Murray McDonald - Critical Error

Jens nodded at his two colleagues at the far end of the corridor, the signal to move. They closed the stair door quietly and began to casually walk towards Room 216. This approach was somewhat alien to them. Normally, the approach would have been fast with guns at the ready. Unfortunately that was not an option. Armed men, guns drawn, walking down a corridor in Newark would rouse more than a little suspicion. While two moved towards the door, Jens and his sidekick kept the elevators stationery on their floor. He didn’t want any passers-by stumbling into the action. One clear message had been to minimize collateral damage and by minimize they had meant none.

As they neared the door, the two assassins drew their BXP machine guns and readied themselves.

“Shhh. What was that?” whispered Clark, putting her finger to her mouth and turning the TV off.

The Senator did not need to be told twice. Clark was a highly trained Secret Service agent and if he had learnt anything over the years, it was that when they said shush, you shushed.

Both listened intently. The Senator heard nothing. Clark drew her weapon and motioned for the Senator to get behind her and began to back up from the door. Her gun was trained just above the center point of the door.

“I’m sure it’s nothing,” whispered the Senator, more to himself than Clark.

After what seemed like an hour to the Senator but was almost instantaneous, Clark began to lower her weapon. “I think you’re right, a bit jumpier than I realized, sorry.”

Her stance relaxed and she stepped forward allowing the Senator at least a little breathing room. Her gun had almost made it back to her holster when all hell broke loose.

The two assassins took their cue from Jens. With the elevators still in position, he nodded for a second time and the two men down the corridor moved. One raised his Size 12 boot and with every ounce of his 230lbs of flesh, literally took the door off of its hinges. His colleague rushed in, the BXP quietly spewing its deadly cargo ahead of him.

Clark’s reaction times were amongst the best in the service but a door crashing down caught her entirely by surprise. The main door had crashed to her left and not where she had been focusing her attention only a second earlier — the interconnecting door with Room 218. As the door left its hinges, bullets tore through the room, fortunately at angles that were in their favor. Standing back from the interconnecting door had meant they were up against the far wall on the other side of the room. The gunmen would have to clear a small corridor before being able to get Clark and Baker in their sights.

Clark raised her weapon and pushed the Senator behind her for the second time in as many seconds. A second weapon began to fire. Clark was cornered and was now facing significantly greater firepower. She was no fool and knew that was it. She would go down in history as one of the few Secret Service agents to have failed in their duty.

A second crash and the interconnecting door flew towards her. Jesus, she thought, these guys are serious. Whoever wants the Senator dead has covered all bases. Clark swung her pistol towards the interconnecting door. She wasn’t going down without at least taking some of the bastards with her and fired three rounds, just high off center.

As the second door crashed open, the two assassins paused. That hadn’t been the plan. Jens was supposed to wait. This was their kill. Jens was cover but neither wanted to take out the boss so they both stopped firing.

Unluckily for them, Jens was exactly where he was supposed to be, holding the elevators.

The rounds of a Frag-12 shotgun are particularly unpleasant and combining those with an AA-12 fully automatic shotgun with a 32 round drum magazine and a fire-rate of 300 rounds per minute meant that what was left of the two assassins could be scraped up. Ten Frag-12 rounds made it into the small corridor before the shotgun stopped firing. The highly explosive shells did exactly what the ammunition box said they would. They exploded on impact with the force of a small grenade, making mincemeat of the South Africans

Just as Clark pulled the trigger, her arm was momentarily forced upwards because of a deafening shriek in her ear.

“NO!!!!!!” screamed the Senator.

Before she could make any sense of what just happened, pressure wave after pressure wave hit her as the shotgun shells hit their targets. With little or no hearing and her other senses not entirely stabilized, Clark looked at the interconnecting door and the mass that lay prostate in its doorway.

“Jesus, you shot him!” yelled the Senator, pushing past Clark.

“Stay behind me!” ordered Clark.

The Senator ignored her and rushed towards the body on the floor, pushing Clark away.

As the Senator reached the body, it moved. Clark raised her gun and aiming for the head, she pulled the trigger.

“Hi Charlie,” said the body.

Clark immediately released her trigger, with 9 lbs of pressure depressed out of a 10lb trigger, she had just managed to avoid shooting dead the Senator’s brother.

“Agent Clark, this is my brother Sam.” The Senator struggled to hide an extremely proud grin as he introduced the two.

“We’ll have time for niceties later,” suggested Sam, pushing the Senator aside and getting up from the floor with an audible wince.

“Did I hit you?” asked Clark, worried she had caught him with one of her rounds aimed at the door.

“Fortunately not,” he said, pointing to his left arm which hung rather limply. “This is from a rather spectacular car crash earlier. That’s for later though, we need to move, these guys weren’t alone.”

Sam ushered them both into Room 218 and holding his AA-12 in one arm, he led them to the door of the corridor.

“Wait here,” he ordered.

Clark began to protest but one look from Sam shut her up. He was in no mood for discussion.

Listening at the door, he stepped back and was clearly about to open the door when he realized he only had one working arm.

Clark was ready and waiting. Her protestation had been a realization that he would need help getting through the door with a shotgun up and ready.

They mouthed ‘on three’ and nodded as they counted out the three. Clark opened the door in one swift motion and Sam hurled himself into the corridor. The AA-12 was up and shooting before Jens and his colleague had a chance to react. Their focus was the carnage in the entrance hallway of Room 216. Being on his feet assured his aim. Although hindered, he was more accurate than before and with only two shells per man, the job was significantly less messy, not that either man would be having an open casket funeral.

Sam turned from the gruesome scene and pointed towards the back stairs. Clark took point, the Senator following closely behind, while Sam took up the rear. Sam reckoned that the whole incident, from the door crashing open to his final shot, had taken less than ten seconds. People were stirring from rooms and doors were beginning to crack open but no guests, as yet, had plucked up the courage to venture out into the wild yonder. Just as well, the massacre would certainly have given them something to remember.

As they flew down the stairs and moved quickly to the exit, they remained silent. None of them dared to speak. Clark moved swiftly, her pistol up, scanning the staircase ahead while listening for any noise that would give away a potential threat. However that was short-lived. The sirens had started, first one then a second and then a cacophony, too many to count, the sounds just merging into one big noise.

As Clark broke through the emergency fire door, Sam directed them to the police cruiser parked at the rear of the car park, somewhat out of place with its light blue coloring and Maine State Police decals.