Chapter 31: The French Connection Part 3
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Chapter 31: The French Connection Part 3
California, Los Angeles, Downtown Los Angeles, February 7th, 2008
Chuck glanced at his father. "Hide in the bedroom!"
"Under the bed or in the armoire?" Dad replied.
Was he joking? At this moment? "Wherever you want!" Chuck hissed. "Just hide!" If Dubois saw his dad, their whole mission would be ruined!
"Chuck, just don't answer the door - she'll assume you're at work."
He blinked. "Uh." Dad was right - he didn't have to answer the door. No one knew he was in the apartment - he was supposed to be at work, after all. "Right."
He still wet his lips with his tongue while the assassin reached the door, and the sound of the doorbell almost made him jerk. He shook his head at his own folly - an experienced spy wouldn't have panicked like this.
On the screen, he saw Dubois staring at the door, then ringing the bell again. Chuck held his breath. She had no way to know that he was in the apartment. Neither the TV nor the radio were running. And the curtains prevented anyone outside from looking in. He was safe. They were safe.
In front of the door, Dubois nodded. She must have come to the desired conclusion. Perhaps she would return in the evening - Chuck would have to inform Sarah and Casey. They would have ample time to prepare.
Or, Chuck corrected himself with a sinking feeling as he saw her pulling familiar tools out of her purse, perhaps she would decide to break into the apartment.
Once more, he had the urge to hide - perhaps in the armoire. Dad and him would… No. If Dubois was willing to break into their apartment, she would also search it. "Dad, come with me!" he whispered as he hurried into the bedroom. He dropped on the floor and pulled out the suitcase stashed there. He quickly opened it, then removed the fake bottom, revealing the guns hidden there.
He grabbed the SMG - a MAC-10 with suppressor - and a magazine, taking a few deep breaths. He wouldn't have to rush this. The door would take Dubois at least…
The sound of the door opening made him curse. So much for their security! He jumped up and rushed to the bedroom door, inserting the magazine on the way. Pressed against the wall - the side with the heavy shelf in the living room that would stop at least 9mm bullets - he waited and listened. Dubois was good, but he still heard her footsteps. Hallway. Living room. Now!
He slid around the corner, leading with the gun. "Freeze!"
But Dubois wasn't where he had expected. He dropped down before he had completed his move, rolled - and froze when he felt a muzzle on the back of his head. "Don't move, Mr Black. And drop your gun."
This wasn't the time to be cute and ask if he shouldn't move, or drop the gun. He dropped it and drew hissing breath through clenched teeth. "Does your boyfriend know that you're a burglar, Jeanne?"
"My 'boyfriend' is in a coma," she replied. "Which is why I decided to visit you. I'm in need of an investment banker, you know. However, most investment bankers I know don't own submachine guns for home defence."
Shit. He tried to play it off. "This is Los Angeles - pistols don't cut it, you know."
"Really." She sounded amused. "Now why don't I believe…"
"Drop your weapon!"
Dad! He had gotten the drop on her! Perfect!
Or not - Chuck felt the muzzle press even harder against his head. "I think not," she said. Of course, Dubois wouldn't drop her weapon. "Drop your weapon, or he dies."
"Uh…" Chuck bit his lower lip - what could he say in this situation? That wouldn't get him shot? "Can we talk about this before anyone gets shot? Like me?"
"There's nothing to talk about. I know who you are."
Chuck gasped and almost turned around out of reflex - which probably would have gotten him shot. What? How had she seen through their cover? And if she knew, who else did?
"You're killers sent by Espinosa."
"Uh… no, we aren't." Chuck protested.
"You're not the DEA or the FBI. You would have tried to arrest me if that were the case."
"And you're not Fankhauser's trophy girlfriend," Dad told her. "Who are you and what do you want?"
"We're not working for any cartel," Chuck added.
"Then who are you working for?" Dubois emphasised her question by pushing her gun's barrel against Chuck's head again.
"We're working for the CIA," Chuck blurted out.
"What?"
"Gonzalez is meddling with an operation crucial for national security," Chuck went on. "We were sent to stop him."
"The CIA has no permission to operate on US soil," Dubois retorted.
Chuck forced himself to snort. "Yeah, 'officially'." He had to sell this, or he'd be shot to death.
"That means that I'm also meddling with a CIA operation."
Uh. Chuck grimaced - he hadn't thought about that.
"And who are you?" his father asked.
"You don't expect me to tell you my real name, do you?" She almost giggled, or so it sounded.
"Worth a try," Dad replied.
"Can we go back to talking about not killing each other?" Chuck asked. He was lying on his stomach on the floor. Not the best position. But not the worst, either. Dubois was crouching to his right - in reach of both his right arm and, should he manage to twist his body enough, his legs. A capoeira technique would fit best - provided he could get Dubois distracted for just a moment. "No one needs to die," he added.
"Standard CIA operating procedure would disagree," she retorted.
"And how would you know that?" Dad asked.
"Everyone knows that," the assassin replied.
But had there been a slight annoyance audible? At her slip? Chuck licked his lips. "So… who are you working for? You're not American. Not Mexican either. That leaves Europe. British or French?"
"Who said I'm working for someone?"
Yes, she sounded defensive. But that could be an act - she would want them to think that she was working for someone who'd investigate her disappearance. "You don't seem to be the kind of woman who'd do such a mission on her own."
She laughed at that. "You have no idea."
"French, then," he told her.
He felt the muzzle press even harder against his skull, if only for a moment. "Why do you think so?"
"Your arrogance," he replied. "That's French."
She laughed again, but it sounded a little forced. He was getting to her - but that wouldn't do anything to save him. He needed a distraction. Just for a moment. But on the floor, his hands in her sight, he couldn't do anything - if only he were able to activate his phone with a verbal command! Wait… Perhaps… He took a deep breath. "In any case, we can't stay forever like this. We'll have to sleep one day. I don't think you'd agree to take a break for a rest, and continue once the alarm clock goes off?"
"Are you sure you're a CIA operative? You sound more like a comedian. A bad comedian."
"It's hard to be funny with a gun to your head," he retorted. Had Dad understood his request? "Anyway, if you can't tell us who're you're working for, what about telling us what your goals are? We might come to an arrangement."
"That would require a lot of trust. It's hard to trust someone if they're holding a gun to your head, isn't it?"
"Well, we told you who we are and what we're planning."
"You told me a cover story. No CIA operative would actually reveal their illegal operation like this."
So, it seemed refuge in audacity was working. "Worth a try," he said. "In any case…"
"...and in other news…"
In the corner of his eye, Chuck caught Dubois reacting to the TV apparently turning itself on. That was the opportunity he needed.
He flipped on his side, throwing his head back and making Dubois miss with her first shot. Before she could correct her aim, he folded himself like a jackknife, using the momentum to hit her with both his feet.
The impact spoiled her next shot and sent her tumbling head over heels away from Chuck, towards the couch. He used the momentum to push himself into the other direction, behind the counter that separated the kitchen from the living room.
He wished they had hidden a gun there - his submachine gun was still on the floor. He'd have to do without. He crawled forward, then reached up and pulled the cutlery drawer out. The steak knives - brand new, and sharp as hell - were on the left side.
He quickly reached up, grabbed one, and pulled his hand back down - just in time for another bullet to miss it, striking the fridge behind him instead. Damn, Dubois was fast!
And Dad wasn't as fast with a gun as Chuck had hoped.
But with Dad in the door to the bedroom and Dubois behind the couch, Chuck could flank her if he made it to the hallway, where he could take cover behind the corner. Yes, that would work - with a little distraction.
He moved forward a little, still crouched, and pulled the barstool towards him. It wasn't ideal, but it would do. He threw it so it rolled out of cover behind them, then dashed forward, towards the hallway.
Dubois was even faster than he had expected - he saw her whirl, her gun swinging back to point at him, and dived forward into a combat roll. Two shots missed him - one he felt tugging at his shirt - but then he was in the hallway, behind cover.
Even more important, Dad could see him, and they had Dubois cornered now! She couldn't cover both of them. Granted, Chuck had only a knife, but Dubois might not know that. And he could throw it, anyway.
He'd prefer to get his submachine gun back, though. But it was out of reach. If he had grabbed it when he'd struck at Dubois… well, he'd have been shot in that case.
He looked at Dad, raising his knife. Dad raised his eyebrows in response. Well, so much for coordination. Chuck pulled his phone out and texted him. I START DISTRACTION. THEN U COVER FIRE.
But before he could put his plan into action, he heard shots - and saw the bullets strike the wall near Dad. Covering fire. He slid around the corner, knife ready to throw, but Dubois was already at the door to the balcony, and he had to jump back behind the corner before she shot him.
Dad left cover to shoot at her but wasn't fast enough - as Chuck saw when he slid around the corner again, the French spy had already gone through the door and was now on the balcony, behind the wall.
"Which side?" Chuck asked as she dashed across the room to grab his submachine gun.
"Left," Dad told him, covering the balcony's door. "We're on the seventh floor."
That wouldn't stop a good spy, though. And Dubois was an excellent spy. But would she expect them to think she was climbing down, and wait in ambush instead? "Wait!" he whispered when Dad was moving forward. "I'm checking the…" He cursed again when he noticed that someone had shot his laptop during the fight.
"Wait!" he repeated himself and pulled his phone out. He could connect to the cameras covering the balcony with it. "Come on, come on!" he mumbled as his phone struggled to connect - Comcast was obviously a hostile organisation.
Finally! He flipped through the feeds until he saw the balcony - empty. Chuck rushed out at once, followed by his father. "I'll cover up, you cover down," he whispered.
Dad nodded, and Chuck took a deep breath. Then he leaned out, gun raised. But he saw no sign of Dubois. "Nothing."
"Nothing," Dad replied.
How had she… "She must have climbed onto a balcony and broken into the apartment."
Chuck flipped through the feeds on his phone. Would Dubois try to hide in the apartment? Call Besson to help her? Or would she book it?
"Blood," Dad said, interrupting his thoughts. Chuck saw him point at the ground. "I must have hit her. But probably just a grazing shot."
But that still meant that Dubois was wounded. Bleeding. Would she try to bandage herself before escaping? He couldn't see her on the camera feeds covering the hallways.
Where was she? And what was she planning? Even if the wound wasn't severe enough to require immediate treatment, a bleeding woman would attract attention. That would make escaping harder. So, she would be treating her wound first. And change her clothes. More than enough time to call Besson for help - or as a distraction. "What did she tell Besson?" he asked without taking his eyes off the switching camera feeds.
"She sent more codes," Dad replied after a check on his - still working - laptop. "26540"
26540? What could that mean? If it as another date… 26th May? 1840? Or 1940? Chuck quickly ran the date through a search.
Dunkirk. The evacuation started on that date.
"They're pulling out," he said. "Or she's pulling out - is Besson staying put?" He checked. The bodyguard hadn't left Gonzàlez's apartment. And there was still no sign of Dubois. How did she plan to evacuate? Wait… Evacuate. She wouldn't… He remembered her missions. Of course she would. "She's going to force an evacuation of the whole building so she can get away in the confusion."
"Are you sure?"
No, he wasn't. It wasn't the Intersect coming to this conclusion. But he nodded. "Yes. And she's probably counting on Besson to use the confusion to get what they want, too."
And the only thing that would force the evacuation of the entire building would be a fire. A huge fire. Well, a terrorist attack or mass shooting would do the same, but that would result in the police surrounding the building. Dubois wouldn't want that. "It'll be a fire," he said.
Dad nodded. "I'll inform Sarah and Casey."
Right. Chuck should have done that long ago - but there hadn't been any time. And the two spies would arrive too late anyway. It was up to Chuck and his father to stop Dubois and Besson. Great.
Should he block the alarm? No. Dubois would set the building on fire. She wouldn't try to fake it. Chuck couldn't suppress the alert - innocents would be endangered.
Should he call the police and report, anonymously, that an armed, possibly wounded female burglar had been spotted? No. The cops arriving loaded for bear and hunting for an armed criminal would make the whole mission much harder for Chuck, too. "As soon as the fire alarms are going off, we'll know on which floor she's hiding," he said.
"Unless she's setting fires on a delayed timer," Dad pointed out.
Chuck shook his head, keeping his eyes focused on his phone's screen. "That wouldn't change anything - she can't leave her current floor without us noticing. We've got eyes on the facade and the hallways. And there are no garbage chutes inside the apartments."
"She could improvise a rope and rappel down the facade while we move to the affected floor."
That was a crazy plan - but Dubois had done crazier things according to the files Chuck had read. He nodded. "In that case, we'll follow her - get a rope and the harnesses from the bag. Just in case."
Dad didn't protest his plan, so Chuck concluded that the Intersect should be able to handle rappelling. That was standard spy stuff, anyway.
"Should we put them on already?" Dad asked, dropping the gear on the table.
"Uh…" Chuck blinked. "No, not yet. If we need to play the part of scared residents fleeing the fire, wearing harnesses would look strange."
"Unless we flee through the window," Dad pointed out with a grin.
Chuck rolled his eyes. His father knew what he had meant. "She still hasn't moved. And neither has Besson. Of course, he has to act surprised when the fire alarm goes off..." He trailed off. "Oh my God! If Gonzàlez gets evacuated, Besson might be able to persuade him to skip town to avoid the investigation!" He looked at Dad. "That's probably her plan. Forcing us to go after Gonzàlez so she can escape."
"Are you sure?"
No, he wasn't. But it fit. In the chaos of an evacuation, anything could happen - and a lot could be covered up. A CIA strike team would use the opportunity rather than having to abort the mission and to launch another later. "Either way, we can't let Gonzàlez escape." If the drug lord escaped and moved away, they'd have to find another suitable target. And had to erase all the planted evidence. And with Besson and Lopez with him, they couldn't split and stop Dubois.
And, Chuck realised with a sinking feeling, it also meant that he would have to perform an assassination. Dad couldn't do it alone. He shook his head. He had already been performing an assassination by performing his role on this mission. Whether he was personally shooting anyone didn't make a difference. Nor morally. And not legally.
But it made a difference for him. Gonzàlez was a drug lord who had had dozens of people murdered - and killed at least a few personally. But he hadn't done anything to Chuck or his family. He wasn't a threat - he was a mark.
Could Chuck kill him? If the Intersect kicked in, easily, of course. But like this? Could he?
"Chuck?"
"What?" He jerked. "What?"
"Are you alright?"
"Yeah, sure." Chuck nodded. "Just thinking of how we can get Gonzàlez," he lied. "They'll have to take the stairs." If they had enough time to prepare, they could have rigged a gas trap - carbon monoxide filling the staircase, suffocating the entire group. But they would have had to isolate Gonzàlez's group from everyone else. "We need to ambush them there."
And that would be difficult. And dangerous.
Good. If the Intersect kicked in, Chuck wouldn't feel too bad about the thing.
"Let's come at them from above," he said. They might not expect that.
"Lopez might stall us, letting Gonzàlez escape," Dad pointed out.
"Not if we stop them from going down further," Chuck said.
"How? Do you want to split up?"
"No." Chuck shook his head as he got up. "But we'll have to. I'll take the top."
The fire alarm went off before he had reached the door.
Damn. So much for the plan. They'd have to improvise. He checked the video feeds again. Thick smoke was starting to fill the floor below them. Dubois had gone all-out - that kind of fire could threaten the entire building. "Uh…"
"Chuck?"
"I just realised," he said, wincing, "this might not be a distraction to let her escape us, but a way to flush us out so she can kill us."
"Right. Should we abort the mission?"
Chuck shook his head. "That would play into her hand if she's expecting us to flee." The cameras on the floor below them were quickly becoming useless as the smoke spread, but Chuck saw the first people appearing in the hallways - panicking. And obscured by the smoke.
"Take the left stairway. I'll take the right one," he snapped, fitting the headset on and grabbing his bathrobe. It would hide his weapons and people might think that the fire had surprised him in bed - Morgan had used that plan in a D&D session, once.
Chuck was the first out of the door and almost ran into a neighbour he hadn't yet met. "Sorry!" he yelled. "But there's a fire!"
"Where? Where?" the old man shouted.
"Run down the stairs!" Chuck yelled back. "Don't use the elevator!" He blinked as the old man ran past him. The elevator. The fire alarm would have sent it down so panicked residents wouldn't get trapped in it. And the stairs would be - were, he caught a glimpse before the door fell closed behind the fleeing man - filling with fleeing people.
But the elevator shaft would be empty. And accessible. If you were crazy enough to climb up while the building was burning. And Dubois was the kind of spy crazy enough to do exactly that. The smart thing would be to use the confusion and panic to escape through the stairs, using the other residents as human shields. That would be smart - and expected.
But Chuck was sure that Dubois hadn't survived her suicidal missions by being predictable. And while it was hard to make out individuals, someone going up through the stairs while everyone else was rushing down would stand out.
"She's coming up through the elevator shaft!" he told Dad through the radio as he approached the elevator doors.
"Gonzàlez hasn't shown up yet," Dad replied. "But Besson is in the hallway."
Stalling? Perhaps. But Dubois was a bigger problem - she might be coming after Chuck and his father. She was, after all, an assassin trained for this. And they were interfering in her plans.
He reached the elevator and checked the small gap in the centre. Smoke was coming through it. More than expected - Dubois must have forced the door open on the floor below. That meant she was climbing up - but she had to hurry. "Has Dubois texted Besson again?"
"No." Dad arrived behind him. He was pulling on one of their gas masks. Chuck followed his example - it would help with the smoke, at least.
Was Dubois sacrificing Besson? Or did she have plans laid out in advance covering this? Chuck didn't know. And time was running out. "Let's get this open!" he said.
"But all the smoke will fill this floor!" Dad protested.
"We can't stay any longer anyway." Chuck pulled out the tool Casey had given him and inserted it into the concealed opening in the doors, then pulled, hard - and almost fell on his back as the doors put up no resistance.
It saved his life, though, as two bullets missed him by inches as he stumbled back - Dubois had been waiting for them!
Smoke billowed out of the shaft - less than what Chuck had expected - and Dad returned fire - but as he was moving to cover, Chuck didn't think he'd hit Dubois.
"Missed her," Dad confirmed Chuck's guess a moment later. "She's above us."
Damn. How could they get her without exposing themselves to fire?
"Gonzàlez is moving! Left stairs."
Double-damn. And the smoke was getting worse. How much longer until the fire brigade would arrive? Wait… He had an idea. He could…
Something flew through the open doors. Small, round… "Grenade!" Chuck yelled, gasping - they were dead. It was too close and the hallway too narrow. Gritting his teeth, he jumped towards it. At least Dad would survive.
He collided with another body on the way - from the side - and they went down in a tangle of limbs. Dubois! His gun went flying - knocked out of his hand. And she still had hers.
Chuck managed to grab her arm, forcing the muzzle of her gun away from him as she fired several shots before she dropped it. He tried to follow up with an arm lock, but she ripped his mask off, and the sudden inhalation of smoke made him cough so hard, he lost his grip on her.
She twisted away, and a kick landed on his shoulder instead of his face as he lunged forward to grapple her. She was on her back but countered with a capoeira move that barely failed to crush his throat. In return, he grabbed her leg, then had to drop it to avoid her next kick.
He rolled and twisted his body, turning the movement into a leg sweep that caught her right when she moved towards him. She lost her balance but recovered enough to avoid his chop to her throat, crashing into his chest and trapping one of his arms beneath her body.
Chuck lashed out with his free arm against her head, making her jerk back and to the side. That dislodged her enough to let him roll - and fling her away. Towards the open elevator doors. He saw her eyes widen and her arms flailing - and her hand latching onto the mask still dangling from his neck at the moment she went through the opening.
Chuck almost followed her but managed to brace himself against the door with both arms. That left Dubois hanging from his gas mask. For a moment, their eyes met. Braced like this, he couldn't defend himself - and the straps were already cutting into his neck. But if she took him out, she'd fall down.
Then a hand pushed his shoulder down, and a pistol appeared next to his head, pointing at Dubois. Dad!
And Dubois, still staring into his eyes, let go and fell, disappearing in the smoke below.
Chuck stared down the shaft, but couldn't see through the smoke. She hadn't been wearing a line or even a harness. From this height… He hadn't killed her, but he might as well have - he certainly had tried his best. But to suicide...
"Come on! We need to catch Gonzàlez!" Dad pulled him back.
Right. He stood, shaking his head and pulling his mask back on.
"They're a floor below us, now," Dad told him.
Chuck glanced at the shaft. If they ran after them on the stairs, they wouldn't be quick enough to stop them. "You take the stairs, I'll rappel down here."
After a moment's hesitation, his father nodded. "Be careful."
"You too." Chuck did his best to smile confidently even though the mask hid his face. Then he picked up the submachine gun - and Dubois's pistol - before pulling out the rope. "Third floor," he told Dad. "I'll stop them there."
"I'll be right behind them." Dad vanished around the corner.
Chuck quickly tied the rope to pipe inside the shaft - the smoke was getting really bad - then jumped off, rappelling down as quickly as he safely could manage. Which was a good thing, since he saw and felt flames through the open door of the floor below. Dubois obviously knew how to set fire to a building and make it spread. Even going past the door in close to a free fall, Chuck felt uncomfortably hot.
That also meant that his line wouldn't last too long - not with that heat. He clenched his teeth and sped up his descent even more until his shoulders and thighs hurt from the way the harness cut into them.
At least the smoke wasn't too bad once he was past the burning floor, and he reached the third floor easily. Now he just had to open the door… His hand found an empty pocket where the tool to open it should have been. He must have lost it during the fight without noticing!
And the flames would soon reach his rope… He sucked in a breath through clenched teeth and pulled his knife. Sometimes, violence was the answer. He wedged it into the gap, then started to force the doors open.
It was much harder than he had expected - he had to brace himself against the corner and kick with all his strength to force the doors open. But he did it - and in time to catch Gonzàlez, if he sprinted. He moved to climb out when he felt a tug on his harness that almost made him lose his balance. A quick glance confirmed it - the rope had fallen - it must have burned through. Damn, that had been close. If he had been a little slower...
He climbed into the hallway and started to run towards the stairs. The whole building would be doomed if the fire brigade didn't arrive soon. How had Dubois managed that? No time to dwell on that. At least there were no panicking residents left here, or so it seemed.
He ran around the corner - and saw Besson standing in the open door to the stairs there, with his pistol aimed at him. Chuck dropped and slid along the floor, Bessons' shot passing over his head as his own burst hit the bodyguard in the shoulder right before he ducked behind the wall.
"Ambush!" he heard the man yell - so he wasn't seriously hurt, if at all, Chuck assumed as he slid forward, then rolled to the side and came up in a crouch, submachine gun still pointed at the door. He had stopped them from descending further - for now.
"Dad?"
"I'm a floor above. We've got them!" Dad replied.
Chuck heard several shots, and Dad cursed. "Dad?"
"I'm unhurt - but I had to retreat a little."
That was bad. The fire brigade and the cops would arrive any minute. And that would bust the mission. Think, Chuck, think. Fake grenade? Copy Dubois? But he didn't have a fake grenade. Perhaps he could… He saw the red metal door to his side. Oh.
He ripped it open and pulled the hose out. Perfect. "I'm going to flush them out, Dad."
"Flush them out?"
More shots. They must be trying to break through to the fourth floor instead of going past Chuck.
"Literally," Chuck whispered, turning the water on. He could feel the hose grow heavy and buck as the water filled it, the end still closed. He moved forward, hugging the wall, one hand keeping his gun pointed at the door, the other holding the hose. Time was running out.
Something moved in the door, and he fired before he recognised it - a gun. Besson's gun. But the bodyguard only squeezed off two shots, firing blind, before he retreated again. And Chuck was at the corner.
He took a deep breath and regretted it at once - the air was getting steadily worse, too - and opened the valve at the end. Water shot out at high pressure, and Chuck struggled to keep it under control as he pointed it around the corner with both hands.
Someone yelled, and Chuck heard more shots. He flinched, but he was committed. Besson was on the ground, knocked back by the water, Gonzàlez cowered on the stairs, but behind the man, Lopez was turning around. Chuck hit her with the water, driving her back and spoiling her aim, then had to spray Besson again before the bodyguard could shoot him. What was Dad doing? He couldn't keep this up forever - and he couldn't get his gun while he was holding on to the hose with all his strength!
He ducked as Lopez started firing and gave her another faceful of water, pushing forward. Besson was getting up, but Chuck was close enough to kick him, before hosing him down again. And Gonzàlez…
Chuck dropped to the wet floor as the drug lord shot at him. The bullet missed him, but he lost his grip on the hose. It promptly started to dance around in the staircase, spraying water everywhere. At least it made Gonzàlez back up and Lopez duck, saving Chuck's life once more.
But before he could get up, Besson kicked him in the side. Chuck yelled at the pain - his ribs were broken - but managed to grab the bodyguard's leg before he could recover, and twist the foot. The mercenary wasn't quick enough to compensate, and his scream drowned out the crack his ankle made when Chuck broke it.
The hose flew over his head as he rushed forward, lashing out at Besson's head. The bodyguard twisted away, but not enough, and a glancing blow knocked his head back, into the stairs, stunning him.
Chuck got up himself - two enemies left, and Gonmzàlez was popping up from where he had ducked under the spinning hose. Chuck lunged, but the pain that move caused in his ribs made him stumble, and the drug lord brought his pistol to bear at a distance he couldn't…
Something smashed into Gonzàlez and threw him against the wall. Dad had managed to tackle Lopez! Chuck moved, clenching his teeth at the pain, and kicked Gonzàlez in the face. The drug lord dropped with a groan. That left Lopez, who was grappling with Dad.
Chuck steadied himself with a hand on the railing and kicked out. His first strike missed, his second glanced off the woman's shoulder, but his third hit the back of her head, knocking her out.
Panting - and coughing; he had lost his mask again in the fight - he managed to ask: "Dad? Are you alright?"
Groaning, his father rolled off Lopez. "She got me in the side, but I'll live - I think."
"Dad!" Chuck knelt down, hissing at his own pain, and reached for his father. He had to treat his wounds!
"No! We have to finish the job, Chuck," Dad spat. "The cops are arriving."
Finish the job? Oh. He meant, killing Gonzàlez. And the others. Who were all knocked out and helpless on the ground. Uh.
"Just help me up," Dad said.
"Sure," Chuck replied, grabbing his arm. No! Dad's entire side was bloody!
"It's OK," his father mumbled. He was swaying on his feet, too - blood loss must be bad!
"Dad!"
"I'll be alright. It's not a deep wound." Dad took a few steps, almost stumbling if not for Chuck's help, then aimed at the groaning Gonzàlez. With Lopez's gun, Chuck realised.
Dad fired a single bullet into the drug lord's head. Lopez's style. Chuck gasped. He should have expected that - he had been expecting it - but to see his father killing a man in cold blood…
Another shot. Two men, Chuck corrected himself.
"Can you carry her?" his father asked, nodding at Lopez. "Need to tie her up, though."
"I can't carry her and you at the same time," Chuck replied. And how were they going to get the woman out of the building, with the police and firemen outside?
"Right."
Another shot rang out and that problem became moot.
Chuck shook his head. He had to focus on the mission - on their escape. "Let's go. We'll need to reach the garage - we can get the car."
"Yes."
Chuck still checked Dad's wound first. It really wasn't deep, but it had to hurt a lot and needed to be bandaged. And his own ribs were hurting like hell, but probably bruised rather than broken. Probably. He couldn't have fought like he did with broken ribs, could he?
He laughed, then winced at the pain it caused, as he helped Dad down the stairs. They had to go down four floors before the firemen entered. And before the fire caught up to them from above. And he didn't know how long either would take. It all came down to luck.
"Chuck? Where are you?"
That was Sarah! "Sarah?"
"Where are you? You didn't answer your phone!"
"Oh." He looked down. He must have lost the phone as well without noticing.
"Northern staircase, second floor - we need help. Took out the mark," he said. "But we're wounded." Did he qualify? Bruises didn't count, did they?
"We're coming. Stay inside; don't get out."
"No danger of that," he replied, chuckling, then wincing. He really should remember not to laugh with broken or bruised ribs.
Sarah and Casey - in disguise - met them on the first floor. The NSA agent all but ripped Dad out of Chuck's arms and dragged him away at a speed Chuck had trouble matching.
"Chuck!"
He smiled at Sarah. "Just bruises. I think." He pointed at his ribs. "But Dad was shot."
"Nothing serious."
"His wound needs bandaging," Chuck insisted.
"We've brought an ambulance."
Chuck blinked. "An ambulance." Oh, a fake, of course. The ideal getaway vehicle for the situation. Or for a kidnapping - they had used it before. He nodded.
"Chuck? Where were you hurt?"
He blinked. Just the side.
"Are you sure? You weren't hit in the head?"
He blinked again. Had he been hit in the head? Not that he'd have noticed. But he did feel a little… Had he a concussion?
By the time they reached the ambulance and Chuck climbed inside, Casey had secured Dad on the gurney and was throwing on a paramedic jacket. "Get a move on!"
They sped out of the garage. Casey yelled at a cop stopping them that this was an emergency - heart attack - and then they were driving away, and Sarah was treating Dad's wound.
Chuck looked out of the window at the brightly burning building. From the sixth floor up, everything was in flames, or so it seemed. Chuck didn't think the firemen would be able to save it.
"Just for the record," he said, then blinked. There wouldn't be any records, anyway. "Just for the record," he repeated, "I didn't start the fire."
But he wished he knew how Dubois had managed that kind of blaze. That could be very useful when dealing with demons. But the woman was dead. As were Gonzélez, Lopez and Besson.
He closed his eyes and tried not to think about it all.
California, Los Angeles, Downtown Los Angeles, February 7th, 2008
Chuck glanced at his father. "Hide in the bedroom!"
"Under the bed or in the armoire?" Dad replied.
Was he joking? At this moment? "Wherever you want!" Chuck hissed. "Just hide!" If Dubois saw his dad, their whole mission would be ruined!
"Chuck, just don't answer the door - she'll assume you're at work."
He blinked. "Uh." Dad was right - he didn't have to answer the door. No one knew he was in the apartment - he was supposed to be at work, after all. "Right."
He still wet his lips with his tongue while the assassin reached the door, and the sound of the doorbell almost made him jerk. He shook his head at his own folly - an experienced spy wouldn't have panicked like this.
On the screen, he saw Dubois staring at the door, then ringing the bell again. Chuck held his breath. She had no way to know that he was in the apartment. Neither the TV nor the radio were running. And the curtains prevented anyone outside from looking in. He was safe. They were safe.
In front of the door, Dubois nodded. She must have come to the desired conclusion. Perhaps she would return in the evening - Chuck would have to inform Sarah and Casey. They would have ample time to prepare.
Or, Chuck corrected himself with a sinking feeling as he saw her pulling familiar tools out of her purse, perhaps she would decide to break into the apartment.
Once more, he had the urge to hide - perhaps in the armoire. Dad and him would… No. If Dubois was willing to break into their apartment, she would also search it. "Dad, come with me!" he whispered as he hurried into the bedroom. He dropped on the floor and pulled out the suitcase stashed there. He quickly opened it, then removed the fake bottom, revealing the guns hidden there.
He grabbed the SMG - a MAC-10 with suppressor - and a magazine, taking a few deep breaths. He wouldn't have to rush this. The door would take Dubois at least…
The sound of the door opening made him curse. So much for their security! He jumped up and rushed to the bedroom door, inserting the magazine on the way. Pressed against the wall - the side with the heavy shelf in the living room that would stop at least 9mm bullets - he waited and listened. Dubois was good, but he still heard her footsteps. Hallway. Living room. Now!
He slid around the corner, leading with the gun. "Freeze!"
But Dubois wasn't where he had expected. He dropped down before he had completed his move, rolled - and froze when he felt a muzzle on the back of his head. "Don't move, Mr Black. And drop your gun."
This wasn't the time to be cute and ask if he shouldn't move, or drop the gun. He dropped it and drew hissing breath through clenched teeth. "Does your boyfriend know that you're a burglar, Jeanne?"
"My 'boyfriend' is in a coma," she replied. "Which is why I decided to visit you. I'm in need of an investment banker, you know. However, most investment bankers I know don't own submachine guns for home defence."
Shit. He tried to play it off. "This is Los Angeles - pistols don't cut it, you know."
"Really." She sounded amused. "Now why don't I believe…"
"Drop your weapon!"
Dad! He had gotten the drop on her! Perfect!
Or not - Chuck felt the muzzle press even harder against his head. "I think not," she said. Of course, Dubois wouldn't drop her weapon. "Drop your weapon, or he dies."
"Uh…" Chuck bit his lower lip - what could he say in this situation? That wouldn't get him shot? "Can we talk about this before anyone gets shot? Like me?"
"There's nothing to talk about. I know who you are."
Chuck gasped and almost turned around out of reflex - which probably would have gotten him shot. What? How had she seen through their cover? And if she knew, who else did?
"You're killers sent by Espinosa."
"Uh… no, we aren't." Chuck protested.
"You're not the DEA or the FBI. You would have tried to arrest me if that were the case."
"And you're not Fankhauser's trophy girlfriend," Dad told her. "Who are you and what do you want?"
"We're not working for any cartel," Chuck added.
"Then who are you working for?" Dubois emphasised her question by pushing her gun's barrel against Chuck's head again.
"We're working for the CIA," Chuck blurted out.
"What?"
"Gonzalez is meddling with an operation crucial for national security," Chuck went on. "We were sent to stop him."
"The CIA has no permission to operate on US soil," Dubois retorted.
Chuck forced himself to snort. "Yeah, 'officially'." He had to sell this, or he'd be shot to death.
"That means that I'm also meddling with a CIA operation."
Uh. Chuck grimaced - he hadn't thought about that.
"And who are you?" his father asked.
"You don't expect me to tell you my real name, do you?" She almost giggled, or so it sounded.
"Worth a try," Dad replied.
"Can we go back to talking about not killing each other?" Chuck asked. He was lying on his stomach on the floor. Not the best position. But not the worst, either. Dubois was crouching to his right - in reach of both his right arm and, should he manage to twist his body enough, his legs. A capoeira technique would fit best - provided he could get Dubois distracted for just a moment. "No one needs to die," he added.
"Standard CIA operating procedure would disagree," she retorted.
"And how would you know that?" Dad asked.
"Everyone knows that," the assassin replied.
But had there been a slight annoyance audible? At her slip? Chuck licked his lips. "So… who are you working for? You're not American. Not Mexican either. That leaves Europe. British or French?"
"Who said I'm working for someone?"
Yes, she sounded defensive. But that could be an act - she would want them to think that she was working for someone who'd investigate her disappearance. "You don't seem to be the kind of woman who'd do such a mission on her own."
She laughed at that. "You have no idea."
"French, then," he told her.
He felt the muzzle press even harder against his skull, if only for a moment. "Why do you think so?"
"Your arrogance," he replied. "That's French."
She laughed again, but it sounded a little forced. He was getting to her - but that wouldn't do anything to save him. He needed a distraction. Just for a moment. But on the floor, his hands in her sight, he couldn't do anything - if only he were able to activate his phone with a verbal command! Wait… Perhaps… He took a deep breath. "In any case, we can't stay forever like this. We'll have to sleep one day. I don't think you'd agree to take a break for a rest, and continue once the alarm clock goes off?"
"Are you sure you're a CIA operative? You sound more like a comedian. A bad comedian."
"It's hard to be funny with a gun to your head," he retorted. Had Dad understood his request? "Anyway, if you can't tell us who're you're working for, what about telling us what your goals are? We might come to an arrangement."
"That would require a lot of trust. It's hard to trust someone if they're holding a gun to your head, isn't it?"
"Well, we told you who we are and what we're planning."
"You told me a cover story. No CIA operative would actually reveal their illegal operation like this."
So, it seemed refuge in audacity was working. "Worth a try," he said. "In any case…"
"...and in other news…"
In the corner of his eye, Chuck caught Dubois reacting to the TV apparently turning itself on. That was the opportunity he needed.
He flipped on his side, throwing his head back and making Dubois miss with her first shot. Before she could correct her aim, he folded himself like a jackknife, using the momentum to hit her with both his feet.
The impact spoiled her next shot and sent her tumbling head over heels away from Chuck, towards the couch. He used the momentum to push himself into the other direction, behind the counter that separated the kitchen from the living room.
He wished they had hidden a gun there - his submachine gun was still on the floor. He'd have to do without. He crawled forward, then reached up and pulled the cutlery drawer out. The steak knives - brand new, and sharp as hell - were on the left side.
He quickly reached up, grabbed one, and pulled his hand back down - just in time for another bullet to miss it, striking the fridge behind him instead. Damn, Dubois was fast!
And Dad wasn't as fast with a gun as Chuck had hoped.
But with Dad in the door to the bedroom and Dubois behind the couch, Chuck could flank her if he made it to the hallway, where he could take cover behind the corner. Yes, that would work - with a little distraction.
He moved forward a little, still crouched, and pulled the barstool towards him. It wasn't ideal, but it would do. He threw it so it rolled out of cover behind them, then dashed forward, towards the hallway.
Dubois was even faster than he had expected - he saw her whirl, her gun swinging back to point at him, and dived forward into a combat roll. Two shots missed him - one he felt tugging at his shirt - but then he was in the hallway, behind cover.
Even more important, Dad could see him, and they had Dubois cornered now! She couldn't cover both of them. Granted, Chuck had only a knife, but Dubois might not know that. And he could throw it, anyway.
He'd prefer to get his submachine gun back, though. But it was out of reach. If he had grabbed it when he'd struck at Dubois… well, he'd have been shot in that case.
He looked at Dad, raising his knife. Dad raised his eyebrows in response. Well, so much for coordination. Chuck pulled his phone out and texted him. I START DISTRACTION. THEN U COVER FIRE.
But before he could put his plan into action, he heard shots - and saw the bullets strike the wall near Dad. Covering fire. He slid around the corner, knife ready to throw, but Dubois was already at the door to the balcony, and he had to jump back behind the corner before she shot him.
Dad left cover to shoot at her but wasn't fast enough - as Chuck saw when he slid around the corner again, the French spy had already gone through the door and was now on the balcony, behind the wall.
"Which side?" Chuck asked as she dashed across the room to grab his submachine gun.
"Left," Dad told him, covering the balcony's door. "We're on the seventh floor."
That wouldn't stop a good spy, though. And Dubois was an excellent spy. But would she expect them to think she was climbing down, and wait in ambush instead? "Wait!" he whispered when Dad was moving forward. "I'm checking the…" He cursed again when he noticed that someone had shot his laptop during the fight.
"Wait!" he repeated himself and pulled his phone out. He could connect to the cameras covering the balcony with it. "Come on, come on!" he mumbled as his phone struggled to connect - Comcast was obviously a hostile organisation.
Finally! He flipped through the feeds until he saw the balcony - empty. Chuck rushed out at once, followed by his father. "I'll cover up, you cover down," he whispered.
Dad nodded, and Chuck took a deep breath. Then he leaned out, gun raised. But he saw no sign of Dubois. "Nothing."
"Nothing," Dad replied.
How had she… "She must have climbed onto a balcony and broken into the apartment."
Chuck flipped through the feeds on his phone. Would Dubois try to hide in the apartment? Call Besson to help her? Or would she book it?
"Blood," Dad said, interrupting his thoughts. Chuck saw him point at the ground. "I must have hit her. But probably just a grazing shot."
But that still meant that Dubois was wounded. Bleeding. Would she try to bandage herself before escaping? He couldn't see her on the camera feeds covering the hallways.
Where was she? And what was she planning? Even if the wound wasn't severe enough to require immediate treatment, a bleeding woman would attract attention. That would make escaping harder. So, she would be treating her wound first. And change her clothes. More than enough time to call Besson for help - or as a distraction. "What did she tell Besson?" he asked without taking his eyes off the switching camera feeds.
"She sent more codes," Dad replied after a check on his - still working - laptop. "26540"
26540? What could that mean? If it as another date… 26th May? 1840? Or 1940? Chuck quickly ran the date through a search.
Dunkirk. The evacuation started on that date.
"They're pulling out," he said. "Or she's pulling out - is Besson staying put?" He checked. The bodyguard hadn't left Gonzàlez's apartment. And there was still no sign of Dubois. How did she plan to evacuate? Wait… Evacuate. She wouldn't… He remembered her missions. Of course she would. "She's going to force an evacuation of the whole building so she can get away in the confusion."
"Are you sure?"
No, he wasn't. It wasn't the Intersect coming to this conclusion. But he nodded. "Yes. And she's probably counting on Besson to use the confusion to get what they want, too."
And the only thing that would force the evacuation of the entire building would be a fire. A huge fire. Well, a terrorist attack or mass shooting would do the same, but that would result in the police surrounding the building. Dubois wouldn't want that. "It'll be a fire," he said.
Dad nodded. "I'll inform Sarah and Casey."
Right. Chuck should have done that long ago - but there hadn't been any time. And the two spies would arrive too late anyway. It was up to Chuck and his father to stop Dubois and Besson. Great.
Should he block the alarm? No. Dubois would set the building on fire. She wouldn't try to fake it. Chuck couldn't suppress the alert - innocents would be endangered.
Should he call the police and report, anonymously, that an armed, possibly wounded female burglar had been spotted? No. The cops arriving loaded for bear and hunting for an armed criminal would make the whole mission much harder for Chuck, too. "As soon as the fire alarms are going off, we'll know on which floor she's hiding," he said.
"Unless she's setting fires on a delayed timer," Dad pointed out.
Chuck shook his head, keeping his eyes focused on his phone's screen. "That wouldn't change anything - she can't leave her current floor without us noticing. We've got eyes on the facade and the hallways. And there are no garbage chutes inside the apartments."
"She could improvise a rope and rappel down the facade while we move to the affected floor."
That was a crazy plan - but Dubois had done crazier things according to the files Chuck had read. He nodded. "In that case, we'll follow her - get a rope and the harnesses from the bag. Just in case."
Dad didn't protest his plan, so Chuck concluded that the Intersect should be able to handle rappelling. That was standard spy stuff, anyway.
"Should we put them on already?" Dad asked, dropping the gear on the table.
"Uh…" Chuck blinked. "No, not yet. If we need to play the part of scared residents fleeing the fire, wearing harnesses would look strange."
"Unless we flee through the window," Dad pointed out with a grin.
Chuck rolled his eyes. His father knew what he had meant. "She still hasn't moved. And neither has Besson. Of course, he has to act surprised when the fire alarm goes off..." He trailed off. "Oh my God! If Gonzàlez gets evacuated, Besson might be able to persuade him to skip town to avoid the investigation!" He looked at Dad. "That's probably her plan. Forcing us to go after Gonzàlez so she can escape."
"Are you sure?"
No, he wasn't. But it fit. In the chaos of an evacuation, anything could happen - and a lot could be covered up. A CIA strike team would use the opportunity rather than having to abort the mission and to launch another later. "Either way, we can't let Gonzàlez escape." If the drug lord escaped and moved away, they'd have to find another suitable target. And had to erase all the planted evidence. And with Besson and Lopez with him, they couldn't split and stop Dubois.
And, Chuck realised with a sinking feeling, it also meant that he would have to perform an assassination. Dad couldn't do it alone. He shook his head. He had already been performing an assassination by performing his role on this mission. Whether he was personally shooting anyone didn't make a difference. Nor morally. And not legally.
But it made a difference for him. Gonzàlez was a drug lord who had had dozens of people murdered - and killed at least a few personally. But he hadn't done anything to Chuck or his family. He wasn't a threat - he was a mark.
Could Chuck kill him? If the Intersect kicked in, easily, of course. But like this? Could he?
"Chuck?"
"What?" He jerked. "What?"
"Are you alright?"
"Yeah, sure." Chuck nodded. "Just thinking of how we can get Gonzàlez," he lied. "They'll have to take the stairs." If they had enough time to prepare, they could have rigged a gas trap - carbon monoxide filling the staircase, suffocating the entire group. But they would have had to isolate Gonzàlez's group from everyone else. "We need to ambush them there."
And that would be difficult. And dangerous.
Good. If the Intersect kicked in, Chuck wouldn't feel too bad about the thing.
"Let's come at them from above," he said. They might not expect that.
"Lopez might stall us, letting Gonzàlez escape," Dad pointed out.
"Not if we stop them from going down further," Chuck said.
"How? Do you want to split up?"
"No." Chuck shook his head as he got up. "But we'll have to. I'll take the top."
The fire alarm went off before he had reached the door.
Damn. So much for the plan. They'd have to improvise. He checked the video feeds again. Thick smoke was starting to fill the floor below them. Dubois had gone all-out - that kind of fire could threaten the entire building. "Uh…"
"Chuck?"
"I just realised," he said, wincing, "this might not be a distraction to let her escape us, but a way to flush us out so she can kill us."
"Right. Should we abort the mission?"
Chuck shook his head. "That would play into her hand if she's expecting us to flee." The cameras on the floor below them were quickly becoming useless as the smoke spread, but Chuck saw the first people appearing in the hallways - panicking. And obscured by the smoke.
"Take the left stairway. I'll take the right one," he snapped, fitting the headset on and grabbing his bathrobe. It would hide his weapons and people might think that the fire had surprised him in bed - Morgan had used that plan in a D&D session, once.
Chuck was the first out of the door and almost ran into a neighbour he hadn't yet met. "Sorry!" he yelled. "But there's a fire!"
"Where? Where?" the old man shouted.
"Run down the stairs!" Chuck yelled back. "Don't use the elevator!" He blinked as the old man ran past him. The elevator. The fire alarm would have sent it down so panicked residents wouldn't get trapped in it. And the stairs would be - were, he caught a glimpse before the door fell closed behind the fleeing man - filling with fleeing people.
But the elevator shaft would be empty. And accessible. If you were crazy enough to climb up while the building was burning. And Dubois was the kind of spy crazy enough to do exactly that. The smart thing would be to use the confusion and panic to escape through the stairs, using the other residents as human shields. That would be smart - and expected.
But Chuck was sure that Dubois hadn't survived her suicidal missions by being predictable. And while it was hard to make out individuals, someone going up through the stairs while everyone else was rushing down would stand out.
"She's coming up through the elevator shaft!" he told Dad through the radio as he approached the elevator doors.
"Gonzàlez hasn't shown up yet," Dad replied. "But Besson is in the hallway."
Stalling? Perhaps. But Dubois was a bigger problem - she might be coming after Chuck and his father. She was, after all, an assassin trained for this. And they were interfering in her plans.
He reached the elevator and checked the small gap in the centre. Smoke was coming through it. More than expected - Dubois must have forced the door open on the floor below. That meant she was climbing up - but she had to hurry. "Has Dubois texted Besson again?"
"No." Dad arrived behind him. He was pulling on one of their gas masks. Chuck followed his example - it would help with the smoke, at least.
Was Dubois sacrificing Besson? Or did she have plans laid out in advance covering this? Chuck didn't know. And time was running out. "Let's get this open!" he said.
"But all the smoke will fill this floor!" Dad protested.
"We can't stay any longer anyway." Chuck pulled out the tool Casey had given him and inserted it into the concealed opening in the doors, then pulled, hard - and almost fell on his back as the doors put up no resistance.
It saved his life, though, as two bullets missed him by inches as he stumbled back - Dubois had been waiting for them!
Smoke billowed out of the shaft - less than what Chuck had expected - and Dad returned fire - but as he was moving to cover, Chuck didn't think he'd hit Dubois.
"Missed her," Dad confirmed Chuck's guess a moment later. "She's above us."
Damn. How could they get her without exposing themselves to fire?
"Gonzàlez is moving! Left stairs."
Double-damn. And the smoke was getting worse. How much longer until the fire brigade would arrive? Wait… He had an idea. He could…
Something flew through the open doors. Small, round… "Grenade!" Chuck yelled, gasping - they were dead. It was too close and the hallway too narrow. Gritting his teeth, he jumped towards it. At least Dad would survive.
He collided with another body on the way - from the side - and they went down in a tangle of limbs. Dubois! His gun went flying - knocked out of his hand. And she still had hers.
Chuck managed to grab her arm, forcing the muzzle of her gun away from him as she fired several shots before she dropped it. He tried to follow up with an arm lock, but she ripped his mask off, and the sudden inhalation of smoke made him cough so hard, he lost his grip on her.
She twisted away, and a kick landed on his shoulder instead of his face as he lunged forward to grapple her. She was on her back but countered with a capoeira move that barely failed to crush his throat. In return, he grabbed her leg, then had to drop it to avoid her next kick.
He rolled and twisted his body, turning the movement into a leg sweep that caught her right when she moved towards him. She lost her balance but recovered enough to avoid his chop to her throat, crashing into his chest and trapping one of his arms beneath her body.
Chuck lashed out with his free arm against her head, making her jerk back and to the side. That dislodged her enough to let him roll - and fling her away. Towards the open elevator doors. He saw her eyes widen and her arms flailing - and her hand latching onto the mask still dangling from his neck at the moment she went through the opening.
Chuck almost followed her but managed to brace himself against the door with both arms. That left Dubois hanging from his gas mask. For a moment, their eyes met. Braced like this, he couldn't defend himself - and the straps were already cutting into his neck. But if she took him out, she'd fall down.
Then a hand pushed his shoulder down, and a pistol appeared next to his head, pointing at Dubois. Dad!
And Dubois, still staring into his eyes, let go and fell, disappearing in the smoke below.
Chuck stared down the shaft, but couldn't see through the smoke. She hadn't been wearing a line or even a harness. From this height… He hadn't killed her, but he might as well have - he certainly had tried his best. But to suicide...
"Come on! We need to catch Gonzàlez!" Dad pulled him back.
Right. He stood, shaking his head and pulling his mask back on.
"They're a floor below us, now," Dad told him.
Chuck glanced at the shaft. If they ran after them on the stairs, they wouldn't be quick enough to stop them. "You take the stairs, I'll rappel down here."
After a moment's hesitation, his father nodded. "Be careful."
"You too." Chuck did his best to smile confidently even though the mask hid his face. Then he picked up the submachine gun - and Dubois's pistol - before pulling out the rope. "Third floor," he told Dad. "I'll stop them there."
"I'll be right behind them." Dad vanished around the corner.
Chuck quickly tied the rope to pipe inside the shaft - the smoke was getting really bad - then jumped off, rappelling down as quickly as he safely could manage. Which was a good thing, since he saw and felt flames through the open door of the floor below. Dubois obviously knew how to set fire to a building and make it spread. Even going past the door in close to a free fall, Chuck felt uncomfortably hot.
That also meant that his line wouldn't last too long - not with that heat. He clenched his teeth and sped up his descent even more until his shoulders and thighs hurt from the way the harness cut into them.
At least the smoke wasn't too bad once he was past the burning floor, and he reached the third floor easily. Now he just had to open the door… His hand found an empty pocket where the tool to open it should have been. He must have lost it during the fight without noticing!
And the flames would soon reach his rope… He sucked in a breath through clenched teeth and pulled his knife. Sometimes, violence was the answer. He wedged it into the gap, then started to force the doors open.
It was much harder than he had expected - he had to brace himself against the corner and kick with all his strength to force the doors open. But he did it - and in time to catch Gonzàlez, if he sprinted. He moved to climb out when he felt a tug on his harness that almost made him lose his balance. A quick glance confirmed it - the rope had fallen - it must have burned through. Damn, that had been close. If he had been a little slower...
He climbed into the hallway and started to run towards the stairs. The whole building would be doomed if the fire brigade didn't arrive soon. How had Dubois managed that? No time to dwell on that. At least there were no panicking residents left here, or so it seemed.
He ran around the corner - and saw Besson standing in the open door to the stairs there, with his pistol aimed at him. Chuck dropped and slid along the floor, Bessons' shot passing over his head as his own burst hit the bodyguard in the shoulder right before he ducked behind the wall.
"Ambush!" he heard the man yell - so he wasn't seriously hurt, if at all, Chuck assumed as he slid forward, then rolled to the side and came up in a crouch, submachine gun still pointed at the door. He had stopped them from descending further - for now.
"Dad?"
"I'm a floor above. We've got them!" Dad replied.
Chuck heard several shots, and Dad cursed. "Dad?"
"I'm unhurt - but I had to retreat a little."
That was bad. The fire brigade and the cops would arrive any minute. And that would bust the mission. Think, Chuck, think. Fake grenade? Copy Dubois? But he didn't have a fake grenade. Perhaps he could… He saw the red metal door to his side. Oh.
He ripped it open and pulled the hose out. Perfect. "I'm going to flush them out, Dad."
"Flush them out?"
More shots. They must be trying to break through to the fourth floor instead of going past Chuck.
"Literally," Chuck whispered, turning the water on. He could feel the hose grow heavy and buck as the water filled it, the end still closed. He moved forward, hugging the wall, one hand keeping his gun pointed at the door, the other holding the hose. Time was running out.
Something moved in the door, and he fired before he recognised it - a gun. Besson's gun. But the bodyguard only squeezed off two shots, firing blind, before he retreated again. And Chuck was at the corner.
He took a deep breath and regretted it at once - the air was getting steadily worse, too - and opened the valve at the end. Water shot out at high pressure, and Chuck struggled to keep it under control as he pointed it around the corner with both hands.
Someone yelled, and Chuck heard more shots. He flinched, but he was committed. Besson was on the ground, knocked back by the water, Gonzàlez cowered on the stairs, but behind the man, Lopez was turning around. Chuck hit her with the water, driving her back and spoiling her aim, then had to spray Besson again before the bodyguard could shoot him. What was Dad doing? He couldn't keep this up forever - and he couldn't get his gun while he was holding on to the hose with all his strength!
He ducked as Lopez started firing and gave her another faceful of water, pushing forward. Besson was getting up, but Chuck was close enough to kick him, before hosing him down again. And Gonzàlez…
Chuck dropped to the wet floor as the drug lord shot at him. The bullet missed him, but he lost his grip on the hose. It promptly started to dance around in the staircase, spraying water everywhere. At least it made Gonzàlez back up and Lopez duck, saving Chuck's life once more.
But before he could get up, Besson kicked him in the side. Chuck yelled at the pain - his ribs were broken - but managed to grab the bodyguard's leg before he could recover, and twist the foot. The mercenary wasn't quick enough to compensate, and his scream drowned out the crack his ankle made when Chuck broke it.
The hose flew over his head as he rushed forward, lashing out at Besson's head. The bodyguard twisted away, but not enough, and a glancing blow knocked his head back, into the stairs, stunning him.
Chuck got up himself - two enemies left, and Gonmzàlez was popping up from where he had ducked under the spinning hose. Chuck lunged, but the pain that move caused in his ribs made him stumble, and the drug lord brought his pistol to bear at a distance he couldn't…
Something smashed into Gonzàlez and threw him against the wall. Dad had managed to tackle Lopez! Chuck moved, clenching his teeth at the pain, and kicked Gonzàlez in the face. The drug lord dropped with a groan. That left Lopez, who was grappling with Dad.
Chuck steadied himself with a hand on the railing and kicked out. His first strike missed, his second glanced off the woman's shoulder, but his third hit the back of her head, knocking her out.
Panting - and coughing; he had lost his mask again in the fight - he managed to ask: "Dad? Are you alright?"
Groaning, his father rolled off Lopez. "She got me in the side, but I'll live - I think."
"Dad!" Chuck knelt down, hissing at his own pain, and reached for his father. He had to treat his wounds!
"No! We have to finish the job, Chuck," Dad spat. "The cops are arriving."
Finish the job? Oh. He meant, killing Gonzàlez. And the others. Who were all knocked out and helpless on the ground. Uh.
"Just help me up," Dad said.
"Sure," Chuck replied, grabbing his arm. No! Dad's entire side was bloody!
"It's OK," his father mumbled. He was swaying on his feet, too - blood loss must be bad!
"Dad!"
"I'll be alright. It's not a deep wound." Dad took a few steps, almost stumbling if not for Chuck's help, then aimed at the groaning Gonzàlez. With Lopez's gun, Chuck realised.
Dad fired a single bullet into the drug lord's head. Lopez's style. Chuck gasped. He should have expected that - he had been expecting it - but to see his father killing a man in cold blood…
Another shot. Two men, Chuck corrected himself.
"Can you carry her?" his father asked, nodding at Lopez. "Need to tie her up, though."
"I can't carry her and you at the same time," Chuck replied. And how were they going to get the woman out of the building, with the police and firemen outside?
"Right."
Another shot rang out and that problem became moot.
Chuck shook his head. He had to focus on the mission - on their escape. "Let's go. We'll need to reach the garage - we can get the car."
"Yes."
Chuck still checked Dad's wound first. It really wasn't deep, but it had to hurt a lot and needed to be bandaged. And his own ribs were hurting like hell, but probably bruised rather than broken. Probably. He couldn't have fought like he did with broken ribs, could he?
He laughed, then winced at the pain it caused, as he helped Dad down the stairs. They had to go down four floors before the firemen entered. And before the fire caught up to them from above. And he didn't know how long either would take. It all came down to luck.
"Chuck? Where are you?"
That was Sarah! "Sarah?"
"Where are you? You didn't answer your phone!"
"Oh." He looked down. He must have lost the phone as well without noticing.
"Northern staircase, second floor - we need help. Took out the mark," he said. "But we're wounded." Did he qualify? Bruises didn't count, did they?
"We're coming. Stay inside; don't get out."
"No danger of that," he replied, chuckling, then wincing. He really should remember not to laugh with broken or bruised ribs.
Sarah and Casey - in disguise - met them on the first floor. The NSA agent all but ripped Dad out of Chuck's arms and dragged him away at a speed Chuck had trouble matching.
"Chuck!"
He smiled at Sarah. "Just bruises. I think." He pointed at his ribs. "But Dad was shot."
"Nothing serious."
"His wound needs bandaging," Chuck insisted.
"We've brought an ambulance."
Chuck blinked. "An ambulance." Oh, a fake, of course. The ideal getaway vehicle for the situation. Or for a kidnapping - they had used it before. He nodded.
"Chuck? Where were you hurt?"
He blinked. Just the side.
"Are you sure? You weren't hit in the head?"
He blinked again. Had he been hit in the head? Not that he'd have noticed. But he did feel a little… Had he a concussion?
By the time they reached the ambulance and Chuck climbed inside, Casey had secured Dad on the gurney and was throwing on a paramedic jacket. "Get a move on!"
They sped out of the garage. Casey yelled at a cop stopping them that this was an emergency - heart attack - and then they were driving away, and Sarah was treating Dad's wound.
Chuck looked out of the window at the brightly burning building. From the sixth floor up, everything was in flames, or so it seemed. Chuck didn't think the firemen would be able to save it.
"Just for the record," he said, then blinked. There wouldn't be any records, anyway. "Just for the record," he repeated, "I didn't start the fire."
But he wished he knew how Dubois had managed that kind of blaze. That could be very useful when dealing with demons. But the woman was dead. As were Gonzélez, Lopez and Besson.
He closed his eyes and tried not to think about it all.
*****