“Move!”
Alicia ran with her rifle tracking one of the fleeing figures. Drake watched her closely. “Be careful.”
Alicia tracked her enemy but didn’t fire. The men were too close together. Dahl pulled his trigger, but fired high, ruining a sign that read ‘Elevator to Street’. As the fleeing men slowed near the top of an escalator, a shout went up and all five of them turned.
And stopped.
Drake put the brakes on. One enemy gun was pressed hard against Coburn’s head. The rest of the rifles were trained on Team Bravo. Drake zeroed in on the man closest to the President. It was possible to kill a man so that his finger didn’t twitch on the trigger, but a millimeter to either side of the kill point and you risked a catastrophe.
And this was the President.
The team leader spoke rapidly into his comms. Drake stopped not eight feet from the terrorist group. Behind and above them, they heard vehicles screeching to a halt and the sound of many thudding feet approaching the station. Sirens wailed and the sound of military choppers landing was loud even down here.
The man standing in the middle whipped his balaclava off. Dmitry Kovalenko, the Blood King, faced the man who had become his nemesis.
“Matt Drake.” The guttural growl was hatred incarnate.
“Fuck you. Let the President go.”
“How are your friends? And young Ben? How’re his mommy and daddy?”
Drake tightened his finger on the trigger.
“Oh, and your army mates.” Kovalenko spoke in mock English. “Spiffy are they?”
One more ounce was added to the pressure.
“Don’t shoot!” the team leader cried. “Stand down!”
Kovalenko grinned devilishly. “Shoot me and your President dies.”
Drake gritted his teeth so hard he tasted blood. The arm holding his rifle shook. He heard Dahl whisper a quiet “hold,” and Alicia’s indifferent grunt, saw the mocking challenge in Kovalenko’s eyes, but it was the look in President Coburn’s eyes which stopped him.
The Blood King’s men removed their masks. The one holding Coburn was the dark-skinned African. The man’s quiet smile revealed a wealth of confidence.
“Gabriel here and his brother, Mordant, are better than you will ever be, Drake. Better than you all. They would take title—” Kovalenko laughed. “Oh, and Mordant, even now, has just crashed party at CIA safe house. Your friends die as we chat, dah? How nice.”
Drake’s finger twitched again. He concentrated solely on Coburn’s eyes, seeing the intelligence there, the calm confidence, but most of all, the tactical prowess which said this man was a heroic strategist, a player in their game, and was just awaiting his moment…
Tension flooded his body like never before. This was the game of games, and with a reward beyond imagination.
“Da best is yet to come.” Kovalenko grinned. “Your mistake was to ever know my name, Drake. Now, my Blood Vengeance will take everything you ever loved and drive it into ground.”
“Excuse me,” Alicia said. “Do you have a point to make? These boots are friggin’ killin’ me.”
“And your disgraced biker gang, Myles? Did they die well?”
“Funny thing,” Alicia said emotionlessly. “I ended up killing most of the bad guys. Can you guess what I’m gonna do to you?”
Kovalenko raised his own gun. “So I shoot you now, dah? You can’t shoot me. I have the President.”
The gun discharged point-blank into Alicia’s face. She had no chance. Her body fell backward. Drake fired at the African, but he had already slipped down onto the escalator, the bullet fizzing above his head as he pushed President Coburn before him. Kovalenko’s men whirled and jumped in the African’s wake, dragging Kovalenko with them.
“Whoops,” the Blood King smirked with open arms. “Never was the best of shots.”
Drake fell to his knees, cradling Alicia’s head. He was surprised to find her shocked eyes staring into his own.
“Are… are you okay?”
“Yeah. I think so. Bullet passed by my helmet. I think it even glanced off.”
Drake breathed deep. Thank you, God. Thank you. Thank you.
Dahl was by his side. “Don’t do that again,” he said sternly. “You gave me a goddamn heart attack.”
Alicia climbed to her feet. The team eased forward past the ticket barriers and stared down the giant escalator at the escaping terrorists. Dahl clenched his fists.
“Balls to the wall.” He grunted. “Live or die. Shall we go save the President?”
“Fuck, yeah.” Alicia sprang forward.
“This ain’t happenin’ on my watch.” The team leader jumped after her.
Drake slammed Dahl on the back. “You with me then, mate?”
The mad Swede simply leapt onto the middle of the escalator and threw himself headlong down the curved shiny surface, firing as he picked up pace.
“Jump on, Drake! It’s crazy time!”
CHAPTER THIRTY FIVE
Kinimaka pulled his handgun out and fired even before figures burst through the breached doorway. Two men ran into his rounds and sprawled half-way across the room, lifeless; but more quickly followed. This was a full-scale breach. Smyth was closest to the door and used the smoke created by the blast to launch a surprise attack, wrestling with the next two attackers. One he punched so hard Kinimaka saw his face cave; the other he spun around and grabbed in a chokehold.
Komodo slid belly first across the floor, reaching for the weapon he had left lying on the sofa. Karin kicked it toward him, at the same time scrambling over the back to find shelter. Komodo caught the gun and shot another attacker in the knees, then the head.
Already that was five down. More surged inside the house.
Smyth used his captive as a shield whilst wrestling away his gun. Kinimaka was shocked to see Yorgi step up and stand in front of a dazed Sarah Moxley. Not even the closeness of her own death penetrated her stupor. Yorgi fired as a bunch of attackers burst into the room.
Kinimaka stood at the bedroom door. The attackers were bunched together, expecting sheer numbers to win the day. And it just might. At this rate the SPEAR team would be overwhelmed in minutes. Then the battle took a turn toward something much worse.
Kinimaka saw the albino arrive, slip like a wraith around the shattered door and square up to Smyth. To his credit he waited until Smyth threw his current assailant to the side, but then he hit like a cargo plane. Even Smyth staggered under the onslaught, barely able to defend himself; each defensive deflection seeming to cause him pain. When he found a second to attack, his strikes were blocked, turned aside, then punished.
Kinimaka emptied his clip and rammed home another. Hayden was trying to sit up in bed.
“Mano?”
“No. Lie down. You’ll die if you move, Hayden.”
“I’ll die if I don’t. It’s the Agents’ Grid, Mano. And no way… no way to shut it down unless… unless Karin can—”
“Got it. I know.” Kinimaka saw Yorgi shoot a man and Smyth’s huge bulk lifted into the air as if he were a rag doll.
“Shit,” he said. “We’re in trouble. That fuckin’ albino could take us all out.”
Smyth crashed down, crying out loud. Komodo scrambled toward the door. Bullets laced the air. Rounds struck the sofa, the floor, the walls, and the windows. The safe house was a crazy melee, swarming with hired madmen and their bloodlust; heavy with death.