Hollow World (27 page)

35

“This is a terrible time for jokes,” Spencer Holloway declared, eyes locked on the mercenary who’d just delivered some rather unacceptable news.

According to this man, seven out of the twelve members of Chaos Squad were inexplicably unreachable. This meant that either seven communicators had malfunctioned simultaneously—or that these men were dead. Either scenario seemed unlikely. Seven highly trained mercenaries could not possibly fall before a mere detective and a handful of CIA operatives. Still, Victoria was smart—Walker, doubly so. Perhaps the men of Chaos Squad had underestimated these people. If so, it had no doubt been their last mistake.

“I’m completely serious, sir. I can’t reach any of them.”

Holloway stood and turned his eyes toward Walker’s two children, still sitting together in their chair near the window. Their eyes remained locked on the destruction laid out below them: cars ablaze, emergency vehicles scattered about, guests gawking and Cast Members panicking. It was truly a spectacle; one no doubt concocted by his clever daughter. Absolute mayhem was the perfect bait for unwitting mercenaries. Holloway had no doubt in his mind that Victoria had lured these five ignorant men to their deaths.

“Whom do we have left?” Holloway asked.

“Masters and Ramirez are down in the lobby, sir. Captain Kinney is in the room next door, and you’ve got me and Addams here with you.”

“Would you please not refer to Mr. Kinney as Captain? You are civilians, now,” Holloway snapped, clearly agitated by the sparse number of soldiers left at his disposal. “Get back to your post and try not to die like your colleagues.”

Unsure of what to do, Holloway settled back into his chair as the dejected mercenary made his way back to his partner near the door. The old man leaned his elbows on the tabletop and laid his head in his hands. This entire night had become a disaster. Nothing was going according to plan and nearly half of his men were dead, captured or too severely wounded to speak. Deciding against detonating his now purposeless bomb, he pulled up the computer program that controlled the bomb’s timer and detonator. With a deep sigh, he deactivated the mechanism.

The collateral damage the bomb would have caused was pointless and, if this were to be his last stand, he would not allow himself to be seen as nothing more than a vengeful amateur.

Struggling to rein in his frustration, he focused his attention on the knowledge that his own daughter was on her way to his location, backed up by the ingenious young detective and a team of highly trained Company operatives. What could be done? How could they be stopped?

In a fit of rage, Holloway swept his laptop computer off the table and it landed hard on the wooden floor with a loud crash. Startled, the two Walker girls turned their attention from the window and gazed at their captor. Holloway gave them a cold stare until they turned away and shrank low in their chair. The last thing he needed was to be judged by these two children.

All night he’d observed these two girls and they’d made him increasingly uncomfortable; their courage had filled him with a growing sense of unease.

For children, they were irritatingly resilient. As much as he hated to admit it, Holloway respected these two children very highly. After all they’d been through, the two seemed entirely unaffected by the circumstances. More than once Holloway had heard the girls giggling or humming
Grim Grinning Ghosts
and he didn’t at first understand where their energy and mood had come from. It was only just moments ago he’d realized these girls were optimistic because they knew their father was coming to rescue them, and they held the detective in the highest possible regard—to the girls, Walker was a superhero. Holloway felt a momentary pang of regret for his own children—until he remembered his daughter.

The girl was coming to stop him. To arrest him. Possibly to kill him. Holloway threw away any sense of regret, and hardened into his usual self when he envisioned his daughter slaughtering his hired hands. The bitch would not survive the night. Tonight, Spencer Holloway would finish the job he should have done more than three decades earlier. Victoria Holloway was as good as dead.

“Brooks, come here for a moment,” Holloway ordered in a soft tone.

The mercenary did as he was told.

“Yes, sir?” he asked.

“Your sidearm, please,” Holloway requested.

Brooks removed his .45 caliber pistol and placed it gently in his employer’s hand without argument.

“Now, take Addams with you and meet Masters and Ramirez downstairs in the lobby. He will require your assistance.”

“But sir, you’ll be alone. You need protection if they come for you.”

“
Think
, Mr. Brooks. If your unit does its job as well as it should, they will not
make
it this far. The lobby is where you must make your stand, else all is for nothing.”

Brooks looked uncomfortable, but he reluctantly nodded and headed for the door. After exchanging a few words with Addams, the pair left the room, leaving Holloway alone with the Walker girls.

Standing, Holloway grabbed a chair and dragged it to face the door.

Spencer Holloway was not a stupid man. He understood that if Walker and Victoria made it to his room, he would be finished—regardless of how many men were present. His only chance at survival was to rely upon the four men now stationed downstairs in the main lobby.

The tower he had chosen for his base of operations had now become a trap. Holloway had understood that the building was a risk due to its shortage of escape routes, but he’d been so confident in his abilities and the strength of his mercenaries that he used it anyway. Finally, his vanity and overconfidence had come back to bite him. He sighed deeply at the horrific lapse in judgment to which he’d fallen victim.

Even though the situation looked grim, Spencer Holloway still had fight left in him. He racked the slide on the weapon, chambered a round and dragged his chair across the room to face the door. He was prepared to fight—not for his life—but for the sake of justice. The world didn’t need people like his daughter, and he was fully prepared to remove her from it.

If I am to die today, then I will drag Victoria and the detective to Hell with me
.

With this conviction in mind, Spencer Holloway did the only thing left in his power to do.

He sat and waited patiently.

36

The glass doors of Bay Lake Tower’s main entrance glistened before Charlie and X-Ray Team—noticeably free of fingerprints or smudges. The lobby beyond was not deep, but afforded many opportune places for an assailant to take cover. There were several pillars near the center of the room, as well as desks immediately to either side of the entryway. Luckily for them, any civilians that had been in the lobby had been drawn toward the scene of carnage at the rear of the parking lot—it seemed as if even the Cast Members had abandoned the place. Several police cars and fire trucks were present, but few were near the building so none of the team needed to hide their weapons.

Taking cover on either side of the doors, the team quickly planned their entry. Breaching the lobby itself would be the most dangerous part. The team would essentially be forced into a bottleneck upon entering. Even worse was that any place they may choose to take cover could possibly already conceal a member of Chaos Squad. Charlie had a strange feeling in his gut that the shooter they’d interrogated had been wrong. Why would only two mercenaries be guarding the most opportune place for an ambush? Charlie warned the team to proceed with extreme caution and was met with affirmatives all around.

From what little he knew of the lobby’s layout, Charlie recalled a hallway branching off to their left containing the elevators that would take them to the fourteenth floor, where Holloway’s twin villas were located. The hallway itself provided no cover whatsoever, so Charlie knew that if any mercenaries were on the ground level, they’d already have positioned themselves in the lobby itself.

“These doors are going to be a problem,” Victoria stated, also recognizing the threat that this natural chokepoint posed. The team agreed and everyone seemed to be wracking their brains for a way around the issue.

Sometimes, the best solution is also the simplest.

Thinking quickly, Charlie blindly stuck his Walther around the corner and fired off two rounds. He heard the staccato sound of shattering glass, but dared not risk looking around the corner until the noise died down. Poking his head around the corner, he jerked it back nearly instantly as two bullets ricocheted off the wall next to his head, peppering his face with shards of stone. Even though his glance had been brief, he saw what he was looking for—as much as he’d hated the sight.

The two sets of windows next to the doors had been completely destroyed, leaving a clear and direct path to the lobby. Unfortunately, four
armed men were in position in the lobby—not two, as originally specified. He spied one of the alliteration duo—Masters—among the enemy inside.

“Well,” Charlie said, “the doors aren’t a problem, anymore—but the four assholes with guns definitely are.”

“We’ll handle it,” Victoria assured him.

“Why don’t we just use a different entrance?” Charlie offered, knowing there must be more ways into the building than just this inopportune area. “There has to be something.”

“Because we need to take these guys out. If we sneak in another way, then we run the risk of being flanked by mercenaries. That’s not a good thing at all—if you were wondering.”

“This won’t be easy,” he said.

“It never is,” Victoria agreed, pain lacing her words—her thoughts clearly still with Mason. “Which is why
you
are going to find another entrance, and
we
are going to handle these clowns.”

“You can’t be serious,” Charlie exclaimed. “They’ll kill you on the spot.”

Victoria gave him a small wink. “Trust me, Sherlock—these guys won’t know what hit them. Besides, there’s only one merc left upstairs and with these idiots out of the picture, you shouldn’t have any trouble getting to your family. Once we’ve dealt with this,” she made a sweeping gesture toward the lobby, “we’ll join you upstairs.”

Charlie locked eyes with his friend for what seemed like an eternity, trying to read everything he could from her expression. He expected to see that she’d already admitted defeat and was mentally preparing her mind to cope with the sacrifice she was about to make. Instead, he saw something that lifted his spirits and made him know—actually
know—
that everything would be okay. He saw hope. He saw the fierce intensity, intelligence and determination that had come to be Victoria Holloway’s defining characteristics. Above all else, he saw the knowing gaze of the victor—Victoria
knew
that she and her team would defeat these morons.

After a while, Charlie nodded slowly. Holstering his weapon, he put a hand gently on her arm.

“Thank you for everything you’ve done—all
of you,” Charlie said, turning to the team. “I couldn’t have—”

Victoria punched him in the chest, solidly, but playfully.

“Detective,” she said, her voice full of mock annoyance. “Shut the hell up and get upstairs. Don’t get emotional on us. Let
us
kill these motherfuckers, then we’ll go get your girls and finish this.” She finished the statement with a wink and a smile. From her jacket pocket, she fished out a blank white card with a black magnetic strip and handed it over to Charlie.

“What’s this?” he asked.

“Dummy master key,” she replied. “You’ll need it. It’ll get you access to any door that requires a magnetic key.”

“Thanks, Vee. I—”

She cut him off again, this time telling him the room numbers of Holloway’s villas.

“Now go!” she barked.

A sharp, clumsy laugh burst out of Charlie as Victoria roughly shoved him off in the direction of the north wing. As he searched for an entrance, he heard the first sounds of gunfire from the lobby and he prayed that his friends were okay.

•••

Finding an entrance and making his way to the elevators had been child’s play for Charlie, but he’d not encountered a single soul during his entire trek. He’d occasionally heard gunfire, but it was sporadic and he was unable to discern from which side the shots were fired. Anything could be happening to his friends and it pained him to know he was powerless to help them. Still, he refused to let his regret have any negative effect on his current objective. He was finally close to reuniting with his family, and nothing would stop him.

The elevator steadily made its way to the fourteenth floor, and Charlie found himself drumming his fingers on the wall in anxious anticipation. He knew the room numbers, and that he’d find these rooms on his left. Unfortunately, he didn’t know which rooms contained his wife and the final mercenary, and which contained Holloway and his children. Truth be told, Charlie was uncertain as to the possibility of an ambush. The final mercenary may not still be in the room with Meghan. He might be waiting for Charlie outside the elevator—he couldn’t know for sure. Still, the safe assumption was to believe the mercenary was with Holloway—or near him, at the very least—since he would be the old man’s last line of defense. Charlie guessed these things, but he didn’t truly know anything—nor did he care. He’d search every room in this tower if he had to—he would not be stopped.

Before reaching the fourteenth floor, Charlie ejected the magazine from the Walther to see how many bullets he had left. Four rounds remained. He’d emptied an entire magazine during the firefight on the monorail, and he’d put two more rounds through the lobby windows. Four bullets remained with which he could dispose of this final Chaos Squad soldier. It wasn’t much, but it was enough.

Exiting the elevator into a small, modern atrium, Charlie quickly rushed to his left and took cover with his back against the wall, just before entering the hallway. He risked a quick glance and found the hall completely deserted. Allowing his weapon to lead the way, Charlie all but sprinted the distance between the elevators and the first of Holloway’s two villas. Taking a deep breath, Charlie pulled the master key from his pocket but hesitated before unlocking the door. He needed time to steel himself for what was to come.

After a few more deep breaths, Charlie felt himself centering. He felt his focus honing to previously unknown levels. He felt the now-familiar rage simmering in his chest when he thought of Holloway and the Chaos soldiers holding his family hostage. Charlie was ready, and God help any poor, unfortunate souls who got in his way.

Inserting the key, Charlie heard the small
click
of the electronic lock disengaging. He dropped the card in his pocket, and relaxed his grip on the Walther. He was prepared for anything that may await him inside.

Finally, Charlie entered the room and was utterly taken aback by what he saw.

Meghan Walker, bruised, bloodied and unconscious lie in a chair near the massive window, her fragile form framed by the breathtaking view of the Magic Kingdom far below. Charlie felt his heart sink and his rage start to boil at this horrible sight. In the chair next to Meghan’s sat one of the men who’d accosted him at the Wilderness Lodge the night before. Charlie remembered this man’s name: Kinney, Brody Kinney.

Slowly stepping into the room, simmering rage threating to boil over, Charlie pointed the Walther directly at Kinney’s head. The man was big, but a .40 caliber round through each eye socket would stop even the most enormous of men.

“Walker,” Kinney scoffed, taking a sip from a glass of clear alcohol—perhaps vodka or gin. Noticing the fierce snarl on Charlie’s face, Kinney gestured to Meghan’s unconscious form and said, “What—not a fan of my work?”

“Fuck you,” Charlie barked, taking another step closer. So far, Kinney didn’t seem to have a weapon—his hands were free.

The big man stood. He was a full six inches taller than Charlie and perhaps fifty or sixty pounds of muscle heavier. He was imposing, intimidating, but Charlie felt no fear—only intense, nearly blinding rage.

“If you think what I did to this whore is bad, just wait until you see what I’m going to do to you.” Kinney drained the contents of his glass and threw it across the room.

“You
do
realize that I have a gun pointed at your throat, correct?” Charlie shot back.

“You won’t use that gun.” Kinney smiled.

“And why not?” Charlie challenged.

“Because you’re a coward. And cowards constantly feel the need to prove themselves. Let me tell you what you’re
going to do. You’re going to drop that weapon, and you’re going to try to beat me, man-to-man. Trust me—I’ve seen it all before.”

Kinney drew his own weapon but, instead of firing on Charlie, ejected the magazine, racked the slide to eject the chambered round and dropped the pistol to the floor before kicking it toward Charlie.

“Oh! I forgot. You’re also a cop. ‘Protect and Serve!’” he mocked. “You won’t fire on an unarmed man. It’s unethical!”

For a moment, the rational man within Charlie took full control. He had fully intended to shoot Kinney—unarmed or not. Why would any rational person risk their own life in this situation? The confrontation could be ended before it began. Who could possibly pass up this chance?

“I’m going to have a lot of fun with this cunt after I kill you,” Kinney taunted, gesturing to Meghan. “I wanted her to see your corpse before I finally put her out of her misery.”

The rational man within Charlie was abruptly shoved over the precipice of reason by the primal beast deep within—his ferocity overruling rationale and logic with purified bloodlust. Charlie tossed his weapon aside. He fully intended to kill the arrogant mercenary with his bare hands. Charlie Walker was no coward and this situation was not destined to end the way that Kinney had predicted.

“Good,” Kinney cooed, making a show of loudly cracking the joints in his neck. “Do your worst, detective,” he taunted with a wide grin.

Abandoning self-control, Charlie charged the mercenary; every muscle in his body tensed and prepared to kill.