The Inner Circle (53 page)

“Shit,” Drew said. Then: “Ronny, you hear me?”
 

Silence for a few seconds. “What’s up?”
 

“You got one hostile left outside, taking cover behind his cruiser.”
 

Maya came over the radio: “I got him.”

•
   
•
   
•

T
HE
LOBBY
HAD
fallen into chaos.
 

Maya hadn’t been completely sure what to expect, but she had to admit the black robes and cowls threw her at first. It was just so ... weird. And then there was the matter of the different color masks. It wasn’t too difficult to figure out who to take down, though. Those in the black masks were the ones with the weapons. Not that she wasn’t against the idea of taking down some white masks, too. But those with the weapons—those that posed the most threat—needed to be eliminated first.
 

She found most of her cover near the armored truck. Ronny had gone deeper into the lobby, toward the hallway leading to the auditorium. So when Drew said one hostile was still alive, taking cover, she turned immediately and headed back outside.
 

The sidewalk was mostly empty of civilians. There were a few, keeping their distance a block away. Some of them had their cell phones out, taking pictures, or calling whoever. If it was 911, they were wasting their time.
 

She spotted the remaining cop almost instantly. His attention was on the rooftops, searching for whoever had killed his dirty friends. When he heard her coming, he turned and raised his gun. Maya didn’t hesitate. She shot him twice—once in the chest, once in the head.
 

Even over the normal city sounds and the gunfire inside, she heard gasps from a few of those a block away.
 

She turned toward them, wanting to explain what was going on, how she wasn’t really a bad person, but knew it would be useless. To their eyes, she had just killed a cop. It didn’t matter how corrupt the man may have been.
 

Maya hurried back inside. Even more people in those black robes and cowls and masks scrambled every which way, like chickens with their heads cut off. Some with white masks were taken down in the crossfire.
 

She spotted Ben and Carver with Mason and a man in a black robe and cowl. Only the man didn’t appear to be a hostile. She realized at once he was one of the Koreans. He and Mason hurried away, and Ben started to turn, when from the corner of her eyes she saw movement.
 

A black mask had spotted Ben and Carver and was taking aim.
 

Just like with the corrupt cop outside, Maya didn’t hesitate. She raised her gun and fired. Her bullet tore into the man’s shoulder and flipped him back. He turned toward her. She fired again. This time the bullet went right between the eyes.
 

“Ronny,” she shouted, “they’re in the lobby,” and ran right for Ben and Carver.

•
   
•
   
•

W
HEN
MAYA
REACHED
us, I just stared at her. I wasn’t sure what to say. I thought about being up there on stage, tied to that chair, the table laid out with all of Clark’s toys, and I realized the one thing I would miss was Maya. That was my one regret, and that’s exactly what I wanted to tell her when she reached us.
 

Instead I said, “Thanks.”
 

She nodded. “Any time.”
 

Carver said to Maya, “I don’t need this wheelchair.”
 

“Yes, he does,” I said.
 

I grabbed the handlebars again and started pushing him toward the armored truck. Maya kept pace beside us, covering our backs.
 

The alarm kept blaring. The strobes kept flickering. The gunfire continued down the hallways. Over one hundred members of the Inner Circle ran around frantic, but they didn’t have any weapons so none of us decided they were worth killing.
 

Ronny came around the corner and hurried toward us. His left arm was bleeding.
 

“You okay?” I asked him.
 

He nodded, wincing at the pain. “Just a graze. Carver, it’s great to see you.”
 

“Great to see you, too. Tell Ben I don’t need this wheelchair.”
 

“He needs it,” I said. “Either of you two have a present for me?”
 

Ronny dug into his pocket. He came back out with a tiny transmitter and handed it to me.
 

I twisted it slightly, activating it, and stuck it in my ear.
 

“Kid, you hear me?”
 

“Glad to hear your voice, Ben. Carver okay?”
 

“He is. We’re going to load him up now. Any official word yet?”
 

“Still nothing over dispatch. You guys headed out now?”
 

We had reached the armored truck, Maya and Ronny keeping us covered and taking down a few more black masks.
 

“Not yet,” I said. “Mason and one of the Koreans are getting the survivors.”
 

“What survivors?”
 

“I also need to get whatever info I can on the Pax Romana.”
 

Ronny said, taking down another black mask, “What’s the Pax Romana?”
 

“I’m not sure yet. Load up Carver. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
 

Before any of them could object, I turned and sprinted toward the stairs.

75

Mason wasn’t sure where he was headed. He was following this Korean guy because Ben had told him to, and he trusted Ben. Despite everything, right now Ben was one of the few friends he had. And there had been something in Ben’s eyes, too, something that didn’t give Mason a good feeling. So he had followed the Korean guy down the hallway, then down some stairs, and here there were more motherfuckers dressed up like it was fucking Halloween. He and the Korean guy covered each other as they went down the hallway, taking out all of the motherfuckers. Mason wasn’t ashamed to admit that he got a thrill killing these assholes. After everything they had done to him and his family, all for the sake of entertainment. Fuck them.
 

Once the hallway was clear, the Korean guy—did Ben say his name was Chin?—led the way. They came to a door. The Korean guy paused and glanced back at Mason, gave him a heavy look, before turning the knob and pushing it open.
 

The first thing that hit Mason was the smell. Blood and piss and shit, all mixed together in one disgusting stew. He actually retched a little, worried he might throw up, but he fought down the bubbling in his stomach and took a step into the room.
 

The second thing that hit Mason was the sight. Blood and piss and shit, yeah, but also bodies. At least a dozen of them. Some were alive, others were not. Clear plastic tarp covered the floor and walls. A few bodies were wrapped up tightly in those clear plastic tarps, obviously dead. Those that were still alive lay on the floor, broken and bloody. A few whimpered like animals expecting another beating, thinking Mason and the Korean guy were here to do them more harm.
 

The tableau literally made Mason sick. That bubbling came back, stronger than before, and he thought he might actually throw up.
 

The Korean guy whispered, “We cannot take them all.”
 

Mason shot him a glare. “We can’t just fucking leave them here.”
 

“Most are already dead.”
 

“Some of them aren’t.”
 

“We do not have much time. Bae will set them off soon.”
 

“Set what off?”
 

Before the Korean guy could respond, something caught Mason’s attention. He was looking around the room at all the bodies when he noticed one in the far corner. It was a woman, wearing only panties. The back of the panties was stained with blood. She lay on her side, her back to Mason, giving him a good view of the rose tattooed on her shoulder blade. Mason would recognize it anywhere.
 

He was moving almost instantly. Stepping over bodies that were either dead or half-dead. Trying to say his wife’s name. But for some reason he couldn’t seem to find his voice, no matter how many times he tried speaking. Then he was crouching down beside her, reaching out hesitantly, telling himself that it wasn’t her even though he knew it was. Her shoulders were hitching slightly. Now that he was this close, he heard her sobbing.
 

“Gloria?” he whispered. Then, more forcefully: “
Gloria?
”
 

She gave no response.
 

Mason reached out, hesitantly, worried that the moment he touched her she would disappear. Like this was some kind of dream. Or—more apt—nightmare.
 

But when his fingers grazed her skin, she didn’t disappear.
 

Instead she screamed.
 

Only the scream wasn’t full-fledged. Not the kind he expected to hear. There was something different about it, something off, and it wasn’t until he managed to roll her over—Gloria fighting him, flailing with her fists—that he realized her tongue had been cut out. Her entire mouth was painted in blood.
 

Mason had another half-second to take in everything else—the missing fingers, the missing toes, the cuts along her thighs and arms and breasts—before his eyes shifted and he saw what Gloria had been holding onto.
 

Anthony.
 

Or what was left of Anthony.
 

Like Gloria, his son had been taken apart. He was missing fingers, toes, even an ear. But unlike Gloria, his son hadn’t had the strength to keep living.
 

Anthony lay motionless against the wall. His eyes glazed, his mouth open. Dead.
 

Gloria had been flailing at Mason this entire time. Now she stopped, too exhausted to continue. Only that wasn’t it. Mason looked down at her and saw her looking back at him. Nearly everything had changed about his wife, except her eyes. Those eyes now stared back at him, and he saw the sadness there, the pain, the agony. She opened her mouth, meaning to say something—what Mason thought was supposed to be his name—but of course no coherent words came out. No matter how much she tried, his wife would never speak again.
 

Mason’s body trembled. His blood boiled. He shook his head slowly, his hands balling into fists. Then, before he knew it, he screamed and punched the wall. Luckily, the wall was plaster and his fist went straight through it. Not that it made much difference. Pain exploded up his arm into his body, fueling his rage, and when the hand touched his shoulder, he swung around, raising his other fist.
 

The Korean guy didn’t even flinch. “We must hurry.”
 

Mason lowered his fist. Dropped his shoulders. Stared down at Gloria, who stared back up at him.
 

“Do me a favor?”
 

“What?”
 

Mason bent and scooped up his wife’s broken body off the floor and turned back to the Korean guy.
 

“Bring my son.”

76

As I raced up the steps, my gun in hand, I felt a tinge of déjà vu, like this was Miami Beach all over again. But instead of coming down to the first floor to confront a possible army of Caesar’s men, that army would be waiting for me on the second or third floor, all with weapons aimed and pointed in my direction.
 

But there were no black masks on the second floor, only a rush of white masks pushing their way down the stairs. The third floor was deserted. The hallways were dark save for the faint emergency lights and the constant strobes and the blaring of the alarm.
 

It didn’t take long to find the room I needed. I checked three before I came to a small room filled with computers. And bodies. There were four dead bodies here. Three of them were techs, wearing slacks and polo shirts. The fourth wore a black robe and cowl. This was Seung, who had told me good luck earlier this afternoon. He had been shot in the forehead.
 

It was pretty clear what had happened. Seung had kicked in the door. He had opened fire on the three techs working the computers. The techs, no doubt aware of the chaos downstairs, returned fire. Seung managed to kill the three, but not before getting shot himself. If there was any silver lining to the whole mess, his death had been quick. He probably pulled the trigger one final time just as the final tech pulled the trigger. Two bullets, two kill shots.
 

His eyes were still open. I reached out and closed them, because if movies and television has taught us anything, it’s you close a dead person’s eyes. I wanted to bring him with me, but I knew that would be impossible. He was just too heavy, and I was still hurting from the ass kicking I had received earlier, and besides, I needed what I had come here for.
 

Tables were lined up around the room. Computer monitors and laptops were set up on these tables. Underneath the tables were bunches of wires. Truth was, I had no fucking clue what I was looking at.
 

“Kid,” I said, “I have no fucking clue what I’m looking at.”
 

“Explain it to me.”
 

“A lot of computers and laptops.”
 

“Any jump drives?”
 

“Let me check.”
 

It was too dark to really tell for sure, but I started going computer to computer. I found a few jump drives, shoved them in my pocket. I knew those wouldn’t be enough, though. I would need more.