The Sins of the Father
by Amanda Rohrssen
Chapter Four
Narrowing his eyes, Jacob snapped, “Don’t you have enough hostages already?”
“The entire city is my hostage!” the mound of fat countered, its miniscule eyes sparking stubbornly beneath pudgy eyelids. “Take his weapon and put him with the others!”
Two of the massive figures lumbered forward and snatched Jacob’s gun out of his hand before shoving him to the ground among the hostages. J. Gander’s small form was dumped beside him moments later.
“How many more have the authorities sent in?” demanded the quivering pile of fat in the white suit.
John looked at Jacob worriedly. Jacob merely scowled up at the beady set of eyes without opening his beak.
“Well?” the piggish voice squealed angrily.
Jacob’s jaw tightened as he clenched his teeth together defiantly.
The bulk smiled, a thin line spreading between the folds of skin, and nodded curtly toward John with a sly glare. “If you will not tell me, then perhaps your friend might.”
Fortunately for the gander, Jacob’s radio crackled to life, the static cutting into every other word as one of the police officers reported in.
“…found…bomb…ment…know…disarm…no one…send…call?...Copy?...Stabler and…wait…out.”
The fat man’s melon-shaped face widened into a grin, his yellowed teeth glinting repulsively in the light of the hotel room. “So, at least two of your men have found our bomb, eh? I have but to radio a few of my men and they will detonate it before you bat an eye. No man in the world could disarm it. I’m through playing games with your police chief. Say goodbye to this budding metropolis.”
He waddled from the room, jiggling with each floor-shaking step he took. The men he’d left guarding the hostages eyed each other warily. Apparently they hadn’t signed up to be blown to smithereens.
“Do you think he means it?” one said agitatedly, which sparked a harried discussion about what course of action to take.
While the guards were busy arguing, Jacob looked at his friend firmly and hissed, “Now quick, get back down to the basement and disarm that bomb.”
“Me?” J. Gander squeaked hoarsely.
“Hey, you paid a hell of a lot more attention in Explosive Deactivation than I did!”
“But that doesn’t make me an expert, Jacob!” John whispered insistently.
“There isn’t time to argue about this, John. Our window of time is shrinking by the second. There’s not a more qualified man here. Now get out while they’re distracted! I’ll move the hostages to safety.”
The goose raised an eyebrow. “How?”
“Let me worry about that. Go!”
Hesitating only a moment more, J. Gander waited until the guards were so overly engrossed in their debate that they didn’t notice him scuttling out of the room.
Jacob wasted no time in taking advantage of the situation and lunged forward, snatching the nearest guard’s pistol from his holster. Seconds later he’d fired, and the felled gunman was dabbing at a surface wound on his shoulder where the bullet had grazed his skin.
“The next one of you who so much as sneezes gets to lose an appendage. Now let’s all be good boys and girls and give your weapons to the nice folks on the floor here. That’s right. When I get back, we’re all going to have a little chat.”
Having now reversed the roles of hostages and gunmen, Jacob darted from the room in search of the blob in the tight suit. Every one of that pudgy nightmare’s men would be on the lookout now.
He didn’t bother being cautious. Weapon in hand, he raced down the hallway, bill tilted slightly into the air.
A sharp bark, then a barrage of gunfire whizzing just over Jacob’s head as he dove into a somersault. Two gunmen had been lying in ambush just inside of opposing hotel rooms. Like a cat, Jacob landed on his feet, whipped around, and returned fire, managing to blow off one of the gunmen’s trigger fingers. The other gun jammed, but the man lunged forward, intent on ramming the butt of his weapon into Jacob’s head.
Jacob’s pistol discharged again, the butt of the rifle mere inches from his face, and his attacker fell harmlessly to the side, blood spurting from his chest like a geyser, eyes wide, flesh growing more and more colorless by the second.
The man with the missing finger was gone. Jacob smirked and was about to continue his search for the fat man when something caught his eye.
The finger lay inches from the dying man at his feet. He scooped it up off of the ground and studied it for a few moments before pocketing it and racing down the hallway. That flabby worm couldn’t be far. He had to get to him before he could radio for detonation.
All at once, Jacob skidded to a halt. Raised an eyebrow. Backed up two steps. Sniffed the air. Grinned.
The closed door gave in easily to his powerful kick, and he lunged forward low to the ground, weapon poised in front of him, aimed right between the lard-engulfed shoulder blades of the fat man.
“SHUSH agent! Freeze!” he barked.
“How did you find me?” squealed the tub of lard as he flopped around.
“You wear English Feather…the cheapest cologne on the planet,” Jacob jibed spitefully. “Now put your hands in the air.”
Every single fold of fat encased within the white suit jiggled in sync with the man’s piggish giggle.
“What’s so funny?” Jacob demanded, pulling back the trigger threateningly.
“You’re too late, little SHUSH spy,” the hulking blob taunted. “The countdown has begun, and only I know how to disarm the bomb! In five minutes, the Mandarin Hotel and everything surrounding it will be nothing but rubble!”
“You’re wrong! I’ve got the best specialists in this city working on it! When I bring you in you’ll wish you had been blown to pieces!”
“Is that so?” The fat man whipped out a handgun.
A single gunshot echoed through the room and down the hallway, reaching the ears of the hostages not too far away.
John made his way cautiously out of the elevator and back into the dingy luminescence of the lower level. It was eerily silent save for a steady dripping noise in the distance. He didn’t like this one bit.
His gun began to quiver more and more in his hands the further he went. His steps grew slower, and his heart rate increased. Eyes wide, J. Gander swallowed and found that his throat had gone dry.
Loud popping noises suddenly exploded through the stillness in rapid succession. Gunshots.
The goose nearly jumped out of his skin, his cry of surprise drowned by the onset of the nerve-shattering din.
Silence again.
John’s breathing grew heavy and shallow. He took a tighter hold on his weapon, trying to reassure himself with its presence.
He licked his lips.
“S-Stabler?” he called hesitantly. “Benson…?”
Nothing but a faint, muffled whispering met his ears.
Against his instincts, he continued to advance with his finger poised right over the trigger of his gun.
Two shuffled steps forward.
Nothing.
Two more.
Nothing.
“Ahhhhhhh!” A hideous shriek and a figure leapt out in front of him from around the next corner, dagger extended.
Fear reacted before thought, and John didn’t even register the sound from his gun until it was already fading in his ears and the body of his assailant was sliding lifelessly down the wall. It had been a fatal shot to the heart.
John’s entire body trembled as he stared down at the dead figure. He was almost afraid he’d shot one of the officers, but he knew he hadn’t. Either way, it didn’t take away the fact that he’d killed someone.
Blood was seeping through the black uniform, and J. Gander was glad he couldn’t make it out very well. What bothered him was the open-eyed stare of the corpse. It had startling blue eyes, clear and bright as a tropical seashore, but they were glassy and empty with death. J. Gander couldn’t tear his own eyes away from them.
Trancelike, the gander crept toward the body and knelt down in front of it, gaping at its flaccid features even though it brought a queasy, anxious feeling to his stomach. Shooting targets and dummies was one thing, but shooting a living, breathing person was another.
John turned his head and retched.
Above the sound of his own choking and gasping, he could barely make out a garbled radio transmission coming from the dead man.
“Commence detonation! Now!” a high-pitched voice demanded amidst the static. Then nothing.
Hurried footsteps.
John wiped his beak hurriedly and gripped his gun, on his feet within seconds. His stomach protested, and he knew he was going to be sick again soon, if not from the memory of the repugnant corpse, then from the stress.
He found himself unable to swallow as he crept forward where he heard hushed voices hissing at one another. It sounded like they were arguing.
Peering cautiously around the corner he caught sight of two people hunched over a large box-shaped device with a timer on the top. It was set for five minutes. Just beyond them John could see a dark red pool of liquid. He didn’t want to know what was beyond that. He could guess well enough. He was all that stood between victory and destruction.
He forced the bile in his throat back down as his body began to start shaking again.
No, he declared silently to himself. You can do this. Not doing it would prove everyone else right…that you’re a coward and don’t belong at SHUSH.
Surprising even himself, the trembling subsided. His fingers wrapped securely around his weapon as he emerged behind the two henchmen.
They noticed him almost immediately, but before either could react, John fired…and fired…and fired. Over and over the gunshots pierced the air, but John didn’t seem to react to it at all. His eyes were hazy and wild, and he let out a savage scream above the roar of his gun.
Finally the clip was empty, and the goose stood over the bodies, chest heaving gutturally. The fierceness faded from his narrowed eyes, and he could barely believe the carnage at his feet.
He scarcely had time to let it sink in, however. The timer had begun, and he had less than five minutes to disarm the bomb.
Jacob pulled back the sleeve of his black shirt and looked at the time. Less than four minutes. He charged out of the room, leaving behind the massive, bloodied corpse of the fat man in his wake. As he ran he radioed the police chief to send choppers to the roof. There was no point in trying to get all of the hostages out of the main exit. There was no time.
“Everybody out!” he barked as he barreled into the hotel room where the hostages still huddled.
They looked at one another uncertainly, then began to rise slowly. In that instant, one of the guards they had been keeping at bay lunged for one of the guns.
Jacob fired, his bullet penetrating the guard’s skull. The second guard put his hands up in surrender, but Jacob wasn’t one to take any more chances. He shot him in the head as well without any qualms. So much for having a little chat with them.
“This way!” he urged the rest of them, waving an arm to hurry them along. The group of newly freed captives stared at the two dead bodies for a few moments before looking blankly at Jacob. “Now! To the roof!”
He pointed at a man dressed in a bellboy uniform. “You know how to get there, right? Good. Take everyone there. There should be some helicopters there to pick you up.”
“But what about you, sir?” the bellboy asked with some concern in his adolescent voice.
“There’s someone else I need to see though this,” Jacob replied curtly. “Now go!”
Taking off without waiting around for more chitchat, Jacob glanced over his shoulder only once to make sure that the bellboy followed orders. He did.
Impatiently Jacob jammed his finger repeatedly on the elevator call button.
“Come on, come on!”
Three minutes.
The elevator opened with a cheerful ‘ding’, and Jacob dove inside and slammed his palm against the keypad for the lower level.
He spoke into his communicator again as the elevator descended. “This is Mallard. If you can hear me, then get out of the building as quickly as possible. The bomb has been activated. We have three minutes to detonation. Chief? You might want to get your men and any bystanders as far away from this area as possible.”
J. Gander studied the circuits and wires protruding from the innards of the bomb and tried to recall the training they’d received on bomb disarmament. Was it always pull the red wire or the blue one? His mind was racing so fast he could barely concentrate on anything except the timer.
Two minutes.
The nearness of certain doom wasn’t helping to steady his thoughts. So many lives were resting on his shoulders. If he pulled the wrong one…
“John!”
Before the gander even registered the voice, his mallard friend was kneeling at his side.
“Where are Benson and -?”
He followed John’s furtive glance toward two bodies that lay around the back of the bomb.
“Oh. I see.”
Then Jacob’s attention was returned to the bomb.
“Can you stop it?”
“I don’t know,” John responded hoarsely, a frightened look on his face.
“Okay, okay,” Jacob said calmly, trying not to keep looking at how much time was remaining. “Just take a deep breath and try to remember Dr. Bellum’s lectures. Didn’t he say something specific about demolition bombs of this size?”
One minute.
“I don’t know, I don’t remember!” John cried, unable to tear his eyes away from the countdown.
“There was some stupid rhyme or limerick he made us memorize. I remember because that was the day I-"
“GREEN!” John shouted, lunging forward and ripping the green wire from its position and flinching just in case he was wrong.
“Get those people flown straight to Saint Canard Regional!” the police chief ordered over the radio waves to the helicopter pilot.
The entire squad and all the onlookers had moved back a couple of blocks around the perimeter of the Mandarin Hotel per Jacob’s suggestion. The SHUSH agents and their small brigade were on their own now.
He glanced at his watch.
“Mallard? What is your status?”
The communicator returned nothing but unbroken static.
“All right men, everybody get back! This hotel’s gonna-!”
“There he is, Chief!” one of the officers cried, pointing toward one of the side fire doors.
Out strode Jacob Mallard, a triumphant smile on his face. The entire crowd erupted in a thunderous cheer and surged forward to get a better glimpse of the hero of the hour. Even the police joined in, not bothering to enforce crowd control. At the forefront of the mob was about half a dozen reporters and their television cameras.
Thrusting their microphones in his face, the reporters clamored:
“What’s your name, sir?”
“How did you do it?”
“What happened to the terrorists?”
Immediately the chief of police pushed his way through the throng of journalists and stood in front of Jacob.
“The situation is well in hand now. The bomb has been diffused and the hostages are safe –"
“Thanks to Agent John Hooter and myself,” Jacob interjected, side-stepping from around the chief.
At that same moment, the diminutive figure of J. Gander emerged, two police officers from their group and one of the bombers behind. The henchman was gripping a finger protectively – or at least where one would have been.
Jacob smirked at the man, who glowered at him in return upon recognition.
“There’s one of your culprits, Chief,” Jacob announced, motioning toward the man being escorted out of view. “He’ll tell you all you need to know about a certain Mr. Mince smuggling munitions pieces out of the military branch at Tinker Air Force Base…” He grinned haughtily, but the police chief just glared before stalking after the man in custody.
Left alone with the newscasters, Jacob slung an arm around his friend’s shoulders as he recounted the tale to the press. John’s expression, however, remained downcast and unreadable.
The door swung open jovially the next morning as Jacob strode into the office he and John shared.
“Hey John,” he said cheerfully, “you wanna grab a bite? I’ve got a good fifteen minutes before my meeting with Director Bonaparte. Oh yeah, did you hear that they finally canned old Director Hannigan?”
“Yeah, I also heard that Director Bonaparte’s really short…though I guess I shouldn’t say much,” John responded in a distant tone of voice. “And normally I would jump at the chance to eat something, but I’m a little busy…as you can see.”
John was hunched over a box, organizing a few things inside of it before gathering more to set inside. Jacob hardly paid attention.
“Oh, well, did you at least read the paper today? The mayor’s going to give us medals, John! Medals for our first victory! Isn’t that great!”
“Yeah…great.”
Jacob frowned at J. Gander’s lack of enthusiasm.
“What’s the matter? Hey…why are you packing up?”
The goose paused with a heavy sigh, his eyes downcast. “I’m no good to the organization out in the field,” he said with deliberation. “You saw the way I choked…I’m sorry, Jacob…but I’m not like you. I can do more good behind a desk. I put in for a transfer to the administrative department, effective immediately.”