The Seraphim Sequence: The Fifth Column 2 (24 page)

Jay jumped up from his recliner chair, splashing himself with alcohol. Beside him, salt-rimmed glasses and a small plate of kalamansi fruit toppled into the sand. The cracking sound resonated along the beachfront shops. Fireworks. They always sounded a little too close to gunfire for Jay’s liking. He glanced over to find Damien’s chair empty.

Kids were playing frisbee on the sand in front of him. Beyond them, a diving boat teetered on the aquamarine water. The closest he’d come to being anything like James Bond was lying here on this beach as a civilian. In fact, this was the first hotel he’d stayed in that didn’t have cockroaches. He adjusted his twenty-dollar sunglasses and closed his eyes, trying to ignore the toppled drinks. A waiter would replace those soon enough.

Something exploded in the distance. The deep rumble knocked the sunglasses from his nose. He rolled off his chair, almost on top of the glasses and fruit.

‘What the shit was that?’

Dusting the sand off his chin, he noticed Damien’s daypack was still there. He rifled through it, found his own prepaid cell and called the only number he had stored: Douchecanoe. Code for Damien. Another cell rang inside the bag.

‘Douchecanoe,’ he mumbled to himself.

He checked the water. A few kids were playing in the shallow fringe, where the water was peacock blue. No Damien.

People were filtering from the shops and standing up at their tables, their attention cast south along the beach. No one seemed to know the cause of the noise and Jay couldn’t see from here. Whatever it was, it couldn’t be good. The natural course of action would be to return to his room, pack his things and relocate. Paranoia was a wonderful thing. But they’d been extremely careful about not being followed here. Like, Damien-level careful.

But what if Damien was involved in the noise?

Slinging the daypack onto his back, he moved past the glazed onlookers, scanning their faces. He looked for anything out of place, over baseline and ill-fitting. A sun-baked rotund man lurched off his bar stool and almost collided with Jay.

‘Christ, watch where you’re going!’ he yelled after Jay.

Jay’s footsteps were faster now. Running. He weaved through the crowd. Sprinting. He could see white smoke lifting from a hotel. It was just few blocks ahead. He slowed as he approached. People were evacuating. As he drew closer he could make out a bar and outdoor restaurant. Tables dotted with seafood and cocktails. Beyond the restaurant was a four-story hotel that overlooked a garden with a circular swimming pool. Smoke belched from a window on the third floor.

Jay crouched and moved through the tables. He could hear screaming from inside. Gunshots echoed through the building, the sound carrying off the walls to reach his ears. He dug a hand into the backpack, disappointed to find Damien hadn’t packed the Glock. It’d be back in the hotel-room safe with the subcarbine.

Jay moved for the far table. As he did so, he spotted movement near the swimming pool. Someone was lying there, injured. He could see blood. That better not be Damien.

Thirty windows: anyone could take a shot at him. There was no easy approach. He could make out two people lying poolside. He recognized them. Sophia and Benito.

Walk away, he told himself. Just walk away. They’ll have help.

He walked—toward them. Ran.

Benito was saturated in blood. He wasn’t moving, eyes closed. Jay checked his pulse, then his airway. Nothing. He tried giving him oxygen, but his hands came away from his chest soaked with dark deoxygenated blood. He pulled back, realization setting in that Benito had died long ago.

He shifted to Sophia. She looked in a shit state. Her leg was swollen below the knee, possible fracture. Blood covered half her face, now coated with dust from the explosion. One arm was slicked red, the forearm swollen, the other pale and trembling. He checked her pulse. Strong. OK, that was good. Dilated pupils, shallow breathing. He put his ear to her mouth. Airway sounded clear. No other injuries that he could see.

A pistol lay between her and Benito. He recognized it as her P99.

‘It’s OK,’ he said. ‘How many?’

He heard something crunch underfoot. It came from one of the balconies. He ran for the pistol, checked the chamber. Round inside. He moved back to her.

‘How many?’ he said again. ‘Where?’

Her mouth parted, but she could barely make a sound. He followed her attention over his shoulder. He turned, aimed, found a target inside the charred hotel room. Before the figure could raise its pistol, Jay fired. At this range he didn’t have much of a chance, but it was enough to force the figure back into the smoke.

His first-aid training flashed back. Don’t clean the wound. Don’t put unnecessary pressure on the wound. Don’t try to push brain matter back into the head. All the things he’d hoped would never happen.

‘Come on, let’s get you up,’ he said. ‘Here’s hoping your spine isn’t broken … too much.’

He slowly pulled her into a fireman’s lift. She roared, almost deafening him, then convulsed into a soundless scream. He tried to lift the weight off her injured leg. Her torso seemed fine on the outside, but there was no telling what internal injuries she’d suffered. All he cared about right now was getting her to cover.

As soon as he got her clear of the restaurant and bar, he scanned the beach for a vehicle although he’d hardly seen one since he’d arrived. It was no surprise there still weren’t any. His hotel wasn’t far. He’d have to get her there. Ignoring the silent onlookers, he hobbled her past a taco stall and off the white sand, down a narrow paved alley.

‘Benito,’ Sophia whispered.

‘He’s gone,’ Jay said.

Phone lines dangled above and a radio blared a boxing match from inside a compound. Jay kept moving, ignoring Sophia’s gasps. A little girl emerged from an adjoining alley on a tricycle. She paused, waiting for Jay and Sophia to shuffle past.

‘Need to say goodbye,’ Sophia said.

‘We can’t do that,’ Jay said.

He pushed the hotel gate open and dragged Sophia through an overly manicured garden, under the arches, past the fountain, left across the dining area. He ignored the patrons inside, who watched mid-mouthful as they stumbled past.

‘I can’t just leave him.’ She was sobbing now. Her body started to shake.

‘You’re no good to anyone dead,’ he told her.

He reached his hotel room, shoved the keycard in and kicked the door open. Blood smeared the door. Stepping inside, he dropped the keycard into the slot. The room flashed with light. He leaned to one side, lowering Sophia to the tiled floor, her back propped against the bed. The door closed itself behind him. He locked it.

He slipped off the daypack and found Damien’s first-aid collection, which was smaller than he’d hoped. His first concern was the blood that matted her hair. Her eyes rolled. She’d taken a high fall, which explained the broken and fractured bones. But no gunshot trauma; that was a plus. With a pair of nitrile gloves over his hands, he traced the blood to the back of her head. A thin line, but it ran deep. He couldn’t see any depression in her skull or any splintering, so that was good. He unwrapped a packet of Oleas trauma dressing from Damien’s backpack and pressed it against the fracture. He wrapped the tails, one at a time, around her head in opposite directions, making sure they covered the dressing but not her eyes or ears. She might still need those. Blood soaked through the dressing.

‘Fuck,’ he said.

He reached for another dressing, placed it over the top, keeping the pressure on, and wrapped it around her head over the soaked one. He tied the tails on one side of her head.

Her eyes opened slightly.

‘What’s your name?’ he said.

Sophia shook her head, cheeks stained with dusty dried tears. She reached out and touched his arm, but was too weak to grip it.

‘That’s not how it was meant to happen,’ she said. ‘That’s not how it was meant to happen.’

‘What’s your name?’ he repeated.

She hesitated. ‘Sophia.’

‘Where are you?’

‘I don’t—’

‘You’re in my hotel room,’ he said. ‘What island are you on?’

‘Boracay,’ she said.

That satisfied him, for now. He grabbed two pillows from his bed and pulled the pillowcases free. He searched the hotel room for something long and thin but came up dry. Checking the bathroom, he found a towel rack. He stomped down on one end, breaking it from the wall. He tore it free and returned to Sophia, placed it alongside her leg. He fastened it to her thigh and shin, using the pillowcases as makeshift rope. Sophia was writhing in pain.

He snatched the lamp from the desk and stripped out the lampshade and globe. He cut along one edge of the bedsheet to create more rope. He wrapped the lamp, sans shade, against her forearm with the bedsheet strip and used the lamp’s electrical cord to loop over her neck and create a sling, keeping her hand above her heart to get the swelling down. He removed a morphine auto-injector from Damien’s daypack and stabbed Sophia’s good leg.

‘OK, now we need to get you out,’ he said. ‘Stay here. I need to check Damien’s room.’

Her mouth hung open, lips trembling. A tear ran down one cheek.

‘What happened?’ he said.

She pointed to her ear. He leaned over and realized she was wearing an earpiece. He carefully removed it and slipped it into his own ear.

‘—Freeman’s bleeding out, I can’t get to him,’ Nasira said.

Jay leaned over Sophia’s chest to speak into her mic. ‘Hey, where are you?’

‘Shit!’ Nasira yelled. ‘I thought that was you. What the hell are you doing here?’

‘Yeah, I’m wondering the same thing,’ Jay said. ‘Listen, I have Sophia but she’s pretty fucked up. Benito’s dead. We need to kidnap a fuckload more medical supplies and maybe a surgeon too.’

‘Jay!’ Damien’s voice filled his ear. He sounded out of breath.

‘Damien! Where the fuck have you been?’

How did Damien even have a radio?

‘I’m on my way to the hotel now,’ Damien said. ‘Sounds like a goddamn war zone up here.’

‘Get Sophia to the north end of the island!’ DC cut in. ‘We’re all heading there now. Submarine is waiting.’

Jay was relieved to hear that at least Damien was alive and kicking, as were Nasira and DC. And that they had an escape plan.

Nasira yelled, ‘Shocktrooper on level three. I’m cut off from Freeman. Shit, where the fuck is Grace?’

‘I’ll find her!’ Damien said.

Jay left Sophia propped against the couch and checked the window. An army truck was driving north, up the main road, the back loaded with marines. And the marines were loaded too, unfortunately. Whatever happened next, it wasn’t going to be easy.

The safest place right now was the rooftops. It was also the most efficient way for Damien to get to the hotel.

He’d been in his room, fetching cash to buy another round of drinks, when the explosion rocked the island. The first thing he did was reach for his cell, remembered he didn’t have it, then rushed out the door—pausing only when he recalled that although they’d handed their GPS receivers back to Freeman, he still had a radio. He pulled everything out of the room safe, found the radio and switched it on. He hadn’t been expecting anything, but the earpiece had sparked to life. It was then he realized Sophia and the others were on the same island. And they were in a world of trouble.

Miked up, he’d taken his flashgun and the Glock 21 from the safe—he’d left the G36C subcarbine under his bed—then changed into jeans and moved to the rooftops a few blocks north of his hotel. Just now the hotel was being swarmed by marines. They looked to be still organizing their strategy, so he doubted they’d have a team on a roof yet. And if they did, well, he’d have to deal with them.

He reached the edge of the rooftop of the adjacent hotel. Below, debris scattered the beachside and was strewn across the garden and swimming pool. Marines were moving in, securing every possible exit. Directly in front of him he could see Grace through a balcony door. He crouched against the edge and was about to speak into his mic when Grace interrupted.

‘Go! Now!’ she yelled.

Nasira burst into view, sprinting from the room out onto the balcony. He watched in disbelief as she vaulted off the railing and landed directly below him, on another balcony. He heard the smash of glass as she forced her way inside.

Then he caught sight of a shocktrooper entering the room Grace was in. He was almost right beside her. Damien rested his elbows on the rooftop edge and squeezed off a round, careful not to strike Grace. The round punched into the wall but was enough to send the shocktrooper behind cover. Grace was up and shooting again.

‘Freeman’s on the floor, still breathing!’ she whispered into Damien’s earpiece.

Damien could see him further down the hall. His top half was visible, head facing Damien, arm stretched out. His chest moved very slowly with each labored breath. Damien didn’t know how long he had left but they needed to get to him. Freeman knew everything. The shocktroopers couldn’t have him. But they were advancing on Grace and she had nowhere to go but back toward him.

She was running. Out onto the balcony, in Damien’s direction. The shocktrooper moved from his cover and aimed a UMP submachine gun at her. Damien saw the grenade launcher underneath.

‘Grace!’ he yelled. ‘Jump!’

‘No shit,’ Grace breathed.

Damien aimed past her and fired. The grenade had already left the barrel and was spiraling toward Grace as she launched from the railing. It struck her square in the back and sent a shockwave outward. He watched her fly forward, chest-first through the balcony below.

The edge of the shockwave reached him and lifted him off the ground. He hit the ground ten feet away. Picking himself up, he moved back to the edge to see the shocktrooper execute a perfect landing on the balcony below. Damien looked around for the Glock. He couldn’t see it anywhere. Great.

He vaulted over the rooftop and landed on the balcony. One of his flip-flops sailed off the side. Rounds cracked past: marines shooting from the garden below. Damien turned to the hotel room. The shocktrooper was inside what appeared to be a large penthouse apartment with a lounge and kitchen. He looked relaxed as he stood in front of Grace loading a new mag.

Damien turned back to the other building. Through the balcony on the other side, he could see shocktroopers swarming past Freeman. They’d seen him and they were coming for him.

Freeman raised a hand, then dropped it to his mouth. Damien watched as he slipped a cigarette between his lips. He didn’t light it, but instead bit hard into the filter tip. Damien felt his skin chill. He knew what Freeman was doing. Inside the filter tip, he’d concealed a cyanide ampule. Freeman’s eyes remained fixed on Damien. He didn’t blink again.

The shocktroopers opened fire as they approached the balcony. Damien raised his flashgun and squeezed the trigger. A bright flash illuminated the balcony, blinding the shocktroopers. He retreated quickly into the hotel room.

He couldn’t see Nasira anywhere, but the shocktrooper was looming over Grace. She rolled over, reaching for her Vector. It was too far away.

Damien charged in, completely unarmed. The shocktrooper sensed his arrival and pivoted. Even with his fast handling of his UMP, Damien was already too close. He broke the shocktrooper’s balance with a knee behind his and a pot plant over his head. The clay pot broke into pieces and soil blinded the shocktrooper. Damien released the magazine from the UMP. The shocktrooper squeezed the trigger and gas propelled the round from the chamber. Damien felt it burn along his midsection as he rammed the magazine into the shocktrooper’s neck.

The shocktrooper spluttered and took a step backward. His eyes gleamed obsidian. ‘That’s all?’ he said with a crooked smile.

‘I’m warming up,’ Damien said.

The shocktrooper lunged forward, knife to Damien’s stomach. Damien scooped the knife wrist aside, took it against the outside of his own leg and clamped it there where he could see it. The shocktrooper snapped his UMP up. The stock connected with Damien’s jaw. Light popped on the edge of his vision. He lost touch with the knife hand.

The blade ran up his stomach. Damien lurched back. He felt it sting. The knife came back around and he turned sideways, caught the side of the blade against his skin. He clamped a hand over it and stomped down on the shocktrooper’s foot, pinning him there. He rammed his other arm under the shocktrooper’s elbow and heard bone give way.

The shocktrooper grunted, twisting his broken arm out, and planted a sharp kick into Damien’s kidneys. The force of it lifted him off his feet and out onto the balcony again. He slid across concrete until his shoulders hit the railing.  Definitely a Mark II, he thought.

The shocktrooper turned back to Grace. She was no longer on the floor. Damien couldn’t see her. He crawled back to his feet, dragging oxygen into his lungs. The shocktrooper engaged a second mag into his UMP and pointed it at Damien.

Damien drew his flashgun and fired a blast. The shocktrooper staggered, dropped his UMP. Damien reached for it. The shocktrooper slammed a boot down on Damien’s hand, its tread grinding painfully into his knuckles.

‘What are you doing here?’ Grace yelled.

‘Saving you,’ Damien grunted.

‘You’re doing a bang-up job,’ the shocktrooper said.

Grace was fast but the shocktrooper was faster. His elbow slipped through her guard and caught her in the ribs. Damien heard them crack. She folded backward onto the carpet.

Damien wrenched the UMP from under the shocktrooper’s boot. The shocktrooper knocked his aim off so he was aiming at Grace, then kicked him in the stomach. Air shot from his lungs and he crashed into the fridge. He was getting sick of these exoskeleton-enhanced kicks. He didn’t even want to think how many pounds of force was behind each strike.

He pulled himself to his feet, hearing faint voices. And boots. Maybe half a dozen storming the stairs. Marines. Inside the building. And the other shocktroopers wouldn’t be far behind.

Grace was on her feet, breathing sharply. He saw her move for the hotel door, but the shocktrooper blocked her. Damien collected the UMP, then realized at the speed they were exchanging blows he’d be just as likely to hit her by accident. He checked the grenade launcher. Empty. He removed the mag—not wanting the shocktrooper to turn the weapon against him—and tossed it onto the balcony. He grabbed a kitchen knife and moved for the shocktrooper.

The shocktrooper kicked a chair into him, then used the chair to entangle his arm. The knife didn’t last long. The shocktrooper swooped for it as it dropped. Maybe bringing the knife into the fight wasn’t such a good idea.

Grace kicked the kitchen knife clear. Damien shoved the chair into the shocktrooper, forcing him into the hotel door. At that moment, the door crashed open and two marines aimed their M16s inside. They seemed a little surprised at what was taking place.

The shocktrooper knocked one long-nosed M16 barrel downward. Damien forced the chair over another. The shocktrooper kicked the chair, the power from his exoskeleton smashing it into pieces and sending the marine reeling. The shocktrooper pivoted toward the other marine’s rifle, tore it from his grasp and thrust the barrel into Grace. She ducked and punched for the shocktrooper’s midsection. The shocktrooper beat her to it, pulling the M16 down. Her fist collided with its barrel instead. He brought the stock around, catching Damien on the side of the head.

Damien’s vision rippled as he regained his footing. Now he was beginning to understand why Grace had told everyone to run from a Mark II shocktrooper. He went for his flashgun, then thought better. He didn’t want Grace incapacitated as well.

Another marine charged forward, but Grace ripped his M16 free, headbutted him with his own firearm and then whipped the barrel around to the shocktrooper’s neck. The shocktrooper brought his own M16 to the party. He parried the blow and followed with a strike of his own. Grace aimed the rifle point-blank at his face.

More marines moved in, rifles aimed diagonally through the hotel door, targeting both Grace and the shocktrooper. Damien started to wish he’d kept that UMP magazine.

Grace aimed her rifle at the marine diagonally opposite. The shocktrooper did the same. With their rifles crossed, they fired into the marines, then, with the marines down, aimed at each other. Grace swept the shocktrooper’s barrel over her head. The shocktrooper lashed out with the stock of his rifle. Grace matched it with hers, brought the barrel into the shocktrooper’s neck. The shocktrooper deflected the blow with his barrel. He moved to strike Grace with the stock, but a marine intervened so the shocktrooper struck him instead. Grace crunched her barrel into the shocktrooper’s neck, pitching him off balance. A 40mm grenade tumbled from his jeans. Damien watched it roll clear.

The shocktrooper snatched the M16 from Grace, finished off the marine with a second blow and then caught Grace in the ribs with the other end. She exhaled sharply, faltered to one side.

Damien scooped up the grenade, dropped it into the chamber under his UMP.

‘Grace,’ he said matter-of-factly. ‘Move.’

She simply collapsed to the floor.

More marines rushed the hotel doorway. Damien aimed the UMP and fired. The grenade caught the shocktrooper in the stomach. The marines looked relieved by its seemingly non-existent effect, and then the shockwave hit, blasting the shocktrooper into the hall and taking the marines with him. Damien could hear shocktroopers opening fire in the hall. The marines were caught in the middle and it wasn’t pretty.

Grace rushed past Damien toward the balcony. ‘Here, do something useful,’ she said, climbing onto the railing against the wall. She eyed the rooftop. ‘Give me a boost.’

Damien found the UMP magazine on the balcony and engaged it, then pushed her up to the rooftop. He hauled himself up after her, UMP shoved awkwardly down his shorts—the only item of clothing left on him. Grace didn’t wait to assist him, she was already moving quickly to the beach-facing side of the roof.

Her eyes flashed in his direction. ‘Come on, we don’t have all day.’ She paused, ‘Great,’ then jumped.

Damien checked behind him and saw multiple shocktroopers clambering up onto the rooftop. He peered over the edge to see Grace splash into a swimming pool below. Adrenaline was fluxing through him. He jumped.