Blackjack Wayward (The Blackjack Series) (19 page)

I paused, noting that she showed no fear or worry about my threat, no care for what was about to happen to us.

“What do you want me to do if you can’t open door?”

“It’s the biggest, strongest door on the fucking planet. No one could open it.”

“Then they kill us,” she said definitively, utterly resigned.

“I don’t want that to happen,” I said.

“Then open it. Merde, it’s so simple.”

Turning back to the vault, I scratched my head, hoping to warm up my brain and looked at the edges again, seeing nothing new. The door had an upraised metal box in the middle, but it only edged out a few inches and was forged from the same single piece of metal as the rest of the door. It wasn’t bolted or soldered on so I couldn’t rip it off.

In fact, as I took a moment to study the door, it had no markings, no keyhole, no control panel and no handle to open the thing. Meaning it had to open remotely, and, barring that, it had to open magnetically.

“We need a magnet,” I said, but when I looked over to her, she made the same gesture I had earlier when she asked me for cigarettes, patting her non-existent pockets and shrugging.

The door was bending inward, moments away from collapsing, but they had paused their banging, and I could hear whimpering from the other side. Maybe the big guy had hurt himself as I had on Hashima Island. I had to remember that, maybe use it to my advantage.

Beside the door, within a metal frame bolted to the wall, was the control mechanism, and next to that, was the actual motor that turned the gears to close and open the door. That motor would generate a trace magnetic charge every time it turned. If I could rip it from the wall and time the polarity of the magnet right, my engineer’s intuition told me there was a chance, however slight, that I might get that big door open.

Before I knew it, I had ripped open the panel and torn out the motor assembly, something the size of a lawnmower’s engine. It was electrical, but the power cables were short. I didn’t need power, though. I needed the electrical coil, and a way to spin it. If I spun it hard enough, in the right direction, and placed it in the exact spot, the thing might open.

Maybe.

Hearing my ruckus made Zundergrub’s cronies start pounding the door again, ignoring whatever had ailed them. I didn’t wait, ripping off the motor’s top cover and digging with my fingernails into the coil assembly, which was a wrapped and threaded copper coil that rotated around a central base. I ripped a single strand of copper out and held it to the protruding spot near the center of the huge vault door.

“Here goes nothing,” I said, and for the first time I caught a hint of nervousness in Claire’s face. Her attention was squarely on the motor, and she was inching closer to me.

I pulled the wire as hard as I could, and the coil assembly spun madly, ripping off the extra amount I had used as a starter and spinning on, spilling sparks on my arm and chest, and all over the door, but nothing happened. Or at least, the door didn’t open. It was possible that during a security breach situation, the door went on lockdown, to prevent exactly what we were trying to do. It was also possible that the charge was too strong, too fast, so I held the spinning motor up to the door, even when it lit on fire, even when my skin burned.

“It’s not working, you stu-“ she began, but checked herself when she saw the flames, and my face as I fought to ignore the pain. My hair singed down my arm, spreading an awful odor through the room, and I could feel the heat through my bones. My skin might be tough and near invulnerable, but this thing was hot enough to cause me pain, to burn me.

I cringed and howled and almost dropped the damned thing as the motor began to slow, the magnetic charge changing in the process. All it needed was a chance, I told myself, repeating the words “just another second” under my breath. I was hoping to hear some loud clunking sound from behind the door, but nothing happened. The burning motor ground to a stop, and I threw it at the bent and misshapen door that was about fall from the pounding Zundergrub’s boys were laying on it.

“Dammit,” I screamed, taking a few steps toward our enemies, steeling myself for the fight that would come.

I had to live long enough to get Zundergrub, to get my hands on him. I didn’t care what else happened, or how many of his flunkies I had to get through. I was going to end it now. End it for once.

I cinched what was left of the robe tighter, flexing through the tight fabric, the width of my arms and shoulders popping seams along the sleeves and at the shoulder, hoping it would allow me a little more freedom. Each powerful blow bent the door further, each one coming closer to ripping the whole thing from its frame. Through the gaps, I could see the big guy, his skin covered in some weird pattern of fur, beating with all his might to break it down. He was appeared to be part animal.

“Stay behind me,” I told her, clenching my fists and cracking my neck. Then I mumbled under my breath, “This won’t take long.”

I looked down to the burning motor and was about to reach for it and use it as a weapon, when Claire shouted.

“Look!” she said, pointing at the door.

“What? It didn’t work.”

“I heard something,” she said, placing her ear against the cold metal. “Il est l’ouverture,” she added, stepping back.

I thought her mad as her veneer of nonchalance had long gone, but moving closer, I heard it too, a whirring sound, then a heavy shifting, as if a bar was moving across the door. It was opening. My stupid, impromptu plan had worked! The shifting ended and a successive series of thunks erupted from the edge of the door as the thing began to swing outward upon a great pair of internal hinges on the right side.

The door was so big it was going to close off the far end of the room almost entirely, so Claire and I had to move across the room, closer to the door that Zundergrub’s men were nearly finished breaking. The vault was dark and musty inside, but I could see a large chamber, maybe thirty feet deep and twice again wide, the walls lined with secured shelving and locks. When the vault had completely opened, it basically formed another wall, cutting off the room in half and leaving us no way to escape.

In that instant, a few feet from whatever Claire had in mind to escape, the damaged door gave and Zundergrub’s three men spilled into the room.

“I need some light,” Claire complained as she entered the darkened vault, but I had no time to help her. I had other things on my mind.

They were Zundergrub’s hired dogs, men with no honor and no compunctions about killing for pay. The first one through the crushed door was a small, mousy Asian fellow, wearing a suit splattered with blood that also colored his mouth, neck, and chest. His teeth were jagged, filed down sharp points, and he had a large-caliber revolver in his left hand. Coming into the dark chamber, he took one quick glance at me and at Claire, his gaze settling on her with rapacious longing. He aimed his hand cannon at her and fired.

I stepped in the way of his gunfire, taking bullets meant for Claire, noting a flash of frustration cross the newcomer. But he wasn’t alone.

The next man into the room was an impressive mutation, a man-creature with the muscled lower torso of a wrestler and the shoulders and head of an eagle. This wasn’t a mask or helmet dedicated to the Egyptian god Horus. No, this guy had the head of an eagle, with yellow-white feathers, spreading around his head and across his broad shoulders, and with a loud keening cry, he rushed me and threw a swing intended to take my head off. I backed up, avoiding the blow and then the follow-ups; a front kick with his right leg and a spinning kick with his left. While I managed to avoid the first couple blows, he twisted and threw his back leg at my face, using too much speed and force for me to react. The booted foot connected with a solid thud across my jaw, and my world exploded as I staggered back, losing my footing and falling to the floor.

Horus didn’t wait for me to get up, closing the gap and grabbing at my arms. Once he had a good grip, the gigantic beak flashed open and he brought down the sharp weapon on my neck. The tip pressed through the robe and into the fleshy part of my shoulder, and I felt it penetrate the skin. Blood welled around it and soaked the remaining robe to my skin in an instant. Wrenching my arm hard, I broke his grasp and crossed my arms around my upper body. Instead of ripping my throat out, he bit into my left forearm, grabbing the limb with his maw.

Looking into the darkness of the vault, I could see the Asian goon moving closer to Claire’s shadowy form. She was fumbling through the boxes that lined the walls, throwing them aside in frustration, oblivious to the threat.

“Claire!” I yelled, but Horus growled, drawing my attention to his burning eyes. He was stronger than I was in my present condition, and heavy enough that he could exert his leverage on me, keeping me pinned. He opened his beak and released my arm, then dug his three-inch claws at my eyes. I shot up my arms defensively, but he grasped and scratched at my cheeks through my guard.

I brought my right knee up, but it just slammed against his buttocks no little effect. In the moment’s pause, I looked again at Claire, but she still ignored her approaching attacker as she frantically searched. She stopped at one small box, her face illuminated by something within when she cracked it open. She had found what she was looking for.

“Behind you!” I shouted, but she made no move to defend herself as the squirrely man rushed up to her and kicked her in the midsection. She clutched at her abdomen and sank to the ground slowly, first falling to her knees, then toppling over onto her side. He hurled himself on her, leveling the gun at her head. Slamming his free arm across her neck, he pinned her with the forearm, angling the hand down to grope at her breasts. She continued to struggle for the box, which had fallen just out of her grasp.

Horus could feel my desperation and exerted himself to keep me in place, trying to turn my face toward Claire and his companion, as if he enjoyed watching me suffer. But he forgot one thing.

I’m Blackjack.

He was draped all over me, much like the other fellow laying atop Claire, but my feet were free, and though I couldn’t strike at him effectively, I could still use them. Bringing both my legs up, I wriggled my knees above his groin, and before he could react, my feet were at chest level. I kicked out, knocking him off me and to his feet, reversing my momentum, rolling along my spine as I coiled my body, my hands and head on the floor behind me, and my knees back against my chest. Like a snake striking its prey, I unleashed the kick, throwing my heels straight at his beaked face. I stretched my body to its fullest, hurling myself so far that I came off the floor entirely, my lower body’s rotation allowing me to land on my feet.

Horus flew backward, and though he was half-bird, he lacked wings to slow his impromptu flight. He crashed hard into a bulkhead, dropping with a bloody, immobile thump on the deck.

I rushed over to Claire, who was oblivious of her assailant’s attempts to violate her. She was trying to free herself, not to avoid the indignity of what Zundergrub’s crony had planned, but to reach the fallen case. What could possibly be so important? Grabbing the man, I lifted his whole frame off the ground and was rewarded with him putting his revolver right up to my face and firing.

I may be tough and strong, but that was no normal gun. Besides, getting shot just a few inches from my eye caught me off guard with sudden, sharp pain, the blinding light and ear-rattling noise. I dropped the guy and stumbled backward, covering my face.

He came to his feet and emptied his weapon into my frame, but the damage was already done.

“Fuck with the bull and you get the horns,” he spat, throwing open the chamber and spilling the spent rounds at my feet. He snapped in a speed-loader, emptying the shells into the six chambers, and slammed the revolver closed. He stepped back at Claire, whipping off his belt and hurling it aside, then kicking the box out of her hands, spilling a wrapped swath of cloth, a sheathed dagger, and a few pieces of jewelry to clatter on the deck. She flashed a murderous look at him, as he stepped between her and the box, reaching around him to get to the dagger.

“Je vais vous tuer,” she screamed, almost in tears, and spat a glob of blood at his feet.

He laughed, rearing back his foot and kicking her in the midsection again, taking the fire from her belly. She curled up in a ball, holding her pained stomach.

Something snapped. Anger boiled in my gut, flooding out pain and discomfort, and I found the strength to get to my feet. I hobbled over to them, the man bringing down his pants, unaware of my approach. I grabbed the back of his neck. When he swung around with his pistol hand, I caught the wrist and shattered every bone in the joint.

He screamed, releasing the weapon, and turned his head, fear lighting up behind those almond brown eyes. I didn’t relent, lifting him off the floor and swapping my grip from his neck to his other arm. Then I ripped him apart. His yelling became a howl, as bones and tendons popped and ligaments shredded, before he withered to my overwhelming strength. His right shoulder gave, his ribcage cracked apart, and blood exploded from of his mouth in a gurgling death cry.

I hurled his shattered body aside, dropping to my knees beside her.

“You all right?” I asked, but she kicked at me, a gesture that I barely felt. Claire’s right arm covered her face, keeping her shame from me, and her other hand was wrapped around her aching stomach. I reached over to the dagger which lay in a black leather scabbard, inlaid with silver, alongside a bronze amulet with a beautiful orange jewel that pulsed with power, and a metal bracelet etched with Celtic marking. These items lay atop a fine black cloak, edged with green sigils I couldn’t identify. I grabbed the dagger and wrapped the rest in the cloak, handing the bundle to her. At first she fought me, but catching a glimpse of the knife, she reached for it, bringing it closer to her chest, pressing it tight against her skin. For the moment, the pain in her body was gone, and she clenched the weapon as one would a dying child.