Jonathan Taylor - Meyer-Hofmann AG

You sad piece of shit! The taunt rang out down the corridor.

Spinning around instinctively to confront his next aggressor, Michael found himself alone in the hallway.

You are weak. The voice came from behind him.

Michael whipped his head from left to right, desperate to catch sight of whoever it was.

You can’t escape me, Michael.

“Where are you?”

I am you, you stupid bastard!

“What?”

Get a grip, if you don’t want to get us killed!

Then, reality dawned on him. Hofmann was back. Michael bit down hard on his damaged tooth, pain shooting up through his right eyeball and down his jaw to his neck.

“NO!”

It won’t work.

Again he bit down, and again he suffered, but he knew it was necessary. Waiting for a moment, there was silence. The inner dialogue had stopped. He considered taking the rifle with him, but the thought repulsed him. Still biting hard on the damaged tooth, he set off back to Lisa.

You are going to need that.

The pain was now unbearable, but despite that, he bit down with all his might. Tears welled and broke through his tightly shut eyelids, and waves of dizziness washed through his head, followed by nauseous coughs. Close to losing his balance, he grasped at the wall for support, but still, he had to go down on one knee, his face contorted by the agony in his mouth and head.

You are wasting your time.

Unclenching his jaw, he stopped. Slumping back against the wall in relief, he panted, gasping in air.

Get up, you fool, you have no time!

Michael tried to ignore the voice, but he knew it was right. He couldn’t just sit there.

There will be reinforcements here any second, MOVE!

Clambering to his feet, Michael started back towards the interrogation room.

The rifle, don’t forget the rifle.

He staggered the few steps and picked up the gun. Holding it in his hands again, he felt a sudden confusion. He had no idea how to operate it; it felt totally alien to him.

You need me! You must let me do it, or we will both die!

Biting down to stop the voice, he ran to Lisa. Bursting through the door, he found his wife clutching a hammer in one hand and the scalpel in the other.

Relief swept through her face when she saw him.

“Michael, I thought they had killed you! There were so many shots, and you were gone so long. What happened?”

“It’s a long story; come on, we have to go.”

Putting his right arm under both of hers and around her back, he was able to take the weight off her damaged leg. But it meant him holding the rifle in his left hand. He wasn’t sure he would be able to do anything with it, with his weaker hand holding the gun, but he had no choice.

Give her the rifle; you use the handgun.

Michael passed Lisa the rifle and pulled the pistol out of his belt. He had to look for the safety; it was already off.

“What am I supposed to do with this?” Lisa asked.

“Just point and press.”

Now, go!

They set off at a fast limp, and, exiting the interrogation room, they made their way towards the stairs. The lift was a death trap. Michael didn’t need Hofmann to tell him that.

Leave her and check the staircase.

As they approached the door to the stairs, Michael gently lowered Lisa to the floor and moved to the side of the door.

“Wait here, darling, and cover me.”

“Michael, I don’t know how!”

“If anyone comes, just pull the trigger and hold tight.”

He tried a smile but was not sure what came out. At any rate, she didn’t return it.

The steel door was painted with a grey enamel paint. Michael reached over to open the door, trying to keep as much of his body behind the wall as he could as he slowly depressed the handle. The door creaked open, but there was no gunfire. He was again aware of the sound of the droning siren around him. Switching the pistol to his right hand, he moved quietly through the door, his ears straining against the background noise to hear anything unusual.

Check the stairwell first, then up the centre of the staircase.

Michael followed the orders; there was no sign of anyone. Returning, he helped Lisa to her feet and carried her into the stairwell.

Leave her here and clear a path.

Lisa seemed to know what he was going to do, letting go of him and hobbling into the corner of the stairwell of her own volition, hiding behind the big gun in her hands.

Checking up the stairs again, Michael set off.

Four stairs at a time, stop, look, and listen.

The sound of the siren was quelled by the walls of the staircase, and with the steel door closed, it became just a distant droning.

MOVE!

They had to go up two flights, which was probably about twenty-four stairs. Michael did the maths.

That was six stations.

The first two stations brought him to within sight of the first underground level, and an identical steel door. He wondered if he should bring Lisa up to this level.

She has more cover where she is.

Michael agreed and moved onto the landing. Putting an ear to the door, the siren filled his left eardrum, but there was no other sound. Then, suddenly, the siren was all around him, filling the staircase and causing Michael to scurry back up to the wall next to the door and raise his gun in the direction of the upper staircase.

Grenade.

Michael still had two grenades clipped to the ammo belt. Unclipping one, he pulled the pin and lobbed it up the staircase’s centre. It exploded in mid-air, taking the three-man team on the stairs above him completely by surprise.

GO!

Michael was up and racing up the stairs. In the background, he could hear Lisa’s voice. Taking the steps two at a time, he reached the landing in a second, where a similar scene of carnage awaited him.

Do it!

Crack , crack , crack . The pistol discharged itself three times, and all movement ceased. One of the men lay wedged in the open steel door to the heart of the club, his torso out of sight. Gripping his legs, Michael pulled the man back onto the landing, then rolled him over to disguise the worst of his injuries for Lisa’s eyes. Hurrying back down the staircase to Lisa, he met her on the first-floor landing, making her way up alone.

She is okay, check the floor space outside the door.

“I’m fine,” she confirmed.

Waiting for a smile of acknowledgement, he turned and went back to the door. Duplicating the procedure, he found the small lounge on the other side of the door empty. Lisa was now behind him at the door, and he gestured for her to move into the corner of the lounge. You could enter the lounge from both sides, by way of hallways. At its centre were four high-backed brown leather chairs and a round Hazelwood table. Lisa positioned herself behind one of them, resting the rifle on the chair’s back to cover both entrances to the room.

Clever girl.

Michael was still looking at her, when she suddenly opened fire. The bullets flying within inches of his head, he watched as the power of the gun pushed her off balance, the bullets arcing up, ripping into the walls and ceiling of the lounge. When she was finally able to release the trigger of the gun, she landed with a hard bump on the carpeted floor. Looking back over his shoulder, he saw that another guard lay flat on his back with two impact wounds. One was in his stomach, and the second had taken the top left corner of his head off.

Take the left passage.

Grabbing Lisa’s left arm, he pulled her onto her feet, and they set off. Michael’s gun was pointing down the dark hallway, Lisa’s rifle covering their backs. At the end of the passageway, the main hall came into view, along with the club’s exit. They had been moving too fast and were suddenly in the open.