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.