Chapter Seventeen

Hero's Call: Chapter Seventeen

The air in Manhattan was cool moving rapidly toward chilly with a hint of cold. While the city never truly slept, the early morning hours before true rush hour set in was peaceful in its own way. For some, it was the closest thing they’d ever come to experiencing a quiet country morning with naught but the birds to keep you company. For others, it was unsettling and uncomfortable. They felt at home in the hustle and bustle and its absence was foreign and violating. For the customer’s of Manhattan State Bank and Trust, it was the calm before the storm that they would tell their friends about until their dying day.

When questioned after the event, the bank manager would say he had opened the doors of the bank two hours early because of daylight savings time although it wasn’t set to take effect for another two weeks. In truth, it was the mastermind behind the operation that had hacked the bank’s website and manager’s phone to allow early access to avoid having to deal with a large crowd when things got under way. It would take the police weeks to find the ever so subtle digital footprint that was left behind, and by that time they would have much bigger fish to fry.

The main lobby of the bank was nearly silent; the only sounds were those of heels on tile or cash drawers being opened or closed. There was very little conversation between employees and customers as they all went about their business to get on with their day. Few of them made direct eye contact and even fewer still feigned small talk. It was too early in the morning for anyone to care about normal social morays. The security guard just inside the door at the top of the marble steps was leaning lazily against the wall. A big yawn tore from his mouth that made his eyes watery and blurred his vision. He didn’t need 20/20 vision, however to feel the barrel of a gun being pressed against his skull just behind his ear.

“Don’t say a word,” a feminine voice told him. “And don’t even think about going for the gun.”

He knew reaching for his gun was suicide, but he was ex-military and it was instinctual. His hand shot for the holster only to find it empty.

“I figured you’d still try,” the feminine voice said again, the smile almost audible in her voice, “so I went ahead and relieved you of the burden.”

She’d taken his weapon without him even noticing. The thought sent a terrible chill up his spine.

“Please don’t kill me,” he pleaded quietly. “I have a wife, kids.”

“Julius Parker, age 43,” the feminine voice recited. “Ex-Marine, honorably discharged after being wounded in a fire fight in Kabul. Both parents deceased. No siblings. No significant other or children. Enjoys fishing, Chicago style pizza, and has a very disturbing foot fetish.”

“Oh Jesus,” the guard stammered. Not only had he done exactly what he was told not to, but he had also now been caught in a lie. They knew things about him only he knew, things he wouldn’t have told his wife even if he’d had one. It was all over. He’d spent years in the military, seen dozens of skirmishes, and he was going to die in the lobby of a bank with a bum knee and a mild erection from the sight of feminine feet in leather high heeled boots that were just in his periphery. “Please.”

“Don’t worry, Julius,” she told him, “You won’t die today.”

There was a brief moment of silence before there was a sharp pain in the back of the security guard’s skull and he lost consciousness. The cracking noise that split through the silent lobby drew the attention of every single person within earshot. As the security guard slumped to the floor unconscious, a young woman shrieked at the sight of a leather-clad woman wearing an eye mask of black feathers and a small squad of heavily armed men wearing equally heavy body armor. The panic set in as the realization of what was happening settled over the bank employees and customers at the same time. The young woman calmed the clamor by raising her pistol into the air and firing a single round into the vaulted ceiling.

“Everyone on the ground,” she ordered, her voice barely had to be raised to be heard. Each and every person in the bank immediately complied, kissing the marble floor. She walked into the center of the lobby and surveyed the few people that were unfortunate enough to arrive at the bank that morning. “Everyone stays on the ground, nobody gets hurt. Feel free to trigger the alarm. You’ll find it won’t do much good. We’re going to be making a rather large withdraw and then we will leave you alone so you can get about your morning.”

She motioned to three of the men holding assault rifles. They gathered around her as she marched past the teller stations and down a set of stairs that led deeper into the bank. Two of her men stayed behind to keep an eye on the helpless people who were still lying face down on the floor. They patrolled the room, weaving in between the motionless figures on the floor. Here and there, someone would cower a little more as they passed and they would make sure to come closer on the next circuit just to make them squirm a little more. They weren’t particularly in tune with empathy or sympathy, a trait that made a perfect hencher.

While the goons silently terrorized the bank patrons upstairs, the young woman and the rest of her crew made their way down to the lowest level of the bank which held the vault. Inside the vault were dozens of safety deposit boxes as well as large bundles of cash that totaled just over four million dollars. As it was so early in the morning, the manager had yet to open the vault for the business day. The large, menacing steel door stood at the end of one hall that was lined with unoccupied cubicles. The footmen headed down the hall first, systematically checking each cubicle for anyone hiding. Once given the all clear, the young woman proceeded to the vault door and ran a finger playfully over the cold steel. She reached around her back and pulled a small brushed steel box no bigger than a matchbox from a pouch in her belt. She pressed the device to the lock mechanism. When she pulled her hand away the box remained as if it had been glued on or magnetized.

“We’re ready for you, sweetie,” the young woman said, pressing a finger to her ear.

The box immediately came to life. There was no motion, but a whirring noise from its core told everyone that it was hard at work. Within seconds the box fell to the floor as the sound of tumblers releasing filled the air. The young lady stepped to the door, spun the handle with a flourish, and pulled the heavy vault door open on its hinges. The stacks of cold, hard cash were arranged in a perfect pile in the center of the vault. The brass doors of the safety deposit boxes glinted in the fluorescent light. The young woman smiled at the sight.

“Pack it up, boys,” she ordered her team. “Meet me upstairs when you’re done.”

As the men set to work packing large duffle bags full with money, the young woman pulled a business card from another pouch in her belt. It was a simple with paper with only a single symbol emblazoned on the face. It was the symbol she had created for him. He wasn’t eager on her plan at first, but after a little discussion he had come around. She knew that tiny symbol would strike fear across the world in only a few short weeks once word got out. It would have an even better effect than him driving a tank down 5^th Avenue while the henchers fired their weapons into the air. She slid the card into a small crack in the back of the vault door where it stayed, sticking out perfectly to draw any and everyone’s attention.

She walked back down the hall and up the stairs to the main lobby where the two men she’d left on guard duty were still pacing silently around the room. They snapped to attention when they saw her emerge from the bowels of the building, but they didn’t salute. They were henchers, and henchers recognized only one true authority: money. “Anything to report?” she asked them curtly.

“Not a peep from these folks,” one of the henchers answered. “But the cops arrived about two minutes ago. Already have the front exit covered. Somebody walking by must have heard the gunshot and reported it.”

She stepped down to the main entrance and looked out the glass doors. There were five police cruisers positioned outside the bank and a SWAT van visible just around the corner. She smiled. Of course someone had reported the gunshot. It was part of the plan.

She hopped up the steps to the lobby just as the rest of her team returned, laden with duffle bags full of money. She pointed to a spot in the middle of the room and they each dropped their bag where she specified. Once more she returned to her belt and retrieved a small metal capsule with an antenna sprouting from one end. The opposite end of the capsule was made of glass. She pressed the antenna into the capsule with her thumb and the glass end began blinking red steadily. Dropping the device on top of one of the bags, she pressed her finger to her ear again.

Ready for pick up,” she said aloud. Moment later, the light at the end of the capsule glowed brightly and the bags slowly disintegrated until they had disappeared.

“Wasn’t that our ride?” One of the henchers asked her dumbly.

She chuckled. “No,” she answered coolly. “We leave through the front door. Form up on the stairs.”

Without a word of protest, the henchers moved into formation on the steps leading down to the front entrance. The young woman approached the glass doors calmly even though she could see several armed officers just on the other side with their weapons drawn. She pulled a spray canister from her belt and traced a line of a thick, sticky substance around the door frame. Stepping back several feet, she held the canister up and placed her thumb over a trigger on the side of the device.

“Once we breach,” she said to her team, “I want to fan out and open fire, but only into the air. Do not aim directly at the officers, is that clear?”

They nodded at her instructions.

“Oh, and one more thing,” she added just before pressing the trigger. “Try not to shoot me.”

Each man wore a mask to conceal their face, so she couldn’t see the confuse look on their faces. It didn’t matter to her, even if she could. They’d understand shortly. She pressed the trigger on the device and the glass doors, along with a large chunk of brick and mortar exploded outward into the street.

The henchers moved immediately, three moved out to the right and two to the left. Smoke was pouring out of the bank entrance making visibility nearly impossible. Always the obedient soldiers, the henchers began firing their weapons into their air just over where the officers were. The sounds of shattering concrete and glass mixed with the cacophony of gun fire and screaming.

The young woman sprinted out the door behind the henchers. A pair of thermal lenses had lowered over the eye holes in the mask, allowing her to see every living creature lost in the smoke. She used her hands to vault over the first cop car and wrapped her legs around the neck of a very confused looking police officer. She flung her torso around and used the momentum to send the officer crashing to the pavement. Before his partner could react, she was back on her feet and planting her foot on the side of his head, sending him spinning face first into the side of his own patrol car. From there she fired two shots at the officers behind the next car. Each one landed square in their shoulders and they were thrown to the pavement. She cart wheeled to the right as a SWAT team member caught sight of her. She landed on the opposite side of a patrol car as two officers and slid a small silver disc in between their feet from beneath the car. At once, a noxious white vapor seeped out and they fell to the street unconscious moments later. There were now four police officers and a SWAT team left to deal with. She took two officers down with a pair of bolas aimed at their throats.

As she prepared to neutralize the rest of her opposition, the young woman realized the smoke was thinning and she would be a very easy target. She put her finger to her ear once more.

“Need an evac, now,” she shouted over the gun fire.

She moved back to the entrance of the bank where the henchers were still firing blindly into nothing. She motioned for them to cease fire and they complied at once. Seconds later, a large aircraft emerged from the sky and set down in the street. The cargo door opened to allow the young woman and her team to board before closing again. The aircraft adjusted its vertical thrusters and ascended into the air as bullets ricocheted off its hull.

Inside the aircraft, the henchers were beginning to remove their armor and relax after a job well done. The young woman moved to the cockpit and took a seat next to her robot chauffer, letting out a sigh of relief.

“Thanks for the ride, Number 1,” she said, taking off her mask and setting it on the console in front of her. It stared back lifelessly.

“It was my pleasure, Ms. Xena,” the robot answered. “Master will be most pleased with your success.”

 

Later that night, Czar Destructo sat in his riverside warehouse turned secret lair by himself, thoughts of the day’s events running rampant in his head. The only light was the one coming from the cloning tank that was sitting in front of him. He thought again of how precise and efficient Xena had been in their operation. She commanded the room and the henchers with an easy grace that denoted experience that belied her age. Watching her operate through the almost invisible camera that was in her mask was quite exhilarating. Watching her neutralize almost an entire contingent of police officers was simply a turn on. He had taken her shortly after she had returned with the henchers, pulling her aside into his private quarters. It would have been heard by the neighbors if it hadn’t been drowned out by the henchers celebrating their successful operation. She was more perplexing a woman than Destructo had originally thought.

But his mind only rested on her for a moment. He was much more focused on the specimen in front of him floating lifelessly in the cloning tank. Never in all his years had he seen a specimen grow at such a rapid rate. Normally it took at least thirty days for a DNA sample to grow to a sufficient size to function on its own accord, a few weeks longer still until it was able to have Destructo’s thoughts transferred to its mind and take up his mantle. This specimen had already reached the teenage phase and it had only been gestating for about two weeks. It was as if the DNA was eager, hungry to come to life, like it couldn’t wait. Destructo thought again of the sample and who it had originally belonged to. A chill ran up his spine.

“Hey, baby,” Xena’s voice said from behind him. Destructo focused on her reflection in the cloning tank. She was wearing a white t-shirt and a pair of underwear that just barely covered what they were supposed to cover. Her short chestnut hair was mussed from lying in bed most of the day. “Something on your mind?”

She put her hands on Destructo’s shoulders and began tenderly massaging the rapidly aging muscles. He felt himself relax almost instantly.

“I was just thinking of you, dear,” he said, head lulling as her pulsating movements turned his body to liquid.

“Oh yeah?” asked Xena playfully. She twirled around the chair and landed in his lap, wrapping her arms around Destructo’s neck. “What about me?”

“I was just thinking about your performance today,” explained Destructo. “You are not the receptionist you presented yourself as.”

Xena gave him a sly look. “Okay, you caught me,” she said in mock surrender. “I was only working there to meet someone like you. Someone who could put my talents to good use.”

“Talents?” Destructo asked wonderingly.

“My mother died at a very young age,” explained Xena. “I don’t remember her. My father was a military man. Special Forces, to be precise. He’s the one that raised me. The thing about being raised by a single parent in the military is that they tend to pass on the knowledge that they know. For a member of the Special Forces, what they know is killing. Admittedly, teaching your six year old daughter how to kill a man with one hand isn’t the best parenting technique, but the skills my father taught me helped me out of a lot of situations with the boys in school. By the time I was eighteen I was fully trained and proficient with nearly any type of fire arm in existence. My father wanted me to join the military when I graduated high school, but I decided to become a merc. I spent a few years in war zones, bounced around to a few different teams, but no one would take me seriously because I’m a woman. So I took that receptionist position in the hopes of finding just the right person to work for.”

“And?” encouraged Destructo.

“And,” she added, smiling, “I think I can consider it a mission: accomplished.”

They kissed and Xena stood up from his lap. She walked to the cloning tank and look in on the specimen inside. Destructo couldn’t focus on much other than the perfectly sculpted backside that the small piece of fabric was barely able to contain.

“Is this what you looked like as a teenager?” she asked, eyeing the young man in the tank. “I never would have guessed. He’s…darker, somehow.”

She was right, of course. The hair, eyes, and even complexion of the specimen were darker than Destructo’s had ever been. It wasn’t just the physical characteristics though. Destructo had never believe in the new age garbage about auras and the like, but it was the only word he could find. The specimen’s aura was dark, like it was emitting a hopeless feeling. It was not lost on the Evil genius.

“My DNA sample was lost after I was locked away,” Destructo clarified. “This is another sample that I had to go great lengths to obtain. Captain Amazing or whoever destroyed the other sample apparently did not see it as a threat like they did my sample. A mistake they’ll soon find will cost them a great deal.”

Xena shivered and rubbed her arms as if she was suddenly very cold.

“Who is he?” she asked reluctantly.

Destructo stood and walked to her side. They both looked in at the body in the tank.

“This is one thing, my dear,” said Destructo, “that I can never tell you, can never tell anyone. The knowledge is too great a burden.”

Xena turned and stepped away from the tank. She plopped down in the armchair Destructo had just vacated but didn’t look back to where he was standing. She didn’t want to look at the specimen again unless she had to.

“So what’s the next step?” she asked, trying to affect an air of casualness.

“The next step…” Destructo began, but he trailed off. As he stared into the cloning tank, a new plan began forming in his mind. It was only a small variation from the original plan that he had created so long ago. Not only that, it was an improvement on the original plan. One that would effectively kill two birds with one stone. A smile sneaked across his face, tugging gently at the corners of his mouth. As the whole plot unfolded in his mind, his grin widened until he looked positively giddy in the reflection of the cloning tank.

“You know, Xena,” he continued. “It takes a truly great mind to recognize when a plan can be altered and improved without abandoning the original goal of the operation. Many Villains think that once a plan has been created, the only option is to see it through to its completion and they won’t stop until they are either dead or behind bars. Any great strategist, however, will tell you that only the foolhardy will rush headlong into battle when easier, more beneficial options are available. Being able to obtain your goal without engaging in direct conflict is the mark of a true genius.”

“I wonder,” he continued, stepping over to the cloning tank’s controls and picking up the harness that would transfer his own knowledge and memories into his clone, “how do you feel about being a mother?”