“Team check; who fired?”
“Negative on Tinman.”
“Negative on Priest”
“This is Zodiac. Shot came from level four. Hex, do you copy?”
There was a slight pause and another voice came through. “Hex do you copy? Shit, shit, shit! Hex must be down — proceed to fourth!”
Ethan felt his chances for escape fluttering away. He called the elevator with a quick jab on the button, praying the decrepit machine wouldn’t die on him now. He flipped over his unconscious attacker and continued his search, finding two sets of handcuffs — although they were unlike any he’d ever seen. He snapped one around the man’s wrist and fastened it to the wall railing, then attached the second set around Hex’s booted ankle and secured its other end to the handle bar of the hallway door.
The slow clank of the elevator was like sweet music to Ethan’s ears and he hurried to finish the task of binding the man. Then he straightened and pulled the handgun from behind his back, aiming it at the elevator as the door crawled open; it was clear. The doors began to move again and Ethan stepped his foot in the track, halting their progress. When they opened in response to the intrusion, he kicked over a nearby trash bin and rolled it between the sliding doors.
Loud footfalls ascended and descended the stairs, and Ethan backed away from the sound. Then the hallway door began to swing open and Hex’s leg moved up and out in response to the pull on his ankle. The stretching of Hex’s extremities yanked him from his slumber.
“He’s chained me to the damn door!” The man began struggling against his bonds and yelled out as his comrades continued to pull on their side of the handlebar.
Ethan didn’t have time to bask in smug satisfaction at his resourcefulness. He was, after all, still stuck on the fourth floor. He looked down the corridor. His only escape route was through that window, so he sprinted for it. He passed his own room, knowing that everything he’d left on the table was forfeit. When he got to the window he returned the gun to his waistband and yanked on the lock. It relented, finally, and Ethan placed his palms against the frame to slide it up.
Without warning, a crushing blow slammed into his chest and knocked him down, glass showering over him like a deadly hailstorm, cutting and nicking him in a dozen places. Before he could even open his eyes or comprehend what happened, a heavy form dropped onto his body. An unseen fist plowed two quick blows to Ethan’s jaw and he spent a few moments staring at explosions of painful light. When his eyes came rolling back to the front, he was face to face with Death.
A member of the tactical unit stared down at him behind a green glow that emanated from ocular cavities in a black metal helmet. The helmet was nearly identical to the one worn by the commando Ethan had chained to the wall. But this one was different; sporting the shape of a skull. It was a great deal more menacing.
“You’re coming with us, Mr. Tannor.” A rough no nonsense voice came from behind the mask. Then the man piped into his head set, “What’s your status, Priest?”
Ethan couldn’t hear the other end of the conversation, but the casual way in which Death moved told him that quartering Hex hadn’t held the team up for too long. He tilted his head back, viewing the world upside down, and saw three other members of the squad swooping in from the elevator’s ceiling hatch.
He thought about going for the gun at his waist, but now he was outnumbered four to one; he’d never been a math wiz, but even Ethan knew the odds of fighting his way out of this situation were nil.
One of the men in full combat gear came closer, and despite Ethan’s distorted perspective from the upside down view, he could tell the guy was enormous. He felt his gut clench with the first tremor of real fear. Ethan turned his focus to the rest of the group down the corridor and saw them busy shouldering Hex onto his feet.
“So this is the mark, huh?” Mr. Gigantic pointed the business end of his equally intimidating weapon at Ethan.
Ethan recoiled on impulse beneath the front sights of the gun, but he wasn’t afforded much room for movement under the weight of the squad’s apparent leader.
“Yes he is, Priest. This is our boy.” The Grim Reaper patted Ethan hard on the head then followed it up with front and back hand slaps across the face.
Ethan winced as his already sore jaw took the second assault. Blood pooled in his mouth and he spit it at Death’s mask before even pausing to consider the ramifications. He was saved from instant reprisal when the door to room 403 burst open and a man’s face poked out.
“What the hell are you doing?” Even in the dim light, Ethan could see the man’s expression change the instant it registered that he’d walked in on a nasty situation. His eyes bulged, and his mouth sagged open, then he began stammering. “You … you can’t be here — I’m calling the police!”
Technically, Ethan was the police and he hadn’t faired so well. So he knew his buddies wouldn’t stand a chance. At any rate, by the time the boys in blue did show up, he and this team of elite soldiers would be long gone.
The man ducked back inside his room and slammed the door shut. They heard the lock engage a moment later. Ethan almost laughed at the futility of the gesture. The team leader gave a nod to the bulky man named Priest, who turned, squared himself, and brought his enormous boot up to kick the frail looking door. The locking mechanism tore from the frame as the door caved in, crashing into the back of the poor occupant. Priest went inside, and the sound of fist meeting flesh came from the room. When the quick assault stopped, Ethan guessed the resident of 403 was now lying in an unwanted dream state.
Priest’s goliath-like form rounded the entryway of the room. He yelled down the hall to his squad mates, “Worm, Tinman — grab all his shit from the room.” He jerked a thumb at Ethan.
“Which room?” one of them yelled back.
“Whichever one the tracker’s in,” Priest shouted. “Or just start kicking in all the damn doors!”
The death-masked commander leveled his green-hued gaze at Ethan. “So, Mr. Tannor, are you going to come peacefully?” The muzzle of a weapon pressed against Ethan’s shoulder, bringing him back to his current predicament.
“Who the hell are you? What do you want with me?” Ethan gasped through the pressure on his chest.
“We don’t have time for twenty questions. Dope him, Priest.”
The Sasquatch named Priest pulled a syringe from the side leg pouch of his pants with one hand, letting his other drop the gun; it dangled against his torso as he pulled off the needle’s plastic cap and tossed it aside. Ethan felt queasy just eyeing the wicked looking point. Or maybe it was the beating his jaw had taken.
The syringe filled with God-knew-what was jammed into Ethan’s neck. He struggled against the burn of the stinging liquid as it seeped into his skin, but he knew it was fruitless. His vision began to blur and then the weight on his chest seemed to lessen as he felt his consciousness slip away along with everything else.
26
Full Rubber Jacket
A team of police and forensic specialists milled about in the dim hallway, performing their tasks with routine precision and dedicated determination.
“This is turning into quite the week,” a young blood officer said.
“Yep,” Art responded, his eyes not moving from the wreckage by the elevator.
It was well after three in the morning, but Art didn’t feel tired despite the long day. His instincts had not let him down; Art had asked one of the night dispatchers to page him in the event something like this happened at a pay by the hour motel. When he’d heard the news of an assault squad abduction at a hotel similar to The Cozy Clam, Art knew with certainty it involved Ethan.