The Judas Line

me to and fro, but I managed to stay on point, guiding the chute toward the helipad on the roof of the hotel.

A hundred feet from my target and I saw a guard walking the perimeter of the pad. I knew right then that he’d see me before my feet touched down. Hoping against hope, I spoke Strength, trailing an ammonia stench through the cold night air.

Twenty feet and I pulled the quick release on my harness, dropping hard on the center of the pad, my Strength-enhanced legs absorbing much of the force, but I felt an ankle twist and snap sickeningly, shooting fire up my leg as I rolled.

I looked up, 45 at the ready, only to see the guard with his weapon, an M16A4, I dimly noted, pointed at my face. I was about to die. The scene from below and inside would take me to the grave:

Two golems scampered up the elevator shaft the Sicarii had used; the damaged one (missing an arm and a head half-blown away) took the stairwell, followed by Maggie and Alan, who quickly lagged behind the nimble construct. The fourth golem lay scattered in pieces on the blood- and brain-soaked marble in the lobby.

“If … I wanted … aerobics…” panted Maggie as she passed another floor. “I would’ve … joined … a gym.”

“Just … move your lard ass, woman.” Alan puffed. His voice sounded raspy and ragged, as if he’d been gargling with broken glass.

“I … am going to … kick your butt …when we are through here … assface.”

From above came the sound of screaming and gunfire. And more screaming. Something wet and blobby fell past them to spatter down below.

“What … was that?” Alan asked, not bothering to look.

Maggie kept her eyes on the stairs. One after the other … then a landing then more steps. “Something … important to somebody.”

I would’ve closed my eyes, but the barrel of the rife held me hypnotized. The guard’s finger tightened.

Bullets landed all around, one grazing my calf. Quite a few did more than graze the guard, who crumpled in a heap, blood pooling around his lifeless body.

Looking up, I saw Cain drift the last few feet to the helipad, a Mac-10 in one hand and harness release in the other. As his feet touched down, he yanked the release and chute and harness disappeared into the night, carried away on the cold New York wind.

“It appears as though you should consider exercising more caution while approaching the enemy,” Cain said. “Are you well?”

The grating pain, the pressure, in my ankle gave way to blessed relief as I moaned a Healing. The bones of my ankle ground together and shifted, re-aligning themselves. “Fine, fine,” I said, rising when the last vestiges of pain melted away.

The roof access point was locked with an electronic keypad and card slot, but a quick search of the guard revealed a key card. A quick swipe and we were heading down a stairwell.

Cain pulled alongside at the first landing down, a door marked 55 in front of us. “Here?”

“No. Main access will be at the first floor of these three-story suites. Julian has his ‘offices’ there and that’s where Mike and the Primal will be.”

“The Primal will be in a safe, a lockbox?” The black goggles were gone and he once again sported his mirrored Glaciers, looking like a black ops commando ready for a skiing holiday.

I shook my head. “No. Julian will have the Primal on him at all times. With Boris on hand and his own slew of Words, it’s safer than any lock box.” The molecular knife was a conspicuous lump in my hip pocket. “Let’s go.”

54 … 53. The door opened with the key card revealing a long hallway carpeted in burgundy cut pile. A Sicarius in a black skintight one piece turned at the sound of the door opening. As my silenced pistol appeared in hand as if by magic, I had just enough time to think about how ridiculous those one-piece outfits were before two quick shots dropped him hard to the floor, bleeding from throat and skull.

I knew him. Another cousin, distant, a real asshole named Ulric known for such brutality that he made Burke look like an altar boy. His death brought no remorse, no sadness. The world was better off without him in it.

But there would be others, I knew, others who I did like and who would die, maybe by my hand. It was a sobering thought.

“It falls upon you to lead the way, my young friend.”

“Just keep those Words and that gun handy and watch my back. Things are about to become real interesting.” Once again, I thought of the other two inside:

“Why do the steps end here?” Alan complained, staring at a bloody door half torn from the hinges. Sounds of fighting came from beyond. A body lay on the landing, torn to shreds. “We’re not high enough.”

“Security,” Maggie panted. “Staggered stairs, no through-access from top to bottom.” Without another word she reached past Alan and grabbed the door handle, tearing the door totally free from the remaining hinge.

“C’mon, scaredy pants!” she laughed. “Get it in gear!”

“I’m a lover, not a fighter,” came the reply as he followed her into the hallway.

Blood splattered the full length of the hallway, along with bits and pieces of flesh and bone. A golem lay scattered about-a head here, an arm there. Only a leg and torso remained whole, twitching with terrible purpose, still attempting to complete its allotted task.

“Holy shit,” whispered Alan, eyes wide with horrified fascination.

Maggie stared at the blood and flesh, the toe of her black canvas shoe disturbing a shattered tooth. “You got that right.”

Shots rang out and a Dagger Man came running around a corner some fifty feet way, eyes wide with fright, a pistol in one hand, the other hand flopping broken and useless at the wrist.

Before he even reached the halfway point, Maggie’s Tec-9 stuttered twice and he fell, sprawling, spewing blood and gore. He twitched once, then twice and lay still.

Alan stared at the corpse. “What now?’

Dark blue eyes remained resolutely fixed on the blood-soaked hallway. “We follow the noise. The golems will lead the way to the next staircase or the elevators.”

“I hope they handle the rest of the Sicarii.”

She checked the remaining clips to the Tec-9, then reached behind her to the base of her neck, tearing a weapon free from Velcro. It was a hand-axe-a medieval weapon two feet long with a spike on top and one opposite the blade.

“I hate it when y’all use that,” Alan complained.

“It doesn’t use bullets.”

Alan pulled a K-bar from a side sheath. The edge showed keen in the soft lighting. “This is better, faster.”

She snorted. “Don’t flatter yourself.” A shot rang out followed by a scream that cut off abruptly.

Alan looked to the statuesque blonde at his side. “Ladies first.”

She rolled her eyes. “Men!”

The two apprentices ran down the hall, leaping over wet red lumps and pieces of golem. They rounded a corner to see a golem finish strangling a Sicarius with its one remaining arm. It turned to look at them with its dead plastic eyes before leaping into an elevator. The doors closed on the two of them before they could arrive. Another golem lay scattered on the floor nearby.

“Damn,” Maggie fumed and pressed the up button. “These must be the elevators to the upper floors.”

A couple of minutes later the elevator gave a chime and opened. The two entered and Alan hit the button for the 53^rd floor. Muzak started playing as the doors closed.

Alan looked up. “What’s that?”

“ ‘MacArthur Park,’ I think.”

“Not the music, you blonde bimbo, that.”

Maggie’s eyes traveled up Alan’s arm, past his pointing finger to a splotchy red stain on the ceiling tiles of the elevator. “Blood, I think.”

“That’s what I thought. I believe there’s a body up there.”

“Cool.”

“What does it mean?”

“Someone may have already started to do our job for us.”