Monk, in a tee shirt and slacks, lifted Morgan into the air with one huge hand. The brute flipped Morgan casually, using no judo skill or leverage at all, and sent Morgan sailing across the room. He rolled with the fall as well as he could, but slammed hard into the wall. Through his haze, he could hear Seagrave shouting, “Kill him” again and again in a high, hysterical voice.
Blue spots bounced in front of Morgan’s eyes as he grasped clumsily for his pistol. He managed to draw his weapon and get the safety off before Monk’s grip on his wrist made his hand go numb, and the automatic dropped into the carpet. The other ape paw wrapped around Morgan’s neck. He felt himself lifted from the floor, dangling as helplessly as a child.
If Monk had not managed a sneak attack, Morgan would have given himself pretty good odds against him. Now it looked as though this monster would literally tear him apart before he had a chance to fight back. Those arms were like twin oak beams. Morgan snap kicked into Monk’s unprotected ribs with no apparent affect. Monk had a gut like granite.
Felicity moved in close and raised her brandy bottle like a baseball player waiting for a fastball to come across home plate. She smashed her bottle over Monk’s head and this time it did shatter like the spun sugar bottles on a movie set. Monk shook his head, his hair spraying droplets of liquor, and turned toward her with a crooked grin. She looked around frantically, and the light of an idea came on in her eyes. She flashed a palm at Morgan, signaling him to hold on, and darted across the room.
Morgan wondered if she was looking for another weapon. He was not sure what Felicity had in mind, but he knew he had better coordinate his actions with hers. While she grabbed another bottle of brandy and ran to snatch something from the desk across the room, he dropped his free hand to his belt.
Monk was slowly pulling Morgan’s head to one side, his right arm to the other, grinning like a child in anticipation of the cracking sound he loved. Morgan was strong and would resist to the last, but judging from Monk’s face, that was a good thing, as if it would make the bone snap better when it came.
Felicity could see Seagrave at the other end of the room, behind Monk. His eyes showed white all around, his face alight with madness. She now realized how wrong she had been before. This was no simple ambitious businessman. This madman was truly evil.
Felicity jogged to the side, to get behind Monk. She jumped up and swung with all her strength. A full bottle of cognac shattered over Monk’s head. The pungent odor bit into her nostrils and appeared to work like smelling salts on Morgan. The liquor ran like sweat into Monk’s eyes. As if on cue, Morgan yanked off his belt buckle and plunged the three-inch double-edged push dagger into Monk’s outstretched forearm. With a startled roar, the giant dropped Morgan to the floor but Morgan immediately sprang back up, smashing the first two knuckles of his right fist into Monk’s throat, then slapping hard onto the giant’s ears with both palms.
Monk rocked back with his mouth gaping, but he was not finished yet. He turned toward Felicity, his eyes reflecting the madness she’d seen on Seagrave’s face. Monk, however, was clearly overcome by rage and in her mind was no longer human at all, but a crazed animal lurching toward her. That made her next action easier. She pushed her left hand forward, flipping the striker on the cigarette lighter she had swept up from the desk.
“Let’s see how tough a bugger you are when we’ve turned you into an ape-man flambe,” she said. Monk’s brandy soaked tee shirt burst into a corona of flames that rushed up his back and swept around his head.
Still groggy, Morgan missed most of Felicity’s comment, but his eyes were riveted to Monk’s waving arms. Still dazed, Morgan crawled out of the way as Monk turned and staggered toward the only loud, continuous sound in the room, Seagrave’s hysterical screams.
Adrian Seagrave was shouting for Monk to stop, but the maddened, blinded behemoth lumbered on. Seagrave backed away as far as he could. He hardly seemed to realize the he had run out of room. His feet continued to move, pressing him backward, crunching on the window glass shattered earlier by the concussion grenade. Frozen with terror, the businessman’s fingers dug into the crushed velvet of the heavy drapes behind him. While Morgan and Felicity stared, Monk’s huge frame wrapped itself like a flaming shroud around Seagrave’s body.
Morgan saw Felicity turn away, nausea showing on her face. The smell, he guessed. Human hair and flesh did burn with a distinctive stench. He also saw that a few of the building security guards had regained consciousness. Their eyes were locked on the scene in front of the window.
Morgan clenched his teeth, anticipating the end. Seagrave’s pudgy hands poked out pathetically on either side of Monk’s flaming frame as their combined mass tilted away. Wind whipped in through the already shattered window, fanning Monk’s body into a giant pyre as it leaned outward. Morgan watched the two bodies, now fused together as one, pivot down and out of sight as if in slow motion, leaving a gaping hole where a wall-sized window had so recently been. A fierce flame lined that black hole, fanned by the suddenly noticeable breeze.
Morgan turned to see a small stampede headed toward the door, and it came as no surprise to him. The man who signed their paychecks was out the window. The group of hired guards, now all awake, could see the handwriting as well as the fire on the wall. Morgan was having similar thoughts. He scooped up his pistol on the run and moved to follow the pack out of the room. Felicity’s hand on his arm stopped him.
“Wait,” she said. “We can’t go. Seagrave’s wife is upstairs.”
33
Morgan stared past Felicity, who was backlit by a wall of flame. This was no time for conversation, but the strain on her face demanded a response.
“Red, you’ve got to be kidding. Seagrave didn’t sleep through that firefight and neither could anyone else. She probably took a back way out of here long ago.”
“I gave her a shot,” Felicity whined. He had not heard her whine before. “She couldn’t wake up.”
“Fortunes of war, Red,” he said grimly.
“No, damn it. I gave her a shot! If we leave her there, I will have murdered the girl.”
Morgan stared into those pleading, deep green eyes, just for a moment. He did not debate further. He knew he would lose and time was depressingly short. He shook his head and ran back to the elevator.
The tiny elevator car was stifling, but the ride was short. The smell of smoke was already seeping into the luxury flat. He found the bedroom easily enough, and could see its only occupant was still sleeping, a deep drugged sleep thanks to Felicity. When he hefted Mrs. Seagrave’s satin-draped form, his left shoulder screamed into his brain. He had all but forgotten the sprain. It hurt like a fishhook was jammed into the joint, but he did not drop his burden. With steely concentration he rolled the pain into a little ball and tucked it away in a corner of his mind, completely blocked off. Then he slowly returned to the elevator. The woman in his arms moaned as if in the throes of a nightmare. If she only knew, he thought.
At the bottom of the shaft, the elevator door slid open and the heat burst in. That end of the room was what firefighters would call fully involved in the blaze. Was this building too old to have a sprinkler system? Or did Seagrave pay someone off to get around fire safety code violations? Well, it hardly mattered now. Felicity stood by the open door, waving him on. The woman in his arms groggily mumbled, “What’s going on?” He shifted her up onto his right shoulder and started across the floor in a crouch. The woman’s perspiration dripped onto his back, blending with his own. He focused his attention on Felicity’s face and the desperation he saw there.
Morgan had just stepped into the relative cool of the hallway when he heard a moan. It was not from Mrs. Seagrave. It was a deeper voice, and it came from behind him. Turning, his eyes were at first seared by the brightness of the flames. Heat washed over his face making it harder to breathe. Squinting, he sighted in on a figure on hands and knees, following a long shadow across the floor, but much too slowly.