Jones warned everyone in the lobby of what was headed their way and then dashed up the nearest staircase. He exited on the third floor and positioned himself in the back right corner of the atrium, lying on the carpet near a marble banister. From there, he had a bird’s-eye view of everyone who entered the plush atrium. Grand columns supported the surrounding walkways. Marble busts and tiny figurines filled the alcoves. A circular fountain, lined with flowers, sat in the middle of the tiled floor. Like the calm before the storm, the soft trickling of water would soon be replaced with the echoing blasts of gunfire.
Three days earlier, Jones would have displayed tactical restraint, refusing to fire until he had been fired upon. However, he had learned a lot about his enemy in the past seventy-two hours. They
Two men with buzz cuts crept across the deserted vestibule. Both carried F2000 assault rifles, manufactured by Fabrique Nationale of Belgium. The weapon has a unique ejection system where spent casings are ejected at the front through a tube running alongside the barrel. Gasoperated, the F2000 was capable of firing 850 rounds per minute. In the right hands, it was the type of weapon that could bring down a herd of elephants.
As soon as Jones saw it, he knew he wanted one for himself.
Armed with nothing but a Sig Sauer handgun — their larger weapons were locked in the SUV — Jones waited until both thugs were within range. They split up as they inched round the circular fountain, but as soon as they reunited, Jones fired his weapon with two quick bursts. The first bullet penetrated one gunman’s throat, severing his carotid artery and nicking his spinal cord. He staggered back from the bullet’s impact, and as
The other gunman was far more fortunate because the second bullet didn’t kill him. Instead it merely struck him in the right cheekbone with so much force that it snapped his optic nerve, blinding his right eye. In a wave of agony, he pulled the trigger of his F2000, sending a random burst of rounds from his barrel. Marble and tile exploded and tiny wisps of debris filled the air. But the blitzkrieg ended a few seconds later with a third bullet from Jones.
And this time, his shot was lethal.
Payne was positioned near the entrance to the L’Atrium Bar, waiting for Jones to eliminate the first wave of intruders. As soon as the second corpse hit the floor, Payne peeked round the column and tried to spot the next batch of gunmen. As far as he could tell, no one was coming.
‘Hold your fire!’ he yelled to Jones.
Tentatively, he moved deeper into the atrium, trying to get a better view of the surrounding corridors that spread throughout the hotel like a tangle of veins. The building itself occupied half
‘Am I clear?’ he shouted.
Jones scanned the terrain and saw nothing. ‘Clear!’
‘Coming out!’ Payne hustled across the lobby floor and ripped the F2000 from the dead man’s hands. He quickly searched the guy’s pockets and grabbed two thirty-round magazines. Suddenly, he felt a whole lot better about their predicament. ‘Incoming!’
Jones stood from his perch, and Payne tossed him their bounty. The magazines went first, one after the other, and then Payne sent the rifle skyward. It weighed roughly ten pounds, so it took some effort to throw it to the third-floor balcony. Jones snagged it cleanly, and quickly scrambled towards the left corner of the atrium where he repositioned himself along the floor, just in case some unseen spotter had locked onto his previous location.
While Jones scrambled into position, Payne dropped to the floor behind the fountain, hoping to buy a few seconds of cover. He was highly exposed in the centre of the atrium, but he knew
‘Come on,’ he mumbled to himself. ‘Hurry.’
‘Clear!’ Jones yelled as soon as he was settled.
Without delay, Payne leapt into the bloody water and fished out the rifle and as much ammo as he could find. While Jones covered him from above, he stuffed the thirty-round magazines into his cargo pants, then climbed out of the fountain, dripping wet. He quickly scanned the ground floor, searching for shooters that Jones might not be able to see. As he did, he heard a door open near the front of the hotel, followed by an army of footsteps.
‘Shit,’ he cursed under his breath.
Whoever was out there was coming en masse.
57
Payne had less than a second to decide his next move before he was spotted. If he sprinted across the lobby and sought cover behind the front desk, he would risk being detected and possibly shot from behind. His Kevlar vest might protect his torso — although that was questionable with their advanced weaponry — but his head and legs would be fully exposed during his flight. Worse still, he would be pinned behind a counter with a limited view of the room and no exits. On the other hand, if he stayed in the atrium, he would be exposed from all angles (including above), yet he would have a full 360-degree field of fire. Plus his partner could cover him at all times; something he found very comforting.
In his mind, it was an easy decision. He opted to stay and fight.
Without delay, Payne dived into the bloody water and pulled the corpse on top of him. The carved stone fountain was nine feet in diameter with a water depth of two feet. The curved lip of
The enemy poured into the hotel in groups of two and three. All of them white, all dressed in black. Ten soldiers in total, armed with an array of weapons manufactured by Fabrique Nationale de Herstal. A few handled tactical shotguns, but most carried pistols. Strategically speaking, it made a lot of sense. Too much firepower in an enclosed space was a dangerous combination. Send in the big guns first to clear the path, and then send in the precise weaponry to clean up the survivors. Of course, their plan would have been a lot more successful if their opponents hadn’t taken the F2000s before they had done any damage.
Jones twisted the fire selector on his new rifle to the letter A, which stood for fully automatic fire. As he did, he realized that his weapon had been outfitted with a lightweight under-slung grenade
The launcher was a single-shot pump-action weapon, capable of firing a standard low-velocity 40 x 46mm grenade. When loaded with a HELLHOUND — a round from the High Order Unbelievably Nasty Destructive series by Martin Electronics — the launcher could stop a moving truck from 100 yards away. Indoors it was even nastier. Loaded with more shrapnel and explosives than a standard ordnance, the HELLHOUND had a ten-metre kill radius.
Grinning like a butcher’s dog, Jones eased the barrel of the F2000 between the slats of the balcony and aimed at the soldiers as they stormed through the main entrance of the hotel. Quickly, he glanced into the atrium. Payne was still in the water where he was shielded by the fountain and the first casualty. In a matter of seconds, Jones knew there would be several more.
Although Payne’s rifle wasn’t equipped with a grenade launcher, he had spotted the modification
Hotel architecture be damned.
An ominous
One moment they were charging forward, looking for potential victims. The next they were sprawled on the floor in various states of disrepair. Some were missing limbs; others were missing faces. More than half were missing a pulse.
