Shaun Hutson - Warhol's Prophecy

‘Shall we go for a walk before we go back in?’ he said, taking Becky’s hand.

‘Perhaps we’ll see Mum,’ Becky offered.

‘Perhaps we will,’ murmured Rob.

112

THERE HAD TO be some way of warning them.

That was Hailey’s only thought as she walked from the car with Adam Walker.

There had to be.

She glanced down once or twice at the small case he carried, shuddering each time she thought about its deadly cargo.

The well-lit façade of the Pavilion Hotel shone like a beacon in the darkness, and she also saw the lights glinting on the bodywork of dozens of cars parked outside. They belonged mostly to guests at the party going on inside. A party that was about to become a bloodbath.

Unless she could stop him.

But how?

He had one of the pistols jammed into his belt on his left hip, hidden from prying eyes by the folds of his jacket. He carried the case in his left hand, too.

They were close to the steps that led up to the main entrance now, and Hailey saw two burly security men standing there.

Tell them? Scream? Shout to them that this man is carrying a gun?

‘If you open your mouth I’ll kill you, and them,’ Walker hissed under his breath, touching the butt of the automatic to reinforce the threat.

‘You’re going to do it anyway,’ she rasped. ‘Why wait?’

‘Just keep walking,’ he instructed.

The security men stepped aside as they saw Hailey and Walker, one of them even ushering the newcomers towards the ballroom.

Walker smiled graciously. They continued on through the foyer.

‘Please don’t do this, Adam,’ Hailey said, her voice cracking.

He didn’t answer.

There were two more security men on the doors that led into the ballroom: big-built men in dark suits.

Hailey showed them her VIP laminate. Walker did the same.

Beyond the doors, she could hear music, talking, laughter.

‘Adam,’ she said, looking straight into his eyes. ‘I’m begging you: don’t do this. My husband and daughter are in there – you know that. Please don’t do this.’

She looked at the security men. Saw Walker’s left hand move towards his left hip.

‘No,’ she gasped.

‘Is something wrong?’ one of the security men asked.

The taller of the two men took a step towards her.

‘ No! ’ Hailey screamed at the top of her voice.

Walker turned, pulling the Steyr from his belt.

To Hailey it was as if the entire world had slowed down. As if every movement was in slow motion.

She saw Walker pull the Steyr free . . . saw him shoot the taller security guard in the face . . . saw the bullet shatter bone, tear through his skull and explode from the back of his head, carrying away a flux of brain matter and blood.

The guard had barely hit the floor when Walker shot the other man, pumping two bullets into his chest. The first of them shattered his sternum, the second burst one lung and erupted from his back. A huge crimson slick of blood splashed across the wall as the second bullet exited. It looked as if someone had thrown red paint at the brickwork.

The guard slumped to the ground.

Hailey took her chance. She launched herself at Walker, but he saw her clumsy attack too soon.

He slammed the butt of the automatic against her forehead, throwing her backwards through the doors into the ballroom.

Hailey felt pain filling her skull. Unconsciousness began to envelop her.

Pushing open the doors, he stepped past her, opening the case with the guns inside.

Through a haze of pain, Hailey saw him pull the MP5 free. She saw him slam in one of the magazines.

The Steyr in one hand, the sub-machine-gun in the other, he stood gazing at the throng of people before him.

For what seemed like an eternity, no one moved.

Every pair of eyes in the place was fixed on Walker.

And on the weapons he held.

The silence was unearthly.

Then, as if a switch had been thrown, everything began moving again.

From somewhere inside the ballroom there came a scream.

Walker opened fire.

113

HE SWEPT THE sub-machine-gun back and forth, firing quick bursts. The muzzle flash left a searing white imprint on Hailey’s retina. The sound of the weapon filled her ears as she tried to crawl away.

The noise was absolutely deafening, and Hailey feared for a second that her eardrums had been ruptured by the savage sound-blasts.

Spent cartridges rained down like brass confetti, some landing on the marble floor.

The stink of cordite stung her nostrils.

Through a haze of pain she saw the appalling results of those first few bursts of firing.

Bullets had thudded into wood, glass and flesh alike. Chunks were blasted from tables. Crystal was shattered by the heavy-grain slugs. Some of the windows at the rear of the ballroom were hit, holes punched through them as if by invisible fists.

Hailey saw two men being shot. One pitched backwards over a table, blood spouting from a wound in his throat. The other collapsed onto a pure white tablecloth, crimson spilling out around his upper body.

Screams began to fill the air.

Walker calmly slammed a fresh magazine into the MP5, and opened up again.

Apart from one exit door to the rear, there was only one way in and out of the ballroom – and he was blocking it. Standing there like some murderous sentinel, pouring fire into those before him.

His face was expressionless, only creased occasionally by the effort of changing magazines – something he did with chilling efficiency.

A woman in her forties took a bullet in the back. It smashed her right scapula and burst from her chest. As she tried to rise, to continue her escape, another slug tore off the left side of her face.

The man with her hesitated a moment, realized he could do nothing to help, and turned to flee. But two more shots cut through his spine, and sent him toppling over a table.

Walker muttered under his breath as the hammer slammed down on an empty chamber. He gently laid the sub-machine-gun down for a moment, and gripped the Steyr in both hands.

The slide flew back as each shot was squeezed off.

Very few missed a target.

Hailey was murmuring something under her breath, her lips moving silently as she crawled across the floor, touching one hand to her forehead. When she pulled it away, she saw blood.

She had to get out of here.

Get help.

Find Becky and Rob.

If they were still alive?

Walker put the Steyr aside, slammed a fresh magazine into the MP5, then pulled the Scorpion from the case, too.

Holding one in each hand, he advanced towards the other terrified people in the ballroom.

Above him, the chandelier that dominated the room looked like thousands of frozen tears.

He raked the ceiling with fire from the Scorpion, and stood watching as the massive crystal construction wavered, then came loose.

It struck the floor with a deafening crash, pieces of glass flying in all directions like gleaming shrapnel.

Those crammed into the one doorway, trying to get out, now redoubled their efforts – those at the back of the crush aware that Walker was no more than twenty yards from them.

He saw James Marsh. Looked directly into his eyes.

Walker shot him.

Dotted lines of death appeared across Marsh’s chest and abdomen as the bullets hit him, a number of them exiting from his back, carrying pinkish-red lung tissue with them. It spattered those who stood behind him.

Walker stepped over the corpse and shot down three more people.

The room was not acoustically suited to such thunderous noise, and each fresh explosion of gunfire reverberated off the walls and ceiling, deafening those who were about to die.