he's anything like your average mercenary, he's got a real aversion to the government. Any government."
"And that would preclude helping us?"
Leslie nodded. "If it was anyone but you getting chased by these guys, I would be long gone by now."
Phil pounded his fist against the wall. "Perfect. So now we got six MAW guys and Fisher running around out there, and it's just me, you, Gabi, and maybe Charley trying to stop them."
"Seven norms against three metas and a norm. Not bad odds," Leslie replied with a grin.
They heard footsteps approaching from down the hall. Phil and Leslie darted into rooms on opposite sides of the hallway.
A lone MAW agent was approaching, his gun pointed down as his gaze swept the corridor intently. Phil looked at Leslie and held up one finger. Leslie nodded, and began taking off her left shoe.
Phil's jaw dropped. What was she doing?
The MAW agent heard a sound and started toward them. Phil stepped back into the room, and his hand fumbled with the safety of his MP5.
Click. Unfortunately, the safety switch made noise.
The agent swiftly moved toward the room Phil was in. He reached the doorway and paused, waiting to spring around the corner. His face came into view, and Phil started bringing the gun up.
The agent turned and noticed Phil. His eyes widened. But the gun never came around. The man's knees buckled, and he slowly sank to the floor. A small dart stuck out of his left calf -- a dart Leslie had fired from the compressed-air cylinder in her shoe. The agent's eyes closed slowly, and he slumped to the floor, breathing heavily.
"Five cc's of my secret-recipe versed-phenobarb cocktail," Leslie said as she slipped her shoe back on. "He'll be out of commission for a few hours."
Phil shook his head. "You still surprise me sometimes, you know?"
"I'm full of surprises, hon," Leslie replied. "Now let's find the rest of these bastards so I can catch my flight on time."
Ten minutes later, Phil and Leslie found themselves on the seventh floor with Fisher, four of his men, Gabi Riviera, and Charley Montoya unaccounted for.
"I almost feel sorry for that last one," Phil said as he checked the hallway.
"You hit him over the head with the gun," Leslie replied. "All I did was distract him." She checked her watch. "I wish these sons of bitches would just all materialize at once so we can get this over with."
"Leslie," Phil said to her, "forgive me for being less concerned than you with the time your plane leaves, but I'm trying to keep people alive here, ya dig?"
Leslie nodded.
Phil's eyes widened as he stepped out into the hallway. "Holy shit," he breathed. He paused. "Sorry."
"I hear ya," Leslie said. "Now this is a construction area."
Charlene had definitely gone to work. There were nails sticking out of both walls, and two unconscious MAW agents duct-taped together on the floor. Each had a handful of nonlethal but painful-looking wounds, as well as the telltale patch of burned skin left by a powerful taser gun.
Phil slowly crept over and inspected the two agents. Both had their hands cuffed behind their backs and were missing their guns and ammunition. He looked around but couldn't find anyone else on that floor.
"Nobody?" Leslie asked.
"Just me," Charley said as she walked out of one of the rooms. "There's two more in the stairwell. Your Gabi isn't too bad with a stun gun."
Phil frowned. "Where did she go?"
"To look for you," Charley answered. "After she gave me my taser back, of course. We make a pretty good team."
"Fisher and one of his agents are still out there," Leslie said. "Not a very good idea to be running around looking for people."
Charlene shrugged. "She looked like she had things under control."
"We'd better go find her," Phil said.
"Where would we even look?" Leslie asked. "She could be anywhere." She looked at Phil. "What?"
Phil didn't answer. His eyes were closed, and he seemed to be listening to something distant.
"What's he doing?" Charlene asked.
"I've learned it's best not to ask," Leslie answered.
Phil snapped to attention. He turned and headed for the elevator without another word. Leslie and Charlene shrugged and followed him.
"See what I mean?" Leslie muttered.
Phil stopped in his tracks on the first-floor landing and held up a hand, signaling for Leslie and Charley to wait.
"Courtyard?" Leslie asked.
Phil nodded.
"Makes sense," Charley said softly. "Construction equipment all over the place, piles of building materials, scaffolding, debris from the old walls... There's no better place for a good old-fashioned hide-and-seek shootout. Fisher knows that. And he knows Phil knows that."
"There are only two of them, though," Leslie reminded her.
"That we know of," Phil said from behind the door.
"That we know of," Leslie conceded. "And three of us -- four if Gabi shows up."