CHAPTER 27
OCTOBER 23RD, 6:45 P.M
—THE HEIST, PART 2–-
“15 minutes.”
“Psh, waste of my time.”
Rayse scoffed, knees growing stiff as he stood firm and uninterested. He occupied a corner on the back of a temporary stage, adorned with black curtains behind him and red, white, and blue accenting the setup. Philadelphia was packed for him; flooded with pedestrians crammed together on the street splitting between expansive high rises. His loyal followers, the self proclaimed Survivors, rallied and waited for his first official speech since the riots of Washington, D.C. A pack of protestors headed up the rear of the crowd, per the usual for his public appearances. But this time, tension filled the air. With the country tipping towards civil war, violence is threatening to break out at any moment.
Rayshe stood annoyed, his mind wrapped up on everything except politics. There was two more Pieces to find, five traitors to apprehend, and one strangely missing android companion. He peered over his shoulder, looking through the gap in the back curtains to the side stage. His security and prep team stood by, nothing out of the ordinary there. He examined faces, looked past bodies, searched for any evidence that might suggest Ahnko was around. He came up with nothing, affirming what he already knew. She had vanished shortly after he made his impromptu rally cry on the White House lawn the day before, with no warning or explanation. It wasn’t unlike her to go off on her own for a few days, but she always notified Rayshe beforehand. He couldn’t help but feel she was up to something.
Rayshe brushed off his suspicions for the moment, turning back to the show. A public speaker occupied the podium, serving as the opener to the rally. His voice was completely tuned out. It was inconsequential to Rayshe. All of this was. There was only a few more days until Boreas was scheduled to arrive, and still much to be done. He did his talking, he rallied his people, his followers were indoctrinating more my the minute. Window dressing like this was a waste of time to him.
“Mr. President,” a whisper sounded off behind him.
“What?” Rayshe replied sternly, still staring forward.
“There’s a situation,” they continued. “It needs your attention.”
Rayshe rolled his eyes. It was enough that he had to delegate his valuable time to insignificant events such as this. The last thing he wanted to do was tack on more drama.
“What could possibly be the matter?” he asked angrily.
“It’s better if you come off stage to be briefed,” they requested.
“Why do you insist on sabotaging me?” Rayshe asked. The agent remained silent. “Let me tell you something,” he continued, still looking straight ahead into the rally. “Every second that passes with me here screwing around to please you dumb fucks and your ‘administration goals’, the further I fall behind in actually helping this country. So fuck off and come back with something worth my time.”
”But, Mr. President-“
“I’m not talking to you anymore. If you want to try again with your worthless requests, get someone else. I’m sick of your voice already.”
The agent silently walked back behind the stage, defeated and embarrassed. Rayshe gritted his teeth, taking a moment to simmer the rage that nearly boiled over. His fuse had grown shorter and shorter exponentially over the past week, and was tipping towards a meltdown. The ravaging voices in his head proved as much, screaming powerfully and violently. Controlled, deep breaths suppressed them, granting respite as Rayshe refocused on his task at hand: Getting through this as fast as possible, and getting back to work.
/
“Freeze!”
Leo did as they said, slowly raising his hands, but remaining hunched over the display case.
“Stand up straight!” one yelled. Leo didn’t oblige.
“Cuff him.” One agent started towards him, rounding a couch with his gun trained on him. The other held his position. Leo held still, waiting for the right moment to strike. The agent approached right next to him, switching to a single-handed grip on his firearm, reaching for a set of handcuffs on his belt. Metal clanked together as he struggled to pull them free. After a few tense seconds, the agent looked down to properly obtain his handcuffs.
Leo suddenly snatched the corner of the thin coffee table, flipping it into the gunman in front of him. Gunshots boomed through the small hotel room, zipping through the table sending wood splinters around. It wasn’t much in the way of protection, but it was just enough to veer the rounds off course. He dove into the distracted agent beside him, taking him to the ground and behind the nearby couch. He pinned his hand holding his weapon down into the carpet, restraining him as he dropped his knee into the man’s face, incapacitating him.
Leo just grabbed his gun before more shots rang out, this time through the couch he sheltered behind. He dove backwards, evading gunfire and returning some of his own, dropping the second assailant.
He lay flat on his back, his heart racing and his chest heaving. His ears buzzed, still recovering from the shots.
“Shit, shit,” Leo muttered to himself. He quickly regained his composure, scrambling to his feet. He turned over the riddled coffee table he flung for improvised cover, finding the display case shattered, but The Piece still intact and unscathed. He let out a sigh of relief, stuffing the relic in his suit jacket and bolting for the door.
The hallway stretched extensively in both directions. Room after room, most likely occupied and surely alerting security to the attack. To the left was an elevator at the end of the hallway, which Leo began towards. A few steps towards it, a heavy door slammed open down the hall behind him. Multiple agents poured in from the stairwell, responding to the gunfire.
Leo turned, assessing the situation in an instant and fired shots at them. The once homely interior of the hotel interior was infected by muzzle flashes and sonic booms as he emptied his magazine. The first group of agents out the door all fell to his attacks, but more were on the way.
He took off, discarding his weapon and sprinting to the elevator. A quick press of the call button luckily opened the doors immediately. Just as he entered, bullets deflected off the metal cab inside. He jumped to the side, covering behind the button panel on the inside as a stream of bullets blasted through the opening.
Leo hit a floor button with his elbow, a specific one not important to him, and rapidly pressed to close the doors. A stampede of pounded footsteps grew louder and louder as the door was still closing. Just as it finally sealed, a loud thud from an agent crashing into rocked the elevator. But now officially locked, the elevator began down, with Leo safe inside.
/
Laurel’s screams failed to attract any attention, muffled by the strong arm of her abductor. She flailed her legs, reaching her arms around behind her, but to no success. Nearby patrons noticed the incident unfolding, staring shocked and concerned, but ultimately remaining frozen.
“I have her!” the man taking her said. He reached into her ear, ripping out her earpiece, leaving her in the dark
She bucked hard, her resistance disrupting his gait, causing him to stumble about as he continued to backpedal. Laurel jerked; her captor, overcome by the sudden momentum, crashed into a nearby table of glasses.
The shattering startled the party, finally drawing attention to her situation. A chorus of gasps filled the air, the party now aware of the kidnapping taking place.
Just then, another agent arrived for assistance, grabbing Laurel’s right hand and holding it firmly. With a large, sharp knife, he lined it up at the base of her ring finger and cleaved it clean off her hand.
She screamed in agony, pain shot through her arm and into her body. Blood streamed from where her finger once was, draining down her arm and on the floor.
“Hey! What are you doing!” A brave partygoer finally intervened, grabbing the knife wielders arm and pushing him back into the wall. Others joined in, grabbing at Laurel’s captor, giving her enough leverage to free herself. Ignoring the agonizing pain, she took off, barreling through the bystanders to the exit. They called after her, concerned and confused. She ignored them, lowering her shoulder and pushing herself out the door and into a large, expansive strip of The Palace.
Laurel could barely breathe from the pain. She held on to her hand, putting pressure over her missing finger, which did little to stop the bleeding. She felt lightheaded, nauseous. Her legs wanted to give out under her. She clutched her hand into her stomach, smearing blood all over her dress and down her body.
She knew she had no time to lament her injury. Adrenaline rushed through her, pushing her beyond her beyond her pain as she began running down the main walkway of The Palace.
She had no idea where to go, and no way to contact Tommy and Frank either. Her best option was to run to the museum next door, knowing that’s where Boone was off to. But first, she had to stem the bleeding from her hand.
Laurel veered off, rushing into a nearby bathroom. Rushing to the sink, she held her hand out over the drain, taking her first good look at her injury. The tip of her bone just above her knuckle stuck out slightly above the skin as thick, red blood poured out.
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Her hand shook uncontrollably. Her whole body recoiled as her vision suddenly went dark. Her knees buckled as she clutched on to the marble countertop, resisting her body’s urge to retch and desperately clinging onto consciousness. The door to the bathroom bust open behind her: a concerned Palace security guard, unaffiliated with her pursuers who saw her outside.
“What happened?” they asked frantically. “Are you o-“they paused, seeing her four-fingered hand and nearly vomiting themselves. Laurel powered through her pain, turning to the guard.
“Do you have tape?” she asked aggressively.
“Uh, uh- no, but here,” they stumbled, reaching underneath the countertop and pulling out a small first aid kit. The guard retrieved a roll of white medical tape from it and handed it to Laurel.
“We need to get you to a hospital, this stuff is just for cuts and stuff,” they said shakily.
“Give me a zip tie,” Laurel ignored them, grabbing a zip tie they used to detain off their belt before they could grant permission. She wrapped it around her wrist, pulling it tight with her teeth until it was painful, but cutting off the circulation to her hand.
“Miss, seriously, we should get you some help,” they insisted. Laurel continued disregarding their pleas, wrapping tape around her wound and around her hand. Once completed, she bolted for the door.
“Wait! Miss!”
/
The elevator doors opened. Leo brought it down to the first floor of The Palace, but his exact location was unknown to him. In front of him was a dark hallway with neon purple trim, illuminating the dark. The ground thumped rhythmically. Before him was a set of double doors with two large men dressed in all black standing guard.
He approached until one signaled him to stop. He looked down at the pin on his suit jacket, subtly nodding, then opening the door for him.
A blast of sound ripped into the hallway. Flashing lights pierced his eyeballs. A packed nightclub with hundreds of people jammed together on the center dance floor. Along the perimeter of the club, stretching nearly the whole circumference was lounging and V.I.P. areas. Hanging on the ceiling above was a massive, electronic chandelier, that lowered down above the crowd, beaming and strobing lights in cadence with the music.
Leo walked cautiously into the club, not sure of the exit, but assuming it was on the other side. The constant flashing of rapid color changing lights spraying into his eyes, mixed with the mass of people made it impossible to see. His ears, still ringing from the gunfire, were invaded by overpowering, fast paced techno music.
He descended onto the dance floor, quickly finding himself swarmed in the action. Bodies collided together, sweat poured down their skin, alcohol coated the floor. Leo tried pushing his way through, but the clubbers weren’t obliged. Most of them, too intoxicated and wrapped up in the moment, didn’t notice him at all.
Leo veered off towards the outside of the dance floor, closer to the bars, looking to work his way around the mass. A woman latched onto his arm, trying to pull him around to look at him. He ignored her, pulling his arm away, only for her to latch on again, this time with a stronger grip.
“Fuck off,” he yelled, his message unheard and drowned out. Leo pulled away harder, causing him to bump into a nearby stranger. They turned around, aggressive at first, but after looking Leo in the eyes, their face turned to surprise.
“Yo!” the man yelled elated. “I know you! You’re that guy!” Heads turned suddenly after they heard there might be somebody famous around.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“No, yeah yeah! I recognize you!”
“Wait, who is this?” Others joined in. “Is he famous?”
“I saw him on TV before! He’s one of the guys who found President Regis!”
“Wait, actually?”
“You have me mixed up with somebody else.”
“No, no it’s you man!” His words were slurred, his eyes were lidden, and his breath reeked of alcohol as he pestered Leo. “I remember it so vividly man. I was a junior at college back then man. My whole dorm gathered around the TV in the common area when the news came on man. We saw you!”
“Whatever. Can you get out of the way?”
“Can we get a picture?”
“Yeah, yeah! Just one, really quick!” others joined.
` “No! Now move the hell out of-“
Leo was cut off as he was suddenly struck on the side of the head, sending him crashing to the ground and sliding along the greased floors. A collective stunned reaction overtook the spectators simultaneously.
Leo, dazed, looked up to see a massive man in a black suit and tie. An agent tracked him down and was ready to strike again. The partiers quickly picked up the message, clearing out and forming a circle around the two, giving a perfect stage for their fight to unfold.
Leo quickly rolled of out the way, just avoiding the agent’s stomp before springing to his feet. He threw a punch. Leo slipped it, jabbing at his ribcage, but barely causing any effect to the mountain of a man. A series of powerful whiffs followed by ineffective counterattacks ensued. Leo finally landed a clean one, swinging upwards and connecting squarely with the agent’s chin.
He stumbled back, his bell rung, but his aggression amped. He swung high; Leo ducked underneath. He continued with a strong knee, smashing cleanly into Leo’s chest, making him lift in the air from the power. The agent then pushed him back, flinging him to the outer edge of the circle. Spectators caught him before he tumbled, holding him up by his arms and tossing him back.
Leo flew in with a straight kick, utilizing his momentum. It landed firmly, causing the agent to stumble backwards. He tried to follow with another kick, this one landing again into his hip, but had little effect. The agent swung his leg out, sweeping Leo’s out from under him as he crashed to the floor.
Leo rolled backwards, regaining his footing. The man went for a punch, which Leo swerved, grabbing hold of his arm as it went by. A strong left elbow into his snapped the arm backwards; the crack of the bone snapping amidst the deafening music as the agent howled in pain.
He yelled ferociously; teeth bared as he grabbed Leo by the neck. His large hand easily wrapped all the way around as he lifted him off his feet and slammed him to the ground. The wind rushed out of Leo’s lungs after he impacted, hurt and vulnerable as the man, full of rage, reached down and grabbed him again.
The agent spun him, throwing him around into a set of metal barstools bolted into the ground. Leo’s back bore the most of it, impacting the thin, vertically support of a stool in the middle of his spine. He growled in pain as the agent advanced.
He grabbed him by his suit jacket, hoisting him into the air above his head and slammed him on the bar counter. Leo impacted, smashing glasses and drenching himself in alcohol as he slid over the back into the bartender’s area. Leo sat up, back against the bar as he felt blood trickle down his cheek, cut from shattered glass.
A heavy bottle of liquor suddenly appeared in his vision. Leo looked up, where he saw the bartender offering him a bottle, obviously to use against the agent. He accepted, grabbing the bottle by the neck and jumping to his feet.
He caught the agent midway through climbing over the bar, where he smashed the liquor bottle on his head. Alcohol exploded everywhere, drenching them both. The crowd jumped in reaction, becoming increasingly invested in the brawl as the agent fell back off the counter.
Leo slid over, rushing to attack while he was stunned. He delivered powerful strikes, punching with both fists as the agent was on his knees, disoriented and hurt. Each blow pushed in closer towards a knockout; blood starting to run from his nose and mouth.
The agent pushed him, making Leo stumble backwards, but clearly was drained of strength. He returned to his beatdown, each punch making the crowd scream with excitement. Leo gripped his head with both hands, slamming it into the metal barstool beside him. With a winding roundhouse kick, he connected with his temple, deflecting him back into the metal stool with a loud clang. Finally, the agent fell over onto the floor, unconscious.
The crowd roared, jumping up and down, all holding their phones, recording the beatdown. They collapsed the circle, mobbing Leo. He took a moment to compose himself, ignoring the celebratory shoving and roughing from the clubbers. He touched his face, feeling the cut on his cheek. A minor cut, just on the surface of the skin.
Leo refocused himself, pushing his way past the mob. This time, they parted for him, regarding him like a champion as he quickly passed through the bulk of the club and out the other side.
Past the exit, he jogged into a what looked like a small lobby, a side entrance to The Palace for those looking to get straight into the club. There was a line of people on the opposite end, waiting to be let in.
Leo quickly ran across the polished tile, dripping alcohol on the floor as he exited the building, finding himself in a covered vehicle drop-off area. Violently screeching tires echoed nearby. A blacked-out limousine sped around corners and tore up the asphalt, seemingly evading pursuers. Suddenly, it veered in Leo’s direction, racing towards him.
He grew anxious, beginning to step backwards as the limo drifted and slid into the offloading area, pulling to a screeching halt. The back door swung open, inviting him.
“Get in!” yelled Tommy.
/
“Five minutes until you’re on.”
“You said fifteen minutes ago twenty minutes ago.”
“Sorry, sir. We need a few more minutes.”
“For fucks sake,” Rayshe snorted. He questioned why he was allowing his administration to lead him down these pointless distractions in the first place. They were weaker. Incompetent. They couldn’t possibly understand the bigger picture.
The crowd before him grew restless. Other speakers came and went from the podium, indulging their two cents before turning it over for the next person to add on to the pile. They weren’t here to see them. They were here for Rayshe. Of course they are. Is there a greater privilege in this world?
“Mr. President?”
A familiar voice called behind him. The clacking of high heels on the stage floor approached behind him.
“There’s a situation.”
Rayshe turned around, identifying the voice.
“Leslie?”
“They said you wouldn’t speak with anyone else.”
Rayshe rolled his eyes, but willing to listen to his administrative assistant.
“What is it?”
“We have positive ID on our suspects at the NLV.”
Rayshe instantly shot up straight, now at full attention.
“All five of them?”
“Yes sir. And a-“
The deafening sound of his Air Force One super jet took over the city block, flying between the skyscrapers and entering VTOL mode, setting down in the empty street behind the stage.
“There’s also positive ID on the precious cargo!” she yelled over the roar of the engines.
“Why the fuck has nobody told me this?!”
“They tried!”
“And no one had the courage to speak anyways!?”
“Is that really important anymore?!”
“No! No! Let’s go!”
They quickly hurried off the stage, racing towards the jet.
“Mr. President you should also know!” she began again. “Our forces have made contact with the suspects! The NLV is currently hot!”
“What?!” he yelled. His blood pumped hard, immediately thinking of the safety of his daughter.
“All the more reason to hurry!” she said, allowing him to take the stairs into the plane, following closely behind.
/
Boone sprinted down the grand set of stairs just outside the main entrance of The Palace, running down into the massive, circular courtyard and turning into the sidewalk. He weaved his way through the flow of pedestrians, hastily pushing by, set on reaching the museum as fast as possible.
“Hey! Watch where you’re fucking going!” one yelled at him after he shoved them.
If they had jammed their remote control, there was a good chance there were people ready and waiting for his arrival. More so, there was a good chance the jammer was deactivated entirely. Boone couldn’t know until he got there, so he kept on his rapid pace.
“Tommy, I’m almost at the jammer!” he yelled into the earpiece but was met with a low level of static.
“Tommy!” he repeated, out of breath.
Just before he reached the front entrance, gunshots whizzed past him, striking the stone buildings façade beside him. He quickly dove over a nearby bench. It was thin metal with gaps in it, but better cover than nothing.
Boone identified the origin of the shots: A black SUV, speeding along the street. They slammed on the brakes after he dove into cover, but was soon rear ended, pushing them out of line.
Boone took advantage, quickly sprinting into an alleyway adjacent to him. Powder exploded off the wall as the stone was ripped apart by bullets but missing him. He continued down the side path, sliding behind a wall to reorient himself.
“Tommy!” he yelled once more. His earpiece buzzed, completely overcome by interference. He was stranded and separated from the team. Just as Leo is. Just as Laurel.
There’s no question anymore this whole operation was a trap. Rayshe’s team knew they would be here. They knew everything that they were going to try. It was a manhunt now, and they’re the prey.