The Devil You Know

Action guy Nick Kismet
takes on...

The Devil You Know

An 8-Chapter Turbo-Charged Takedown!

What Has Gone Before: Kismet receives a mysterious invite from a lady named Tecla to meet on the observation deck of the Empire State Building. At the rendezvous, Tecla -- a journalist -- is fishing for information concerning the secret society and Kismet's number one foe, Prometheus, when suddenly they are attacked by gas...

******

Episode 2:
Assault on the Empire State Building

HE WHIRLED, FLEXING HIS KNEES like a linebacker preparing to meet a rush, and was immediately caught in the onslaught of panicked tourists stampeding toward the elevator lobby. As he struggled to stand his ground, he could see three separate yellow plumes positioned decisively throughout the area. The fierce wind instantly snatched them away, scattering the smoke before it could form a thick covering cloud, but the hissing pyrotechnic canisters had been more than sufficient to trigger pandemonium.

“Tecla!”

As he pushed against the human tide, he could see the two men in suits similarly struggling to reach her position. He still didn’t know whether to count them as friend or foe, but their pained expressions gave evidence that they were not the instigators of the minor riot. Kismet didn’t believe in coincidences. Whoever had done this was either after him or Tecla, or both, and the common thread was Prometheus.

The two watchers had almost reached her when abruptly they were intercepted. Four figures – young men with dark complexions – broke from the outer edge of the horde and formed a ring around Tecla. The group looked ridiculous in baggy jeans and t-shirts bearing familiar slogans, but underneath those innocuous trappings, they were tough as nails. The suited pair immediately assumed bellicose stances, but the quartet around Tecla appeared unimpressed.

It was over in an instant. The two burly men, relying on their superior size and strength, plunged headlong into the fray, only to be overwhelmed by a lightning quick defense. The four young men employed a combination of martial arts and basic street fighting techniques to put the suited pair on the ground, stunned or unconscious, in the time it took Kismet to break through the crowd.

From the moment the smoke grenades had ignited chaos on the observation deck, Tecla had stood motionless near the place where Kismet had first seen her. But the approach of the watchers and the subsequent combat, had produced an expression of shocked familiarity. She knew the two men, recognized them on sight, but had not expected them to be here, at the site of her covert meeting with Kismet. When they went down under a flurry of punches and kicks, her mask changed to one of horror. That was all Kismet needed to know.

Two of the young men abruptly turned and seized Tecla, each grasping an arm and lifting her off her feet. A third brought out a small syringe and quickly pressed it to her upper arm. Tecla struggled against her captors, but it was clear that the contents of the hypodermic were having a soporific effect.

“Let her go!”

The four men regarded Kismet with fierce countenances, but evinced no special recognition. To them, he was nothing more than a meddlesome bystander, rushing to the rescue of a damsel in distress. The two holding Tecla continued to do so, while their comrades closed with Kismet, eager to dispatch him as they had the earlier pair.

Remembering the failure of Tecla’s would-be protectors, Kismet feinted toward the nearest attacker, then pulled back as the young man committed to a counter assault in the form of a roundhouse kick aimed at the space where he expected his foe’s head to be. Kismet caught the man’s foot out of the air and whipped his opponent around, slamming him face first into the iron barrier.

Even as the bloodied attacker tumbled unconscious to the deck, Kismet ducked under the fists of a second assailant and launched into the man’s mid-section with an old-fashioned football tackle that drove him back into his other companions. Tecla slumped to the deck as one of her captors was caught in the collision and the other simply abandoned her in order to join the fight.

Kismet rolled away from the tangle of limbs and squared off against the remaining faux-tourist. The young man tried to retreat, but his back was already against the barrier. Kismet edged closer and raised his fists warily. Although he outweighed the youth by a good ten kilograms, he did not succumb to overconfidence; the four young men were clearly trained in ground fighting techniques, the same techniques he had learned in the military. But while size wasn’t always the determining factor in a close quarters battle, if the combatants were of equal skill, it might make all the difference. He moved in.

The olive-skinned youth threw the first punch. Kismet made no attempt to block or dodge, but instead tightened the muscles of his abdomen and simply grunted as the blow struck home. Before his attacker could recover, Kismet clapped his hands against the man’s head, stunning him with a minimum of effort, then rammed a knee into his midriff. The youth threw a wild swing that glanced off Kismet’s temple and for a moment Kismet saw stars, but another knee to the gut left the assailant breathless in a fetal curl on the deck.

Kismet was still seeing double, but he could approximate Tecla’s location. As he took an unsteady step in her direction however, everything changed. His senses were abruptly assaulted by a deep bass rhythm, a noise that rang in his ears and resonated in his chest cavity. Suddenly, three distinct shapes rose up beyond the limits of the barrier, blasting the deck with the artificial tempest that could only be caused by the rotor wash of a helicopter.

Faster than the eye could follow, three Bell JetRangers rose above the level of the barrier and hung in the air, their noses point toward the aerial tower that sprouted from the stout base of the eighty-sixth floor to give the skyscraper it’s legendary and one-time record breaking altitude.

The choppers moved closer, their rotor blades invisibly carving the air dangerously close to the tower. The pilots were hotdoggers; only someone with the skills of an expert and the ego of a daredevil would attempt what they were now doing. It would take only a sudden crosswind to nudge the choppers into the aerial, shattering their rotor vanes and unleashing an unimaginable catastrophe on the unprotected occupants of the observation deck and countless more oblivious souls on the street below.

Spotlights stabbed down from the helicopters, blinding the onlookers, and ropes unspooled from the side doors to dangle at arm’s length from the outside of the palisade. It was as close as the pilots dared get. As soon as the thick lines were deployed, a pair of dark-clad figures quickly abseiled down until they were level with the top of the iron barrier. The metal bars, which rose high above the heads of visitors to the observatory, were bent inward at a forty-five degree angle and ended in sharp points to discourage suicide attempts. The two men fast-roping from the helicopters had little difficulty pulling themselves over to perch atop the barrier, where they brandished stubby machine pistols. One of them spied Kismet and brought the firearm around intently.

Kismet spun away from the Tecla’s supine form, seeking cover in the huddle of terrified onlookers. A short burst escaped from the automatic weapon and a scattering of rounds chewed up the area where he had been standing, but the airborne commando did not direct his fire into the innocent crowd; it was enough that Kismet had been driven away. A moment later, one of them dropped down onto the deck.

The gunman moved toward the dazed quartet that had first attacked Tecla, and began rousing them. The implication was all too clear; the helicopters and their deadly passengers were working in tandem with the youths who had been impersonating tourists. As the men regained their senses, another object descended from the center helicopter and was guided down into the observation area by the man atop the palisade.

Kismet instantly recognized the aluminum-framed wire contraption – search and rescue teams called it a ‘Stokes basket’ – and just as quickly divined its purpose. In a matter of seconds, the men bundled Tecla into the mesh stretcher and secured her with heavy nylon straps. At a signal from the ground force, the litter was drawn back up into the aircraft.

With the gunmen providing cover, the four ersatz tourists moved to the ropes that still dangled from the helicopters on either side and were now draped over the spiked barrier. Although only two commandos had rappelled down, a total of six heavy-duty lines had been thrown out, doubtless to facilitate the team’s extraction. The men tore off their slogan t-shirts to reveal climbing harnesses outfitted with Jumar ascenders which they hastily secured to the ropes.

On a rational level, Kismet was overwhelmed by the complexity of the two-pronged assault. It was unthinkable that Tecla’s abductors might have had advanced knowledge of her intention to visit the skyscraper. That meant the operation had been conceived on the fly and executed by a highly trained and well-financed paramilitary team. Kismet knew from experience that the even the famed US Army Delta Force couldn’t – or rather wouldn’t – attempt such an outrageous undertaking; their unparalleled training notwithstanding, Delta force operators were still limited by political and logistical considerations. There was however one group gutsy enough to pull off such an exploit.

But what on earth could Prometheus want with Tecla, that would justify such a profligate expenditure of effort and resources?

With the help of the ascender devices, the four men scurried up the ropes and into the middle and right hand copters. Kismet felt his bile rise as the remaining members of the team, still clipped to their ropes, started working their way back up. He could feel adrenaline coursing through his veins, impelling him to take action, but there was nothing he could do to stop them. The ease with which the commandos has carried out their audacious mission felt like a contemptuous slap and all he could do was clench his fists as he cowered with the rest of the frightened tourists.

I don’t think so.

He was moving before he knew why, and certainly before he knew what he was going to do. The gunmen noticed him right away, but were too focused on the task at hand to shoot at him; besides, what could he hope to accomplish? As soon as the second man was clear of the palisade, the pilot of the JetRanger eased away from the danger zone, pulling the heavy ropes away from the observatory. The other helicopters had already moved back, but were remaining on station until the last two members of the team were aboard. Kismet made a desperate and ultimately futile grab for one of the ropes as it slipped through the bars and dangled free in the night a thousand feet above the street.

He stood there, the sound of his own heartbeat roaring in his ears louder than the thumping rotor blades, and stared at the retreating ropes. They remained tantalizingly close, swaying gently as the commandos ratcheted the cam-locks higher, one step at a time.

“Close enough,” he muttered.

The adrenaline gave him just the boost he needed. With near superhuman alacrity, he scrambled up the bars and swung his leg high enough to hook a foot between the needle points atop the barrier. The sharp tips snagged his suit jacket, but the wool fabric prevented them from piercing his flesh as he hauled himself onto the angled barricade. He crouched there, his fingers tightly gripping the bars as he flexed his legs, like coiled springs, and gathered his courage. His gaze was locked on the quivering rope, but he could not escape the void; the emptiness yawned below him, so much air, and below that pinpoints of light marked the movement of motor vehicles on the streets of Manhattan.

Are you gonna do this?

With the endorphin surge momentarily sublimating his most basic primal fear, Nick Kismet drew in a deep breath and jumped off the Empire State Building...

Back to Episode 1 :Assignation With a Lady
On to Episode 3 :A Long Drop

Table of Contents

The Devil You Know and the character of Nick Kismet are copyright by Sean Ellis. It may not be copied without permission of the author except for purposes of reviews. (Though you can print it out to read it, natch.)