The Fifth Element

25

Korben and Loc Rhod emerged from underneath the pool table. Korben picked up a ZF1 that had fallen to the floor.

Suddenly a service door opened at the side of the hall.

Korben spun, gun at the ready.

A middle-aged cop stepped out. He was festooned with badges and devices, and he held his gun at the ready.

“Nobody move!”

“Huh??” Loc Rhod looked from the funny little cop to Korben.

“I am Captain Fog, in charge of concert security.”

“Good,” said Korben. “You’re just the man I was looking for.”

He tossed the little man the big ZF1.

“You’re in charge.”

Then he grabbed Loc Rhod by the arm and marched him out of the hall.

“Leeloo?”

Korben’s cry was half hope, half desperation, as he burst into the stateroom of the dear departed Diva.

The room was a shambles, tossed by the Mangalores, then shot up by Zorg.

But Korben hardly noticed the blood, the bodies, the belongings scattered around the floor. He saw only the luminous bar of laser chain shattered and scattered on the floor, flickering dimly as it gradually faded out of existence. He saw only the hole in the ceiling through which Leeloo had made her escape.

“Leeloo!!??”

He was so desperate to find her, that he ran back out of the stateroom as soon as he saw she was gone.

He didn’t hear the faint answer to his cry that came from the crawl space above the ceiling. Leeloo was weak. She was bleeding and battered, but she had heard him.

“Kor… ben…”

He didn’t see the mini-nuke stuck to the wall, or the liquid crystal display still counting down:

10:00

Meanwhile, in nearby outer space, a ZFX 200 had just made a U-turn and was heading back toward Fhloston Paradise.

Zorg was at the controls, as blind to the beauties of intragalactic interstellar space as he was to the virtues of kindness and compassion.

An empty box lay torn to pieces on the cockpit floor.

Zorg was muttering darkly:

“I am not happy. At all.”

Meanwhile, at Fhloston Paradise Central Security Headquarters, the last remnants of the Mangalore aiding party had barricaded themselves in the back of the station.

They were under siege by the cops, but they still plenty of ammunition, and they were shooting anything that moved, much less tried to enter. Korben arrived, still searching for Leeloo. He stopped Fog among the cops in the corridor. “You still in charge?”

“Yes, sir,” answered Fog.

“How many in there?”

“I don’t know.”

“Let’s count,” suggested Korben.

He went to the door and stuck his head around. Cautiously, so as not to excite the warriors inside. “Seven to the left,” he said. “Five to the right.” Fog nodded obediently but uncomprehendingly. So what?

Korben stuck his head around again—this time accompanied by his ZF1.

Bratbratbrat! Bratbratbrat! Bratbratbrat!

“Six to the left, one to the right,” muttered Korben, reloading. “We got to find the leader.” “Leader?” Fog echoed.

“Mangalores don’t fight without a leader.”

As if in answer to Korben’s observation, a stir came from inside the station.

Akanit stood up.

He dragged Father Cornelius out into the open, where he could be seen.

He held a gun to the back of the old priest’s head.

“One more shot and we start killing hostages,” Akanit said. “Got that?”

“Found the leader,” muttered Korben. “Send someone in to negotiate,” shouted Akanit.

“Mind if I go?” Korben asked Fog. “I’m an excellent negotiator.”

Fog nodded. His medals clinked.

He stood up and shouted back: “We’re sending someone in who’s authorized to negotiate!”

Korben stood and walked quickly through the door. He walked straight up to Akanit and put a bullet through his head.

As the Mangalore leader toppled and fell, Korben turned to the other confused and milling warriors:

“Anyone else want to negotiate?”

Fog was impressed. “Where’d he learn to negotiate like that?” he mused aloud.

The President, who had been monitoring the entire operation from his office, looked hard at General Munro.

“I wonder,” he also mused aloud.

Munro squirmed under the President’s glare and looked away.