I close my eyes for a moment then adjust my grip on the Glock as I think about the next step. It’s eight on one… And not just any eight — these are CIA agents who will likely be under orders from on high to kill me. I think the time for interrogation has passed.
I take a couple of deep breaths.
In…
Out…
In…
Out…
I open my eyes and feel my Inner Satan slide behind the wheel.
Adrian’s sitting this one out… These assholes are mine!
I know I’ll only have a few valuable seconds before they retaliate, so I need to make sure every shot counts…
I walk forward raising my arm and open fire before they have a chance to get out of the vehicles. The windshield shatters, exposing the targets trapped within. The driver catches a bullet in the forehead — he slumps against his door as a thick splattering of blood covers the glass next to him. The passenger scrambles for his weapon, but he has no chance. I aim and fire, putting a bullet through the center of his heart. He’s pushed back against his seat, a crimson pool expanding across his shirt.
I turn my attention to the other SUV. The agents have had time to organize themselves a little, so the four of them are climbing out of the vehicle as I put them in my crosshairs.
My first three shots take two of them out — the driver and one of the men from the back seat remain. By my count, I have five bullets left, and there are four assholes still standing. Cutting it close…
I dive off to my right as they return fire, my instincts kicking in before I’ve barely had time to register the sound of the gunshots. I hit the ground and roll away to the embankment, quickly get to my feet, and take cover behind Freeman’s Crown Vic.
Bullets squeal and ping off the bodywork around me. I chance a quick look over the hood and see them both pause to reload. Behind them, the two remaining passengers from the first SUV move wide to my left — I’m guessing to try to outflank me while I’m pinned down.
I duck back behind the car and quickly check the mag. I was right — five rounds left. Okay… I’ve got four targets — two on either side. I can’t try to pick them off at the same time, as it’ll take too long to aim. There’s little sense in clearing out the guys on the left, as they’re in the open. The guys on the right have the cover of their vehicles, plus their fallen colleagues are over there with weapons and ammunition they’re not using anymore.
Right, it is…
I raise my arm over the hood and fire a blind round to the left, just to give them something to think about. I leap to my feet and fire off two more rounds at the guys on the right. The first finds its mark, hitting the driver center mass, just below the throat. He drops quickly, bouncing off the hood and onto the ground. The second shot misses — the remaining guy must have good reflexes because he’s already down behind an open door.
Shit.
Two left…
Fuck it.
I get up and run toward the guy on my right. As I do, I switch hands, extend my left arm, and fire my two remaining bullets at the guys over by the flaming wreck. Again, the first hits the target. I see one of them hit the ground and clutch his thigh. The blood loss from a wound like that will likely finish him off.
The second one is wide but prompts the last man standing to duck away momentarily, buying me a much-needed reprieve.
I reach the guy on my right just as he’s breaking cover to shoot at me again. I throw the empty Glock at him as I approach at full speed. He flinches long enough for me to get within arm’s length. I slam into the open door, shoulder first, knocking him off his feet and sending his gun flying from his hand. I move around the door and pounce on him, not wanting to give him any time to recover. I stomp down hard on his stomach, causing him to jolt upright from the ground. As he does, I crouch and throw a punch, hitting him squarely on his jaw. His head snaps back, bounces off the blacktop, and knocks him out.
I’m covered by the door now, so I reach over and pick up his weapon, quickly checking the mag. It’s a Sig Sauer P220. It has a small barrel and is a common handgun for law enforcement agencies. There’s almost a full load, too, which is good news.
I glance around the door to see where the last remaining asshole is, but there’s no sign of him.
I look back at the guy and check his pockets. There’s no ID, just a billfold containing a couple hundred dollars. I suppose if these guys are part of a special operations group, any mission to take me out would be off the books. I look at this whole situation and see the brazen, couldn’t-give-a-fuck-anymore attitude stemming from the White House and filtering down to all the acronyms, and it pisses me off. The public remain oblivious, because Cunningham still needs to be seen to be doing everything by the book, so there’ll be no record of things like this to link back to him. It’s not so much the fact they’re playing by their own rules that gets to me, it’s the arrogance they show while they’re doing it — like they’re untouchable.
I’ll show them untouchable… bastards!
I stand and make my way into the middle of the expressway. I’m not bothered about cover now — there’s only one guy left… What’s he going to do?
I hold the gun loose by my side. I feel a wave of calm wash over me. The hard part’s done, and my Inner Satan can rest again.
“Hey!” I shout. “Get your ass out here, front and center.”
I stop and wait for any movement. After a moment, the remaining guy appears from behind the trunk of the Crown Vic. Sneaky bastard was going to try to get the jump on me…
He’s aiming steadily and professionally at me using both hands to line up his shot.
“Drop your weapon!” he shouts back.
I laugh. “Fuck me — you’re optimistic, aren’t you?”
“Drop it now!”
I raise the Sig Sauer, one-handed, and take aim at him. “No.”
He hesitates, just for a second. Pussy.
I fire once, shooting his right hand. His gun flies from his grip, and he yells in pain as the bullet penetrates his palm. He clutches at the fresh hole in his hand and staggers backward.
I take a couple of steps toward him, keeping my gun raised. “Who sent you? Was it Matthews? Or did Cunningham finally decide to get his hands dirty?”
He’s standing still, grimacing from the pain and staring at me with a mixture of anger and fear. He doesn’t look like he’s going to answer me, though.
Stubbornness can be real painful sometimes…
I line up another shot and fire once, hitting him in his foot. He screams and falls to the ground, unsure of which bullet wound to tend to.
“You’re not going to make me ask again, are you?” I say to him. “Don’t make the mistake of thinking you’ve been lucky so far with those non-lethal wounds — they were deliberate, and the next one will be decidedly more painful and life-threatening.”
He growls through gritted teeth and stares at me. He’s maybe ten feet away, close to the Crown Vic. His breathing is deep but rapid. “Fuck… you! We’ll… we’ll get you. Sooner or… later.”
“Yeah, so you people keep saying… Tell me, how’s that working out for you so far?”
He says nothing.
I shrug. “Yeah, that’s what I figured. I’m gonna bring it all down, do you understand me? Cunningham, Matthews, the entire presidency… I’m gonna reduce it all to dust. I’m past caring whether or not everyone was involved, or if it was just the brass in the offices on the top floor pulling the strings. I have the evidence to bring the entire administration to its knees, and I’m gonna show it to the world.”
The guy frowns. “What… what are you… talking about?”