An ornate, marble staircase led up to their left, while a long hallway beckoned to them just past the foyer. As they moved forward, Cooper couldn’t resist chuckling at the sight of a statue of Venus with bullet holes stitched across her chest. I guess losing your arms to the ravages of antiquity was not enough, he thought sardonically.
From the monitors, Cooper was unsure which doorway off the hallway led to the room where Mitchell was huddled with his guards. However, he knew that it wouldn’t be the first couple of doors and that it was past the midpoint of the long corridor. He motioned for Dranko to follow him. As he did, he heard a flurry of gunfire from a distance, in the direction where Angela had posted up. I hope you have already run off, Angela.
Cooper moved like a cat, slouched, fast, and silent, as he slinked down the hall. Valuable paintings lined the walls. Various portraits of kings, queens, famous artists, and faeries looked down upon the two black-clad men skulking past. Cooper would have sworn he saw their expressions turn to disgust as they did so.
When he reached the first door on the left that could have possibly led to Mitchell’s room he paused and readied himself for the entry. Dranko let out a low whistle. Cooper paused without looking back.
“Camera, end of hallway. Assume we are under observation, brother,” he whispered, just loud enough for Cooper to hear.
Damn! They’re watching us. No surprise here. Any entry they made now would be known and predictable by their opponents. It made getting through the door alive virtually impossible. He knew what had been decent odds for success had just turned much, much worse.
Suddenly, he had an idea. He hoped the artwork were originals, as he suspected.
His voice rang out loud, echoing down the hallway, “Mitchell, come out! I’m not here to hurt you! I just want to talk! If you don’t, you’ll be very upset in ten seconds…nine….”
Cooper kept glancing from one door to the next, unsure which of the half dozen that Mitchell—or his armed guards—might emerge.
He reached “one” without any movement from in front of him. Cooper raised his shotgun, leveled it at the nearest work of art and wrecked it with a blast of 00 Buck. Expensive art made Rorschach by pellet holes. Slowly, deliberately, he inserted a fresh shell into the Remington. He thought he’d heard a shriek of terror just after firing, but was unsure if it had been his ears playing tricks on him.
He called out again, “You’ve got a lot of great art out here, Mitchell. I’m sure you are fond of it. Come on out!”
Seconds ticked by with no response. So, Cooper began counting again, “Ten…nine…eight…”
Mitchell’s voice was made tinny by the intercom, “You will guarantee my safety Mr. Adams?”
Cooper responded to the ether, “Yes, I will. I’m not here to kill you, just to talk.”
More seconds passed and then the suction sound of a vacuum-sealed door opening came from the second door on the right. Mitchell stepped out, resplendent in a custom-tailored black suit.
“And your guards?” Cooper called out.
“You didn’t include them in our negotiations, Mr. Adams. They will not be coming out. They are my insurance policy, if you will. If you kill me, at least you know you will have others to deal with.”
The man’s arrogance grated on Cooper again, “Sure enough. You tell me what I want to know and there will be no more problems tonight.”
“Tell you? Christ, man. Why do you set your sights so low? Why do you not want more for yourself? I’ll show you everything you want to know. It’s too late now for you to do anything at all, anyway.”
Cooper was momentarily taken by surprise and his mouth fell open by a scant degree. He chastised himself for it.
“Please do not be surprised, Mr. Adams. I am quite proud of what we have accomplished. I want to show you. Why don’t you and your, ah, associate just step inside and I’ll show you it all.”
Cooper was leery of going inside, but he desperately wanted the information that Mitchell appeared to have. “Have your guards step outside. I’m not going to walk into a trap.”
Mitchell waved his hands nonchalantly, “Fine, fine. Men, come outside, if you will.”
Moments later, two burly men who looked almost identical in their gray uniforms, appeared at the door and joined them in the hallway. Their brown hair was cut short as were their matching mustaches. Each carried an M16 with side arms on their hips. The men eyed each other warily.
Mitchell spoke first, “Let’s avoid one of those disagreeable Mexican standoffs that have become cliché,” He flagged his arms at his men, “Gentlemen, you can shoulder your arms. I am quite confident that Mr. Adams is not some crazed man bent on revenge. He would have shot me already if that was the case. He is here for information, which I’m going to provide.” The two guards complied immediately. Mitchell began leading them back into the room. Cooper and Dranko followed.
Chapter 33
Once inside, a dizzying array of monitors, the buzz of printers, and maps of the United States and the world were lit up with a multitude of colored lights and scrolling numbers and graphs. Two guards stood across the room, behind Mitchell on either side.
“Welcome to what we affectionately call Plague Central!” Mitchell declared, waving his arms in a wide arc held high as he spun around in a full circle.
“So this is where you watch the world dying?” Cooper asked, his words drenched in acid.
Mitchell laughed, “Watch? Again, my good man. You underestimate. This is where I started everything. But, I didn’t start the world dying. That was already happening. What I have done is begin to save the world!”
From an unseen corner, flame spat with a deafening roar. Cooper felt like he’d been hit in the gut with a sledgehammer, but the body armor held up. Blood rushed to his head and the room began to swim. Absently and from a distance, he heard Dranko’s words yell “Get down!” and then the muffled sound of more gunfire.
The sensation of something burning his arm, the sight of blood splattering across his face, and the acrid smell of cordite brought everything back into laser-like focus.
The two guards opposite him, flanking Mitchell, sprang into action. The one on the left grabbed at his holster to draw the pistol, while the one to the right rushed to remove the M16 from his shoulder. Cooper pointed the shotgun at the one on his left, guessing he’d have his gun ready first. He had the advantage of never having slung the shotgun onto his shoulder. He merely had to raise it to waist height and fire.
The guard bounced off the desk. Cooper was dimly aware of how shooting hurt his right arm like hell. He was further confused when the shotgun fell from his hands.
The guard had both hands on his M16 and was bringing it to bear. Cooper dove to his left and, finding his right arm useless, grabbed his pistol out of its holster with his left. The guard’s M16 let loose a frantic burst of bullets where Cooper had been standing just a moment before. The bullets began chasing Cooper as they spit marble and dust from the floor. Cooper point shot at the guard, losing three rounds in rapid succession. Two of the three found their mark. One hit the man in the left leg and the second hit him squarely in the stomach. He slumped to the ground, dropping the rifle. Cooper finished him with a shot to the head. He scanned the room and saw a body lying in the corner, from where the original shot had come. Dranko must have got him.