Counterterrorism in America

Near the doorway, McClane cursed loudly as he played a deadly game of cat and mouse with the robbers outside. His goal was simple: keep them from entering the room. However, his ammunition was running low. He had already burned through his own magazines in a moment of recklessness and was now using Owen's.

Rat-a-tat-tat-tat-tat-tat!

Gunfire suddenly erupted from inside the suite. Alarmed, McClane stopped shooting and rushed in, thinking someone had broken in. He found no intruder—just Owen, firing rounds at a wall.

The MP5 soon clicked empty with a clack-clack sound, signaling the last of their submachine gun ammunition was gone. Owen had handed over all spare magazines to McClane earlier.

Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang!

Without explanation, Owen drew his handgun and continued shooting at the wall, carving an oval-shaped outline into it.

"Don't worry about me—keep watching the door," Owen ordered.

"Got it," McClane replied, quickly understanding Owen's plan. He returned to the front room and resumed firing at the robbers, doing his best to hold their attention.

With his bullets nearly exhausted, McClane resorted to shouting insults about the robbers' mothers and sisters, drawing more fire from them.

The intense exchange of gunfire masked the sound of Owen's shots in the other room. Everything seemed to be going well—until the gunfire outside abruptly stopped.

McClane hesitated. Something wasn't right. He paused, standing amid a pile of spent shell casings. His last magazine was empty, leaving him with only his handgun.

In the next room, Owen emerged and gave McClane a thumbs-up. He was signaling for McClane to create more noise at the door to mislead the robbers. However, the sudden silence outside made both men uneasy. Owen shot McClane a questioning look. McClane shrugged in confusion.

Then they heard two metallic clinks from outside the door.

A second later, the door cracked open slightly, and something was tossed inside. It landed with a heavy thud-thud.

"Shit!" Owen cursed. He didn't even bother to look at the object before shouting, "Run!" and sprinting toward the other room.

The sound was unmistakable—he had heard it countless times in movies. It was the sound of grenade pins being pulled.

McClane wasn't slow on the uptake. He also guessed what had been thrown inside and bolted after Owen.

BOOM!

A violent explosion rocked the suite, sending shockwaves that knocked both men to the floor.

Owen instinctively shielded his head with his arms as he crashed into the wall. Dust and debris filled the air, but when the dust settled, a large hole was revealed in the wall—right where Owen had been firing earlier.

Disoriented and covered in grime, Owen and McClane stumbled through the opening into the adjacent suite. The layout was identical to 4008. Without wasting time, they located the front door and kicked it open.

They sprinted into the hallway, gasping for breath. The corridor was empty except for two dead bodies on the floor. The explosion had obliterated the door to their previous suite, and the robbers had already stormed inside.

Hearing footsteps from behind, Owen and McClane raced toward the nearest fire escape. The robbers had discovered the hole in the wall and were now in pursuit.

"Move! Move! Move!" Owen urged, their footsteps pounding down the corridor. They were close to the fire escape when the steel door suddenly swung open, and a gunman stepped out, weapon raised.

For a brief moment, both Owen and the gunman froze.

Both reacted almost simultaneously, but Owen was quicker. His bullets pinged off the metal door, forcing the gunman to retreat inside. McClane grabbed Owen and yanked him toward an alternate route.

"No time for the stairs. We'll find another way!"

"This way!" McClane shouted, taking the lead. He remembered another emergency exit down the hall.

When they rounded the corner, however, their escape route was blocked. The corridor had been converted into a storage area filled with clutter. Sheets, blankets, and cleaning supplies were stacked on carts and scattered across the floor.

"Shit!" Both men skidded to a halt. There was no place to hide—just piles of linens and a cleaning cart. The sound of approaching footsteps grew louder behind them. The robbers were closing in fast.

Owen's eyes scanned the area and landed on something promising: a laundry chute. It was an old-fashioned kind, typically used to send dirty linens down to a laundry room. A sign above the chute read "Laundry."

"Go! Go! Go!" Owen yelled.

With no other option, they exchanged a quick glance before diving into the chute one after the other. By the time the robbers arrived, the hallway was empty except for the echo of McClane's screams reverberating from the chute.

Owen initially thought the chute would be curved like a slide, but he quickly realized that only the entrance was sloped. The rest of the chute was almost entirely vertical.

McClane's terrified screams echoed all around, and Owen couldn't help but feel the same fear. They were falling at near free-fall speed.

Please don't be too high, Owen prayed. If the laundry room was on the ground floor, the impact would be deadly.

He desperately tried to grab something to slow his descent, but the walls were smooth and offered no handholds. He couldn't stop himself. The occasional flashes of light indicated other chute openings, but they passed by too quickly for him to latch onto anything.

After what felt like an eternity, Owen's fall suddenly slowed. His rear end slammed painfully into something. The chute curved again, bringing him into a gentle slide before he was dumped onto a pile of soft laundry.

A moment later, McClane landed on top of him with a grunt. Both men groaned, disoriented but alive.