No rest for the wicked…
“Grace, find cover!” I yell as I pick up my back holster containing both Berettas and sprint as fast as my broken and beaten body will allow over to the far wall underneath Pellaggio, to limit his visibility.
I have to find a way up those stairs so I can stop him.
“I’ll cover you!” shouts Chambers, who’s picked up my MP5 and moved behind the doorway outside. She leans in and fires off a couple of bursts at Pellaggio, forcing him to duck away for cover.
I take my Berettas out of the holster, tucking one in the back of my waistband and keeping hold of the other. I take a couple of deep breaths and look over to the door, to make sure she’s okay. She breaks cover and unleashes another burst of fire at Pellaggio.
Yeah, she’ll be fine.
I set off running for the stairwell on the back wall, which immediately draws more fire from above. I glance behind me, seeing Chambers move back behind cover. I keep my head down and make it to the stairwell, ducking down at the side of it. It offers precious little cover, but it allows me to squeeze off a couple of rounds in his general direction, buying me some more valuable seconds.
I hold out until Pellaggio pauses to reload, then set off up the stairs as fast as I can, taking two at a time. Every inch of my body aches from the explosion earlier, and both my arms are throbbing as blood continues to stream out of the flesh wounds caused by Manhattan’s blade and Gregovski’s bullet. But the pain can wait — I have to stop Pellaggio, that’s all that matters.
Another hail of bullets shreds and splinters the wooden staircase as I come up on the first floor and race around to begin the ascent to the top. I hear Chambers fire a few more short bursts, buying me a little more time. I hold my gun out in front of me, ready to fire as I dash up the final flight of stairs, coming out on the makeshift walkway at the top. I aim my gun at Pellaggio, who’s leaning over the balcony firing at Chambers below.
“Danny!” I yell. “It’s over. Drop your gun step away from the edge.”
He stops firing but doesn't move, keeping his gun trained on Chambers. I look down and see she has her gun pointed at him too, the scene frozen in a deadly stalemate.
“Throw your gun over the side, Adrian, or I’ll cut her in half!” he shouts back.
“You won’t get chance, and we both know it. Just give it up. You’ve lost.”
In the blink of an eye, he snaps round and levels his rifle at me.
“No, I’ve not,” he says with a wicked smile.
I heard a muffled cry below, and I flash a look back down to the floor. Gregovski is back on his feet and is standing behind Chambers with one hand over her mouth, and the other holding her right arm out to the side — her gun on the floor a few feet away from them.
“Now, throw your fucking gun over the side, or he’s gonna snap her pretty little neck!”
I sigh and lower my gun, pausing a moment before reluctantly throwing it over the side.
“Adrian, don’t!” yells Chambers as she struggles to get her mouth free from Gregovski’s grip.
Pellaggio smiles. “Touching,” he says. “Now, how’s this for real power, Adrian? I’m not even gonna keep my gun on you. You stay right there, or your little FBI bitch will die. Understand?”
Arrogant bastard… But I have little choice if I want to keep her alive. I nod reluctantly.
He puts his weapon down, turns and walks a little further down the walkway. There’s a sniper rifle leaning against the wall, and as he gets level with it, he pauses — his gaze alternating between the rifle and back over his shoulder at me.
“Well, this brings back some fond memories,” he says, picking it up and holding it in his arms like a new father would hold his baby for the first time.
“This… this is what I used to shoot your friend. How’s he doing, by the way?”
The anger erupts inside me, coursing through my veins and consuming me. But as pissed as I am right now, I’m smart enough to see the opportunity I need to stall him.
“Oh, yeah — you won’t have heard, will you?” I say. “With us finding your inside man at the FBI, you won’t be in the loop anymore. Josh is fine. In fact, he’s watching all this unfold via a satellite feed at the FBI Field Office right now.”
Pellaggio’s face drops, but he quickly recovers. “No matter,” he says, dismissively. “There’s nothing anyone can do to stop this happening. And then we will watch as a brave new world blossoms in the aftermath.”
“You’re a fucking idiot, do you know that?” I ask. “Why do you think I’m here? We figured most of what you were doing out on our own, and your old pal Jimmy Manhattan filled in the blanks. As we speak, the FBI and Secret Service are clearing that boat so all you’re gonna do is play a really expensive game of Battleship on your own.”
I know that’s not strictly true, but he doesn’t. He looks quickly in every direction, like he’s trying to follow a fly. His eyes are wide as he seems to teeter on the edge of control, about to lose it completely and snap. I can handle whatever he comes at me with, as long as he isn’t focusing on firing at the Jeremiah.
But he doesn’t snap. He doesn’t come at me. He struggles, but he exercises restraint and simply smiles back at me. An evil, twisted, intelligent smile.
“Nice try, Adrian. I don’t care if anything you just said is true or not. I’ve been planning this for a year, and nothing’s gonna stop me from succeeding.”
He drops the sniper rifle and continues along the walkway, stopping beside a large, black box that looks like a huge briefcase. He crouches down and opens it, lifting the lid and resting it against the wall. He reaches inside and takes out an FIM-92 Stinger missile launcher.
I quickly look at Chambers. She isn’t afraid, but she’s panicking. She can see how close we are to failing. Gregovski is staring up at me with menace in his eyes, his hand holding her steady by the side of her neck. He dwarfs her, towering a good foot over her. She struggles against his grip, but it’s more of a futile gesture than a serious attempt at escape.
I look back at Pellaggio, who’s hefted the launcher up on his right shoulder. It’s a tube about a meter and a half long — just a bit longer than the missile itself. His left hand is supporting the end, in the way you would a regular assault rifle. The butt and trigger are close to the shoulder, and his right arm bends as he grips it, finger on the trigger guard. On top of the tube, coming out at roughly a forty-five degree angle, is a thin piece of metal similar in size to a computer keyboard. Along the top edge of it is the sight, which he’s looking through now, out the window and across the Bay, lining up his target.
The way the targeting system works is that you look through the scope and see a computerized telescopic sight. Once you get the target in your sights, you hold it there while the on-board computer locks onto its position, based on GPS location and distance, which it measures via a laser fitted just underneath the sight. The screen confirms the target’s locked, and then you fire.
The missile is propelled out of the launch tube by a powerful stream of argon gas, which is kept cool by a battery pack fitted into the butt of the launcher. It travels at around nine hundred miles per hour and will penetrate its target before exploding like a very powerful fragmentation grenade, causing an insane amount of damage.
I’m screwed if he fires that missile, but if I move for him, Chambers is dead.
I clench my jaw muscles, running through every outcome in my head — what might work, what wouldn’t. There are no perfect endings.
Except one. Maybe.
I move my left hand slowly to my side, thinking about the Beretta I still have at my back. It’s risky, but it’s the only option that stands even a remote chance of working. Pellaggio is about to fire his missile, and if he does, everything we’ve done would've been for nothing.