Nick Stephenson - Panic

Dodging to the side, Leopold avoided Mary as she flew past him and tackled the shooter, knocking the man over and sending his handgun flying across the floor with a clatter. She straddled his chest and brought her own gun around under his chin. The gunman grinned.

“I’ve not enjoyed being between a woman’s legs this much in a long time,” he said in a thick German accent, licking his lips slowly.

“Shut up. You have the right to remain silent,” Mary began. She never got to finish.

The gunman brought his knee up sharply, connecting with the police sergeant’s lower back and throwing her forward. He used her momentum against her and lashed out with his elbow, knocking Mary hard in the ribs and sending her sideways. Rolling off him, she took up a kneeling position and brought her gun around for a second time. Too quickly, the German was off the floor again and he brought a foot down on her shoulder, his heavy boot knocking her violently to the ground, forcing her to release her weapon. He drew a slim, double-edged knife from his belt and grinned again.

“Time to die, bitch.”

Rousing all his remaining strength, Leopold lunged, throwing a fist at the man’s back as he faced Mary. He connected with soft tissue and felt the man tense as the blow hit home. The German swung his elbow around in retaliation, catching Leopold off balance and knocking him backward against the stone wall. Regaining his composure, the gunman aimed his boot at Mary and connected hard with the side of her head, knocking her out cold. He rounded on Leopold and advanced slowly, knife in hand.

“I think I’ll take my time with you,” he sneered. “I want you to feel it. Then I want you to watch me kill your girlfriend.”

With a cry of frustration, Leopold threw a wild punch, arching the blow in roundhouse fashion to reduce the ability of the gunman to parry. The German brought his elbow up high and took most of the force of the blow to his arm, knocking him off balance but causing no real damage. Desperate, the consultant followed with an uppercut to the stomach, but the gunman dodged and countered by bringing his other elbow around fast, hitting Leopold in the temple. Stars danced across his vision and he once again stumbled against the wall, hands splayed out for balance before toppling to his knees.

His vision cleared, and he saw his attacker throw his crumpled hat to the floor and approach, knife in hand. The blade neared his throat. He could smell sweat and steel. Suddenly, the German let out a cry of surprise as Albert crashed into him, head first, sending them both topping to the ground in a tangled heap.

“Don’t you touch my friends!” Albert screamed, throwing his fists feverishly at the man’s face.

The German was so surprised he didn’t register his attacker at first, but after a few badly aimed punches connected with his jaw, he snapped to his senses and fought back, twisting like a coiled spring. He escaped Albert’s grasp with little effort and lashed out in a dazzlingly quick counter-attack of his own.

Albert looked down and saw the blade of the man’s knife slide out of his shoulder, releasing a hot, thick flow of blood. His eyes rolled up into his head and he fell backward, unconscious. The attacker laughed, a callous, hoarse laugh, and turned again to face Leopold, brandishing the knife.

“Time to die, Mr. Blake,” he said, spitting blood on to the floor.

“Not today,” a deep voice echoed from behind.

Stepping into the pool of light, his face mottled with dust and blood, Jerome stood firm and ready. His suit was torn and bloody at the shoulder, but he didn’t appear to be in any pain. Sneering, the German lunged, slashing the knife upwards with surgical precision over Jerome’s throat, aiming for the jugular.

His smile faltered immediately as the bodyguard caught his wrist and pulled it back sharply, forcing him to drop the weapon. He turned to counter, but Jerome landed a blow to the man’s solar plexus with his other hand and sent the gunman toppling to the floor. A well-aimed kick to the man’s testicles kept him down for the count, only a writhing groan of pain indicating there was any life left in him.

“I’m fine,” said Leopold, as Jerome helped him to his feet. “I’m more concerned about where our friend here is getting his orders.”

Nodding, the bodyguard knelt down beside the German, who began breathing normally again. He lifted the knife off the floor and slid the blade between the man’s ribs. The gunman screamed in pain.

“The knife is now touching the outside of your lung,” Jerome said in a calm voice. “If I apply pressure, the tip of the blade will puncture the parietal pleura, and you really don’t want that to happen.”

“Go to hell,” the bleeding man growled, his face contorted in agony.

“If I press harder still, the knife will completely puncture the lung and you’ll pass out from the pain.”

He applied a slight pressure to prove his point. The German screamed again.

“Now, let’s try this again,” said Jerome, leaning closer.

“What – what do you want to know?” the man grunted between quick, shallow breaths.

“Who sent you the order to kill me?” asked Leopold.

“I – I don’t know his name. I swear!” he implored as Jerome’s expression hardened. “All I know is I get a phone call a few days ago. He tells me he might need my services, and I’ll get a call when the time is right. I got the call this morning with your location and followed you here.”

“The explosions,” said Leopold. “What did you use?”

“I was given something.” He pointed at his jacket.

Jerome carefully unzipped the man’s leather jacket with his free hand, keeping an even pressure on the knife. He reached into the inside pocket and pulled out a small metal case ten inches in diameter.

“Open it,” gasped the gunman.

Jerome snapped open the small case to reveal four small white plastic discs, roughly the same size and shape as a quarter, nestled in black foam like a valuable coin collection. The bodyguard rested the case on the man’s chest and pulled one of the discs out, holding it carefully between his thumb and index finger.

“Careful,” the man rasped. “You don’t want to set those off. Boom.”

“What are they?” asked Jerome.

“I don’t know their name. They were left for me at the drop point. They have instructions, you just put them down and detonate them with a cell phone. Boom,” he laughed hoarsely.

“Are there more? Tell me, who else is coming?” Leopold asked.

The gunman only laughed harder, despite the knife in his side. “You have no idea, do you? I hope they make you suffer, I hope you are awake when they do it. I hope – ”

He didn’t get to finished his sentence. Jerome pushed the knife deeper into the man’s rib-cage, making him howl in pain for several seconds until he passed out, still breathing, but only just. The bodyguard handed the tiny metal case to Leopold.

“Could these really cause all that damage?” Jerome jerked his head back in the direction of the collapsed tunnel.

“Evidently. Though how, exactly, I need to figure out. Nothing a couple hours in the lab can’t determine.”

“What are we going to do with him?” he looked down at the gunman.

“Leave him here,” replied the consultant. “He won’t last long without medical attention, and I don’t think his employer is going to be too happy about his performance. I doubt we’ll be seeing him again.”

“What about the others? I don’t think I can carry them both, and Albert needs some stitches.”

As Leopold considered their next move, he heard Mary and Albert groan quietly as they regained consciousness and he breathed a sigh of relief as they both got to their feet.