Chapter Seven
A WELL REGULATED MILITIA
Another explosion rocked the building.
“I don’t care!” The Spirit yelled into his communicator as he, The Avenger, The Crimson Fury and Darkman ran down the shaking hallway. “We’re cut off! You and Gray Ghost can still make it to the car and get out of here! Don’t worry about us! We can take care of ourselves!” He cut off the communicator to prevent Modesty Blaise from arguing any further. He looked up at his companions. “Which way?”
“Right at the intersection,” The Avenger said evenly. They’d been running for several minutes, but he wasn’t even breathing hard. “Emergency stairway to the roof is at the end of the hall. I memorized the layout of this ‘safe house,’” he cold voice murmuring the two words direly, ”before we came.”
“Miserable cowards betrayed us,” Darkman snarled, his voice muffled by the heavy bandages that covered his entire head.
“CURE must have been infiltrated at a fairly high level,” The Avenger said. “The request for us all to meet here tonight and the timing of this attack can not be mere coincidence.”
“A spy,” Darkman hissed. “I was wondering why the Professional didn’t show up.”
“We can’t turn on each other,” The Spirit said. “That’s what they want. The Professional hasn’t been seen for days. You know that.”
Darkman was about to respond when the Crimson Fury suddenly held up his hand for silence as he peeked around the corner. The Avenger, Spirit and Darkman flattened themselves against the wall.
The Crimson Fury turned back to them. “Be ready to run.” He peered around the corner again.
Down the hallway, a door opened. The tip of a rifle butt extended from the open doorway.
That was enough for Crimson Fury.
He pitched a grenade down the hall. It bounced off the wall opposite the open door and landed at the feet of whoever opened it.
The shriek was cut short by a thundering boom. Crimson Fury, The Avenger, The Spirit and Darkman ran down the opposite hall. The Crimson Fury hurled his last grenade as they slammed the steel door to the stairs shut behind them.
The Spirit was ashen. “You don’t know who was back there! It could have been Sunderland’s goons, but it also could have been just cops! There are a lot of cops out there!”
“Yes, I know,” The Crimson Fury replied, his death’s head mask grinning. “They’ve declared war.”
“They have been infected by evil,” The Avenger murmured coldly as he ran up the stairs.
“We can’t take anything for granted, or trust anyone,” the Crimson Fury intoned. “We’ve been betrayed once already.”
“Yes,” the Avenger said, “and depending on who the spy is, and what they know, all our hidden resources and strongholds may have already been compromised.”
“They have been,” Darkman said, approaching the top of the stairs. He looked down a small black metal box he was holding in his bandaged right hand. The box had a small silver antenna and an orange light on the side, which blinked rapidly above a red button. “My lab’s security alarm went off shortly after they attacked us here. The scum are in my lab.” His voice fell to a harsh growl. “My lab!”
Darkman punched through the wall at the top of the stairwell. He ripped out a sparking electric cable. He held the cable up, its ragged end still arcing, as the other members of Suicide Squad rushed past him through the door that led towards the roof.
Down below them, the sounds of boots charging up the stairs echoed.
Darkman reached out and stopped Crimson Fury before he stepped through the door. Darkman glanced at Crimson Fury and then pointed up at the ceiling above the stairwell. Darkman tossed the electric cable down the stairwell, where it twitched like an eel. The Crimson Fury followed Darkman through the door, not even having to look at the fire sprinkler to shoot its head off.
The electric cable flashed and thrashed even harder as water rained down over it and poured down the stairwell.
The Avenger and The Spirit waited at the closed door to the roof. Crimson Fury and Darkman rushed toward them from the stairs, where a sizzling sound grew louder, punctuated by yells and screams.
“It’ll do until they find the building’s generator,” Darkman said.
Another scream came from the stairwell. It sounded young. The Spirit cringed. He again realized, not for the first time, that he really didn’t belong with these people.
Crimson Fury stood in front of the door to the roof, a gun in each hand, and kicked it open. He stood in the open doorway and scanned the dark roof. Empty. “Go!”
The Avenger, Darkman and The Spirit ran onto the roof as Crimson Fury covered their backs from the doorway. The buildings in Hell’s Kitchen were built close together and rapidly moving rooftop to rooftop was their best chance at escape now. The night was overcast with no moon. Lucky break; perhaps their only one. They would need that darkness. They’d have to stay clear of the edges of the roof; cops surrounded the building and it was a ten-story drop straight down.
As the others ran across the roof, Darkman stopped and pointed his black control box at the horizon.
“All of the scum should be inside my lab by now,” he whispered as he pressed the red button on the box’s side.
A bright flash of light split the horizon beyond Darkman and a second later there was a clap of thunder from the other side of New York city. Darkman chuckled huskily.
A black, unmarked helicopter suddenly rose over the side of the building, popping up in front of Darkman. Its searchlight skimmed over the roof, silhouetting Darkman’s flapping black trench coat as he crouched down and began to run again.
“YOU ARE ORDERED TO SURRENDER IMMEDIATELY! YOU ARE ALL UNDER ARREST FOR VIOLATIONS OF THE KEENE ACT! WE ARE AUTHORIZED TO USE DEADLY FORCE!”
Crimson Fury stopped and spun around, both guns blazing. The helicopter’s searchlight died in a shower of sparks.
The helicopter’s side door slid open. A man with a short red crew cut, wearing a plain white dress shirt and a thin, black tie leaned out, his shirt sleeves rolled up. Behind reflective sunglasses, he glared at the fleeing vigilantes.
Henry Peter Gyrich loaded armor piercing rounds into his sniper’s rifle and ratcheted back the bolt.
The Avenger, Darkman, The Spirit and Crimson Fury raced to the far edge of the roof and leaped for the next building. In the alley bellow, dozens of muzzles flashed as machine guns fired. Exploding masonry from the roofs’ ledges cascaded around the vigilantes as they landed on the top of the second building and tumbled. Avenger recovered the quickest and rolled instantly into a run.
The helicopter swept overhead and a sharp crack rang out. The Avenger was knocked down by the force of his shoulder shattering. Crimson Fury dived to the side as the helicopter swung around and Gyrich fired again. The Crimson Fury heard the bullet whistle past his ear.
The Spirit ran toward the Avenger to help him. A few feet away, a rooftop door that lead into the building crashed open. Twelve Sentinel Of Liberty soldiers ran onto the roof in front of The Spirit. They all fired simultaneously; full auto.
The Spirit’s entire body jerked spastically backward, like a puppet attached to the hands of an unpracticed puppeteer. A cloud of fine red mist surrounded him. He fell backward and his body was still.
Crimson Fury howled and jumped sideways through the air--almost as if in slow motion--guns in both hands firing again and again, every shot finding a soldier’s head.
“Bring us around,” Gyrich said calmly into his headset. “Keep us steady.”
The helicopter stopped and spun in place, hovering above a utility shied on the roof. Gyrich aimed for the back of Crimson Fury’s head right behind the left ear, as he lunged through the air. Gyrich was going to turn him off like a switch in mid-leap.
Darkman suddenly appeared on top of the shed and jumped for the chopper’s landing strut. He seized hold of it and pulled himself within reach of the helicopter’s open side door. He grabbed Gyrich’s rifle barrel with one hand and yanked it down and away, almost taking Gyrich with it. Gyrich braced himself and kicked Darkman in the head, delivering a blow that would have sent any other man hurtling away, but Darkman didn’t even seem to feel it. Darkman lunged through the open door and into the helicopter.
The helicopter turned drunkenly in the air and veered away from the building, as the struggle inside it grew more violent.
The Crimson Fury tumbled across the roof, reloading as he rolled. He came to a stop on his back, both guns pointed at the open door through which the soldiers had come. More tried to exit onto the roof. More joined their fellows in death.
The Avenger got up and looked toward The Spirit—one look was all it took; there was nothing they could do for him. He turned back to the Crimson Fury and shook his head.
The Crimson Fury jumped to his feet. “Let’s go.”
The Avenger and Crimson Fury sprinted to the edge of the roof. Bullets ricocheted all around them. They leaped again. They landed on top of the third building and Crimson Fury helped The Avenger to his feet. They heard more machine gun fire behind them. Sentinel Of Liberty soldiers were now filling the roof they had just left and several were jumping after them.
Crimson Fury spun around to pick the soldiers off in the air, but their comrades were laying down too thick a suppressing fire. Fury crouched down behind a freestanding air vent. He waited for only a second before he was off again. Behind him, a barrage of bullets tore the vent loose from its moorings and splintered the concrete he ran on.
Avenger and Crimson Fury neared the edge of the third roof, their pursuers gaining. Before them, a second black helicopter rose from between the buildings. The helicopter’s spotlight caught them in its glare. The helicopter swiveled in the air, unmasking the Gatling gun extending out its side door.
The gunner grinned and his finger compressed the firing stud. The silver barrel began to spin and spit yellow fire. A section of the roof near where the Crimson Fury and Avenger were standing was instantly shredded. The stream of destruction swept toward them incredibly fast. No time.
The
gunner’s head suddenly exploded and the Gatling gun tracked up and to the
right, still firing. The helicopter pilot craned his neck around to look. He
was yelling something into his headset when the side of his helmet blew apart,
covering the inside of the cockpit windows in red.
In his sniper’s nest on a nearby rooftop, the Professional pulled back the bolt on his rifle. He fired again barely a half second later.
A Sentinel Of Liberty soldier, running up behind Crimson Fury, was blown back five feet and off the top of the roof, dead before he even started his descent.
The Avenger and Crimson Fury saw their opening. They leaped for the next building just as the helicopter, spinning out of control, crashed into the roof behind them.
Fire swept over the top of the building, engulfing several Sentinel Of Liberty soldiers, who ran screaming off the roof. Aflame, they plummeted to the ground like shooting stars. Five soldiers dodged past the debris and fire, and raised their weapons toward the fleeing vigilantes, hoping to shoot them in the back.
The Professional made sure they never had a chance.
After the last one fell, The Professional scanned the rooftops through his scope. The Crimson Fury and the Avenger had melted into the shadows and the smoke, just as The Professional knew they would if given half a chance. Leon paused to listen. No more helicopters; even the one Darkman had attacked was long gone.
It was time to move. He had dallied here too long already. Matilda needed him. They were on their own now.
They all were.
**********
More machine gun fire over his head. Not warning shots. They were getting closer.
He needed to hitch a ride. Fast.
He dropped down the side of the building and ran down the fire escape. He sensed a car turning down the alley below him, tires screeching. It was moving as if hell was two steps behind it.
He knew the feeling.
“There!” a voice from the roof above yelled.
Daredevil leaped from the fire escape just as automatic weapons fire blew apart its rusty frame.
Daredevil landed on the roof of the car more clumsily than he would have liked, but still managed to hold on. As he struggled to maintain his grip, his head leaned over the passenger’s side window.
“No hitchhikers!” a woman yelled sharply from inside the car and stuck a Browning 9-millimeter out the window and right up against Daredevil’s head. “Wait,” she then said, reflexes relaxing as her eyes evaluated the masked face hanging outside her window. “Fancy meeting you here.” Even in these circumstances, the voice sounded vaguely flirtatious.
Daredevil expanded his senses. Young. Attractive. Athletic build. She was wearing a skintight body suit. Her perfume was both unique and expensive, but the name of it had slipped Daredevil’s mind. All told, she was definitely distinctive, but she still had him at a disadvantage. In more ways than one.
A spray of machine gun fire pounded the back of the car. What was left of the back window shattered and a piece of glass dug into Daredevil’s leg. Flashing lights and sirens sounded behind them. Closing fast.
Out of the frying pan....
Daredevil grabbed a handful of large metal marbles from a pouch on his belt and hurled them at the windshield of the pursuing car. Although it had a siren and a flashing light, it was not a police car, but a long black sedan. The windshield shattered and the sedan skidded off the road.
More machine gun fire came from another sedan-playing-police-car off to the right. The bullets raked across the driver’s side. Daredevil felt the car lurch underneath him as he heard a bottled yell of pain from inside it.
“Gray Ghost!” the woman inside yelled.
The car threatened to skid across the median into oncoming traffic. Daredevil opened the driver’s side door and slid from the roof into the driver’s seat in one fluid motion. The woman was already pulling Gray Ghost toward her. Daredevil grabbed the wheel and wrestled the car back into a lane as cars skidded to get out of the way.
“Where are you hit?” the woman asked Gray Ghost urgently. No flirting in this voice.
“Arm and side,” Gray Ghost replied from behind tightly clenched teeth. “I’ve had worse, Modesty.”
The woman’s eyes flicked up at Daredevil, sizing him up. The cut on her forehead had opened up again and was starting to bead with blood again. “Want out of New York?”
“Yes,” Daredevil said simply as he veered the car over three lanes to get onto the highway.
“Join the club. Steer.” The woman pulled herself halfway out of the passenger’s side window and started blasting away over the roof of the car with her Browning. Another black sedan’s front tires promptly exploded and the car skidded to a stop against the highway’s concrete divider.
“Don’t let them get around to my side!” she yelled. She braced one foot under the driver’s seat and the other against the ceiling right above Daredevil’s head. She then leaned backwards perilously, the top half of her body extending from the passenger’s window at a 90-degree angle. She ejected her spent clip onto the highway rushing by only three feet below her back. She snapped a fresh clip in and took a deep breath. She sat back up and started firing over the top of the roof again.
More sirens. More flashing lights. Some real cops in this bunch. They would be on top of them soon.
“Christ! It’s like a law enforcement jamboree out here!” the woman said, almost giddy as she leaned back to reload again. Daredevil could tell that it was a nervous giddiness; probably the closest thing she ever got to panic.
At least the civilian traffic was clearing out a bit, Daredevil thought. It was making it easier to maneuver. Only a mile to the Holland tunnel.
“Oh, hell!” the woman exclaimed and pulled herself back into the car.
Overhead, a black, unmarked helicopter with a shot-out searchlight suddenly swerved in low over the freeway behind them, flying an erratic course through the night sky.
“There’s fighting going on inside it,” Daredevil remarked, sightless eyes still fixed on the road.
“How the hell do you know that?” the woman asked.
Daredevil allowed himself a grim smile. “Lucky guess.”
A dark figure in a black trench coat and fedora hat tumbled out of the helicopter and dangled underneath it, hanging from cargo cable attached to the bottom of the helicopter. He swung from side to side like a pendulum. Daredevil recognized him. They’d met once in Hub City.
The helicopter immediately plunged down toward the highway, the pilot trying to dip Darkman into the traffic.
Daredevil spun the steering wheel hand over hand, intentionally putting himself into a skid. The car pitched to the side, out of the way of Darkman, who otherwise would have been smashed into the car’s trunk. Still clinging to the cable, Darkman flew past, trench coat flapping in the wind. The helicopter accelerated forward to propel him into denser traffic.
Darkman swung wide, bounced off the roof of a compact and was slammed hard into the side of a truck, but still managed to hold on. Darkman grabbed the side of the rig and quickly climbed to the top, still holding the helicopter’s cable, which ended in a grappling hook to attach freight. Once on top of the rig, Darkman latched the hook around the frame of the truck’s cab support.
The helicopter suddenly lurched in the air, the sound of the rotors accelerating as the pilot desperately tried to gain altitude.
In front of the truck, the Holland tunnel loomed.
“Hold on,” Daredevil said.
“Do we have a choice?’ the woman asked.
Daredevil punched it. The car shot down the road, just ahead of the pursuing fleet of police cars, National Guard jeeps and suspicious black sedans. It swerved around other cars and sped into the tunnel, right behind the truck. A second later, the helicopter was dragged straight into the concrete arch over the tunnel’s entrance.
A fireball erupted directly behind the car, hungry orange flames filling the tunnel in an expanding wave. Daredevil felt the tide of heat racing towards them, the air compressing in the shockwave of the explosion. The tendons in his legs strained as he pushed the gas pedal down harder.
Tongues of fire lashed the sides of the car, hissing, but just as they threatened to fully overtake them, the explosion began to recede. Daredevil vaguely heard their pursuers’ cars screeching to a halt on the other side of the fiery entrance.
“I’m beginning to see how you got the name,” the woman said. The flirtatious lilt in her voice was again very much in evidence.
Daredevil pulled the car alongside the truck, which was now dragging flaming debris down the highway behind it. Over the truck’s diesel engine and the diminishing sound of sirens, Daredevil could hear something else: Grim, maniacal laughter echoing through the tunnel. It was coming from the top of the truck.
“Yes! Burn! Burn in Hell!! Ha!! Ha!! Ha!! Ha!! Ha!!”
Chapter Eight: ”Let Freedom Ring”
“‘The Man Without
Fear,’” the sergeant taunted.