After using a grey pearl to restore his health, Henry collected the weapons and wallets from the twelve dead men in the hall, retrieved his knives, and then dragged the bodies into room #19.
He then checked the other rooms on the floor. Only five were occupied. He went to the first, knocked on the door—one long, two short, mimicking the clerk from before—and then burst in.
The two men inside stared in shock as two throwing knives sprouted from their throats. Henry lunged forward, his rapier appearing in his hand, and pierced each of their hearts. He left the room, flipping the plaque on the door from white to black, and moved on to the next.
In a few minutes, all five of the occupied rooms were silent. He collected the cash, weapons, and any intelligence files he could find.
Then, he walked to the large wooden door behind the bar and knocked: two long, two short.
The door opened from the inside. Henry slammed his shoulder into it, sending it flying open and staggering the man behind it. A dagger appeared in his hand, and he drew it across the guard's throat, then lunged forward, plunging the blade into the heart of a second guard in the narrow hallway beyond. He ripped the dagger free and slit the second man's throat for good measure.
He burst out of the hallway and came face-to-face with four more guards.
Swish! Swish!
At this range, he didn't need his Super Reflexes. In two seconds, each of the four men had a knife in his eye and another in his throat.
The area was a small office, with a single, bald, middle-aged man sitting behind a desk, his face a mask of pure terror.
Henry closed the distance in a single step, his rapier appearing in his hand, its tip resting against the man's throat. "You're the quartermaster?" Henry asked, his voice a low whisper. "Where are the keys to the armory?"
The man hesitated, and the blade pricked his skin. "Here!" he gasped, fumbling in a drawer and pulling out a key. "No other locks… just tools and… and weapons…" The key clattered from his nerveless fingers as the rapier shot forward, piercing his throat and exiting through the back of his neck.
Henry walked to the only other office in the room. He placed his hand on the doorknob—no sense of danger. He turned it. It was unlocked. A portly man behind a desk looked up in surprise.
Henry repeated the process, the tip of his rapier once again finding a home at a man's throat.
"I ask, you answer. You hesitate, you die," Henry said, letting the words sink in. The fat man's eyes blinked rapidly in understanding, cold sweat beading on his forehead.
"Where are the intelligence center and the vault?"
"The intel center is on the third floor. The vault is on the fourth. Only the floor supervisors have access. I don't know how to get in."
"How many guards on the upper floors?"
"Twelve in the third-floor reception area, another dozen or so in the intel center itself. I don't know about the fourth floor. Only the big boss, Travis, and his head of security know that."
"Your own personal safe?"
"I don't have one…" the man began, but the rapier cut off his words and his life.
Henry searched both offices, found nothing else of value, and then went to the armory in the corner of the room. He unlocked it with the quartermaster's key.
Inside, he found 36 Winchester rifles, 60 Colt revolvers, 20,000 rounds of ammunition, 12 Sharps military rifles with 3,600 rounds of .50-90 ammunition, and two more Gatling guns with 30,000 rounds. He took all of it, along with a few miscellaneous supplies.
He doused the office and the files with kerosene, then walked back out into the main hall, closing the door behind him.
The hall was still empty. He went to the main staircase and ascended to the third floor. At the top, two guards blocked his path. He presented the A-rank gold identification plaque he had taken from the Denver black market. He had hesitated to use it before; A-rank members were a small, exclusive club. But now, he had no other choice.
The guards inspected the plaque, then respectfully stepped aside. One of the clerks from the reception desk came forward to greet him.
Henry activated his Super Reflexes.
Two daggers appeared in his hands. He slit the throats of the two guards and stabbed them through the heart.
In the one second his talent was active, he sent eight throwing knives flying, killing the four remaining guards and the clerks behind the reception desk. The last clerk, the one who had been approaching him, found himself with the tip of a rapier at his throat.
"I ask, you answer," Henry whispered. "Speak softly, or you die. Blink twice if you understand."
The terrified young man blinked frantically.
"How do I get into the intelligence center? What's the signal?"
"Knock three long, two short," the clerk gasped. "They'll open it from the inside."
"And the fourth floor?"
"Knock four short, two long."
"Are any of the private rooms on this floor occupied?"
"Not yet. I was just about to send for a handler and a guard."
"How many guards are in the intelligence center?"
"I don't know for sure. A dozen, maybe more."
"Good," Henry said. "Now, turn around and knock on that door for me, and this will all be over."