Chronicles of War
Part 1: Way of the Storm
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"Bodies fill the fields I see, hungry heroes end/
No one to play soldier now, no one to pretend/
Running blind through killing fields, bred to kill them all/
Victim of what said should be/
A servant 'til I fall."
- Metallica, "Disposable Heroes"
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Chapter 9: A Real Challenge
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James and Ed stumbled back into the music store like a pair of college
students on spring break after they met beer ten. All eyes were on the
oblivious pair. Ed worked his way up to the counter with the impromptu
map and stared at it with all the focus of a cockroach that just danced
with a Corvette.
James sauntered his way behind the counter, ignoring a hundred staring
eyes in favor of looking cool yet mildly discouraged. He knew it would
not be constructive to project a defeatist attitude. He had to stay
focused and positive--be a leader. The last time he was a leader... he
shook his head. That wasn't being a leader. He couldn't even _think_
what that was. Couldn't have it in his head. Not now. Not in this
situation. The group needed something inspirational, or least
distracting, and though he hardly felt like dancing and singing, a
little up-beat music couldn't hurt matters.
"I'm getting on the phone. Kat, look for someone who can work all this
equipment." James pointed and gestured randomly.
Kat jumped the instant he opened his mouth. After taking her orders, she
promptly began dropping questions. "How did things go? We heard
shooting. Where'd that blood come from?"
James mentally sighed. *She was doing so well, too.* He was mildly
pissed about the cyanide stunt back in that clothing store. He really
needed to know who was behind this. The police still weren't on the
ball, and that was fine, but he was sitting on six hundred pounds of
high explosive, stuck between a band of psychopathic murder machines and
a lynch mob in the making.
Wait, scratch the lynch mob part. He could deal with this shit.
He held up his hands in a placating gesture, and after a calming breath,
reiterated his orders with a little more motivation. "Listen carefully.
Both Ed and I are okay. Nothing has changed the situation. More
terrorists are dead, and nothing has been blown up. No one here is in
more or less danger than they were ten minutes ago." He quickly glanced
at his watch. "And speaking of minutes, we're right on schedule. Now, I
don't mean to disrespect the gravity of this situation, but everyone
just needs to chill out and let me do my fucking job. Now, Kat?"
"Yes?"
He turned to his captive audience. "Has anyone here worked in this store
before?"
Silence reigned, filling the room like an infectious disease, oozing
into every corner and surrounding every body in the crowd. It was to the
great surprise of the assembled that two figures came out of the
proverbial woodwork with their hands raised like school children about
to ask a question. Their heads were downcast as they walked towards
James like lambs to slaughter. When they reached him, for a moment it
seemed they would prostrate themselves before the assassin like willing
sacrificial victims, awaiting a moment of sharp pain to end their
eternal suffering.
"Cut the fucking theatrics." James said to them, almost smirking despite
himself. "Go with her into the back and get some music up."
"You said... you mentioned you were going to get on the phone, James."
Kat said.
"Yeah. I don't want this bunch of panty-wearing, bed-wetting, pansy-
assed terrorists to hear a goddamn thing I have to say. It'll be good,
okay?"
Realization staked a claim upon her face. "Oooh. Now _that_ I can do."
James pointed a finger at the two volunteers like a gun. "Your names?"
The first man was slightly shorter than James, and about half the
weight. His body filled out his clothes about as well as tent poles,
leaving his bony wrists poking from the sleeves of his 'sort-of but
not-quite dressy' work shirt like two slender gun barrels. He had blond
hair that looked like it had been bleached with a nuclear weapon, and a
sunken face pockmarked with freckles--some the size of dimes. His hands,
hooked into his pockets by the thumbs, featured fingernails that had
been gnawed to the base. His feet looked three sizes too big for his
body. He couldn't seem to look James straight in the eye.
"Um... call me Zak, sir." He announced.
James rolled his eyes.
The second was taller by a good margin, and filled out like a football
player. His shoulders look like they could do ninety percent of the
talking in any conversation, and his hands were more like pieces of
construction equipment than body parts. He had muddled green eyes and
olive colored skin, and his face was warped by a permanent smirk. He
must have had a very strong neck, for James estimated there was around
eighty pounds of hair gel holding down a do that couldn't have had a
single hair more than two inches long held within it.
He claimed to be 'Terry.'
"Terry. Zak." James tasted the names. "Most uncool. I asked for your
_names_, not your aliases." He held up his hand before they could
correct themselves. "Don't want to hear any excuses. Help her put on
some music. Something with a beat. Something with a guitar. Something...
hard."
The way James licked his lips was frightening enough without considering
what the reminiscent look on his face might mean.
"Weirdo." Kat muttered darkly as she breezed past James and accompanied
'Zak' and 'Terry' to the rear of the store.
"James?"
"Yes Ed?"
"What are you thinking of?"
"Better days, my friend. Better days."
"Right." Ed said, unconvinced.
Better days indeed.
----------
The main difference between a mouse dropped into a pit of wild cats and
Kate Dogson as she made her way into the back room of Camelot Music
would be the mouse's incredibly positive attitude.
It wasn't just that someone might jump from one of the many shadows to
put a swift end to her life, or that James was making light of a
situation where a single wrong move could reduce everyone in the
building down to their constituent components. No, her fear was not
being fed by random, pointless worry. Nothing about the dark room before
her was breeding this irrational concern for her own safety.
*There is something else...* She thought to herself. The sense of
intense wrongness mixed with a cold feeling of dread and foreboding had
been contorting and flopping about in her stomach like a nest of cold,
hungry snakes since early morning.
Something was terribly, terribly amiss.
She tried to rationalize the strange notion of dread--pin it down, and
examine it like a captured insect. She was about to be married to man
she suddenly felt she hardly knew. A man who lived thousands of miles
and another life away. Was she doing the right thing?
Less than fifteen minutes ago, she had met an old friend, a strange man
who looked into her eyes as if he could scan her innermost thoughts just
like he was reading a news ticker. An old friend who she thought she
knew, and knew she could never see again. A person who had turned out to
be more than met the eye.
She was quitting her job soon, moving away from the only town she had
called home... and now she was stuck in the middle of a terrorist
assault on her home town. She was creeping into a darkened storage room
in the middle of a hostage situation, alone, and with a gun, an--OHMYGOD
SOMEONE TURNED ON THE LIGHTS!
Kat's feet hit the ground with a thump, while her brain tried in vain to
remember the jump that that propelled her into the air. Her heart
re-started itself a half-second later with a sickening lurch.
"Whoa. Time to switch to decaff, Miss." Terry said, hand still on the
light switch. He glanced around the room without removing his hand from
the wall switch. "Much better."
Kat took a deep breath before screaming, "Goddammit! You're lucky I had
the safety on, jackass!"
Terry wasn't keen on having a loaded weapon waving in front of his face
and quickly stammered his way through five apologies simultaneously.
"Right." Kat said, cutting him off. She holstered the pistol in her
jeans uncomfortably. She would have rather thrown the thing away.
"Where's the music maker?"
"Right here." Zak said, again not making eye contact of any kind. He
pointed at a CD player stacked on top of a rather larger stereo
receiver. Numerous other black boxes with mysterious switches were
mounted to the wall beneath the stereo. A compact, but rather confusing
setup.
"Okay, how about some Megadeth." Terry said.
"Something more up-beat. Something classical." Zak countered.
The two shared a look, then a shrug, then a band name. "Metallica."
Every store in the mall used a public announcement system for music.
Every store except this one. Camelot Music, selling compact discs and
tapes, along with various movies on VHS, had several televisions hanging
from the ceiling, along with about twenty small but expensive speakers.
Normally they pumped out flavor-of-the-week pop music, providing a
mindless 'musical' narration to the lackluster music videos on the
store's TV sets.
The boys put 'Master of Puppets' into the changer. Selecting the
appropriate track, they led Kat from the room.
James was already on the phone.
----------
"A negotiator? I don't think that's necessary... Well not to talk to me
it's not! ... Dammit, you think reason is going to work at this point?
Did he sound desperate to you? That fuck-head's after me! Me
specifically! It doesn't matter if it's the wrong me! ... That didn't
sound right, but anyway, you're welcome to try.... No, I don't want--"
He looked at Ed. Using the tones of an overly dramatic politician, James
said, "They're putting him on."
Ed gestured helplessly.
"You're no help." James said with a smile.
Ed smirked as he flipped James the bird and went back to looking at the
map.
"Hello? Mr. Rahn? Let's talk." Said a new voice from the phone.
"How about I list my demands?" Asked James.
"If you wish." The voice said.
"I want one pint of marinara sauce, a pound of medium cheddar, two fish
egg rolls, a half-dozen Krispy Kreme donuts, a copy of the Constitution
of the United States of America, a gallon of axle grease, an AM radio, a
map of the Bermuda triangle, a big mac, and your attitude. Then, I want
you to take all of that shit and shove it up your pathetic ass and get
off of my goddamn phone!"
Everyone in the store was staring at him again. He smiled and gave them
a thumbs up. Jerks. They had no appreciation for his art. Over the
phone, he could hear the cops laughing their donut fattened asses off.
At least somebody appreciated him.
"Now that we've got the fucker/fuckee relationship straightened out,
could you guys give me your best guess on these bomb locations?" James
demanded.
"James." answered a familiar voice. "James, this is Mike."
"Heya Mike, what's up?" James said in a chipper tone.
"Um... we got a lot of worried people out here."
"And I've got quite a few very worried people in here, Mike." James
countered.
"The police chief here keeps asking if you've had any experience dealing
with these situations. Got good news for us?" Mike asked.
"Nope. Nothing like that. He got his bomb experts on hand?"
"Yeah. Let me put him on."
A different voice broke onto the line. "James?"
"Jesse?"
"Well, we can't get access to your school records without proper
authorization, but the Dean was able to confirm that you have an
engineering degree."
"Pretty considerate for an overcompensating, fat, bald fuck."
There was a dry chuckle from the line. "I'll relay your thanks if I talk
with him again."
"So what's the deal?" James pressed.
Jesse took a deep breath. "There's massive storage behind all of the
smaller outlets. The major stores have comparatively small stocking
areas. The Food Court at the center of the mall has enormous back rooms
filled with cooking devices, freezers, stock, that kind of stuff. All
potentially can contain the explosives without alerting the public."
"The first device I found was under the floor at Sears. Under the
_concrete_ floor. My stuff was hidden in a bus. I don't think these
people are here to worry about discretion." James didn't need to note
that they had exposed considerable resources in setting up this little
operation.
"I understand that, but these areas also offer better access to support
structures, particularly at the center of the mall."
"I gotcha. What about the ventilation system?"
"That's a crap-shoot. Each store has a separate system which is tied
into a primary controller. Too distributed to search in the time you
have left."
"Good, good. So what's the plan?"
"The plan is to hit each of the four major stores and the Food Court.
The device placement and design will follow a distinct pattern. The
sixth device is probably a primary controller,"
"Which means it may be next to the HVAC primary controller. Which means
it could be just about anywhere, which means it's gonna be hidden in the
most in-fucking-convenient place in the whole damn building." James
concluded. "Wonderful. Could you call in this store and get someone to
note the location of these places? I'm going to check out the Food Court
right away."
"Sure thing, James. What's the number there?"
James waved 'Zak' over and relayed the number to the Chief. "Jesse,
thank you."
"You're welcome. And good luck."
James turned off the phone, then picked up the store's handset on the
second ring. "I'm here. Hold on a second." James waved for Kat's
attention. "Kat, could you take down this guy's list? Ed and I are going
to take a quick look at the Food Court."
Kat looked at the receiver as if it were alive and eying her for a
potential snack, then shrugged and took the handset.
"Ed!"
"Yo."
James gestured to the two Marines. "Get Huey and Duey here some
firepower, then suit up. We're going to check out the Food Court
straight away. All of the large stores are more than likely armed, just
as we suspected."
"Armed? We suspected?" Asked Ed.
"Don't you remember? I suspected that the primary locations for
discovering the explosives were in the larger stores."
"All right, all right. I get your drift. People, bombs, suspicious
things."
"Yeah. Suspicious things."
"Here." Kat said, handing James' phone back. "Not much of a list." She
commented.
"It better not be." James said sourly.
"So we wait here while you run off and play hero?" She asked.
"Exactly right, except for the hero part. Carl? Jeremy?"
"It's Jimmy." The Marine said.
James shot the soldier a look that could have powdered concrete. "Yes.
Thank you. Thank you so very, very much for reminding me of that fact.
Ed has some guns for you. Guard this store with your lives or I'll take
them from you." He glanced the four, and addressed all them, "Excuse me
for just a moment."
James walked towards the back of the store a half-dozen paces before
returning to get the list Kat had written out and re-tracing his steps
towards the rear of the store sheepishly.
Kat asked the hostages to sit down if they were feeling fatigued. Jimmy
and Carl checked over the sub-machine guns they had been given. Ed
looked on stoically, his eyes reflecting a feeling of horror crossed
with deep worry.
"I need some air." James said, breezing back past the group for the
outside of the music store. Kat looked after him with a crooked brow.
Was the poor man lost or something?
----------
James stood quietly in place, not daring to even twitch, as he soaked up
the essence of his surroundings. He was getting a feel for the place,
letting his instincts taste it. After a moment, he could feel the cold,
gray shine of sun, obscured as it was by clouds. The earth spinning
beneath his feet, the dirty ceramic tile floor he stood upon, the stink
of worn 'nuclear' carpeting... the fearful trembling of the people
behind him, all hoping to live through the next few hours.
He wondered to himself, *How many times have I done this?*
After a few minutes of this, he turned sharply on his heel and stalked
into the store, ripping the cell phone from his belt and hammering the
speed dial buttons.
"Hello?" The mystery voice answered on the first ring.
In voice entirely too cheery to belong to a twenty-something American
man, James shouted into the cell phone. "Hello! Hi! How are you, you
fucking psychopath?!"
The people inside, including Ed and Kat, stared at him.
"Doing quite well, James. Thank you for asking. How is that little
business with the bombs going?" There was an insulting pause. "I think
you worried the pigs outside."
"Don't start with me. I just wanted to ask you a question." His lips
turned up in a snarl. "Where's the pain? The thrill? Bad day in bed?
Random bet? Day job sucked? Abusive parents? Or were you just bored?"
The voice didn't offer a hint. "I hope you enjoy this, I really do,
because it is the beginning of the end of your life."
"Such language." It said levelly.
James twitched, his fingers tightening around the plastic device next to
his ear. The case creaked ominously. "I'm gonna--"
"Down James! He's a hundred miles away right now!" Ed shouted,
physically restraining the assassin from doing mortal harm to the phone.
"That's not gonna save him!" James declared. "I've hunted down smarter,
stronger people than him! No one can hide from me! No one! YOU'RE A DEAD
MAN!" James screamed at the phone as it lay on the sterile carpet,
silent and mocking. "A FUCKING DEAD MAN!!!"
As James' struggles wound down, Kat picked the phone up off of the floor
and looked at the display. "I think you scared him off." She quipped.
"Shut it." James retorted as he pulled free of Ed's slackening embrace.
"That little bastard is doing this deliberately."
Ed looked uncomfortably at James, then nodded in agreement. "You don't
set that much explosive up by accident."
Kat and James paused to glare at Ed, who waved his hands as if to shoo
them away. Kat handed James his phone. When he winked at her, she didn't
know what to make of it. When he glanced meaningfully at the back of the
store, she elbowed Terry and made a gesture in the air, as if turning up
the volume on an old piece of stereo equipment.
Once the music was turned up enough to shake the walls, she turned to
James. "For what it's worth," she said slowly, "don't do anything rash."
"Such as kicking him in the face so hard that his head is violently torn
from his body in a spray of blood, bone, and viscera?" James immediately
asked, looking entirely too eager.
"I wouldn't call that rash." She stated, meeting his dark gaze.
"Uncalled for, brutal, unnecessarily violent, and horribly disgusting...
but hardly rash."
"You're a find, Kat."
"Then don't lose me, James."
"Okay, okay! Enough with the yelling, shouting, and patting our own
backs." Ed barged into the conversation. "Let's get on with it."
"That map is all we have for now. I'm guessing the chances of us meeting
resistance when trying to disarm these bombs is one hundred percent. We
can also say that we're up against some ex-military types. They're
dangerous and well-trained, but not terribly experienced in
free-thinking. That's something we've got against their little
resistance."
"How can you call a dozen guys with automatic weapons 'some
resistance'?" Ed asked.
James looked confused. "I... used my mouth?"
Ed frowned.
"In any case, the question of why they're hanging around will have to
wait for later. Our first, last, and only priority should be finding and
disarming those bombs. Turning these military assholes in grease spots
is bonus points."
"Food Court?" Ed stated, drawing himself up.
James gestured. "Food Court. It's close, and there's a maze of storage
spaces and large equipment."
"Not to mention the wide open area with the tables." Ed noted.
"Yeah, that too...." The assassin said, scratching his chin.
"Why not look in another one of the large stores? They've probably got
one in each of the major outlets." Kat pointed out.
"The Food Court is closer." James stated.
Ed piped up. "So?"
"Are you trying to start an argument with me?" James asked.
Ed grinned gamely. "Maybe."
(
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