His hands were slippery with sweat. Dillon paused. His senses on high-alert, his sub-consciousness screamed at him, that there was imminent danger.
Two Assassins appeared from one of the smaller side servicetunnels in a flurry of movement that shattered the otherwise stillness. Their hooded heads lowered, as they saw Dillon and Tatiana standing in front of the access door. Dillon turned, to see them both lift their Uzi’s, Dillon’s Glock snapped up and he squeezed the trigger — bullets ripped across the short space.
Dillon sprang forward as the figures came at them. One was knocked off it’s feet, as the hollow-point bullets, that Dillon favoured, smashed into its head. The other Assassin leaped at him as…
…the Glock clicked on empty.
The dead man’s click — usually meant the kiss of death…
A fist was thrown forward, only just missing Dillon’s nose as he swayed backwards, and then spun; his left elbow coming around with incredible speed against the back of the Assassin’s head, which was hammered forward and down by the blow. Down onto Dillon’s knee that was already travelling up, and which connected with boneshattering force.
But the figure still managed to slam a fist into Dillon’s kidneys.
He was knocked sideways, searing pain, through his torso, spittle spraying from his lips. He seemed to momentarily halt in mid air, then fell suddenly and hit the ground hard with a dull thud, groaning with the incredible pain. The Assassin stepped over him, moving towards Tatiana.
Dillon rolled over, temporarily unable to move.
Tatiana cowered in front of the masked figure, which was poised, ready to strike. The Assassin stopped, effortlessly bent down to retrieve its Uzi and then pointed the black emotionless muzzle at Tatiana’s face.
Dillon, in his state of immobility, fumbled a fresh mag into his gun; then he brought the Glock up and rolling over fired the pistol one round at a time; all time had slowed and Tatiana was about to be executed in front of him. It would be his fault, and he had promised to keep her safe. Promised to protect her. Promised to keep her alive!
The first three hollow-point bullets hissed past the Assassin’s head.
The black-clad figure spun round — but Dillon wasn’t fazed, he kept on firing and bullet number seven found its mark. The figure was suddenly jerked and kicked back, holed and smashed and bleeding profusely, to twist and land in a heap in the dirt next to Tatiana. She recoiled away from the body, her face contorted with the absolute horror of the scene, and then she started to weep with the trauma of what had just taken place. And just how close she had come to being executed. Dillon felt the Glock click — the magazine empty, and he reloaded with a fresh mag and pushed himself up onto his knees.
“Behind…” came a voice from deep within his sub-conscious.
Dillon rolled, faster than any middle-aged man had a right to move. A line of bullets peppered the rough-hewn walls to his side in a shower of rocks and thick dust. Dillon’s eyes fixed on the swaying figure of the Assassin, the side of its head partially torn open, a sticky thick trail of blood and gore covering the hood and soaking the black outfit. The Assassin’s cheek hung as a loose flap of skin.
Dillon sprang to his feet on a surge of adrenalin, and leapt.
The Uzi spat once — and was silenced.
Dillon took the bullet; a lucky shot, that had sliced across his side just below his ribs and the body-armour he was wearing. Searing heat erupted as the bullet carved a neat line of fresh blood to soak into Dillon’s clothing. The force of the blow spun him around and sent him crashing to the ground.
There was no pain.
That’s really bad, he thought.
No pain is really bad.
He rolled over, his blood covered hand in front of his face, and the sticky red liquid looked dangerous. It looked bad, the colour of something that shouldn’t see the light of day.
Fuck, mused his subconscious, suddenly calm.
The Assassin should have been dead, but Dillon had seen this drug induced trance once before and, to his mind, this was the only explanation for the Assassin to still be standing. Dillon watched as it swayed around, in slow motion, in its own pain, as it fitted a fresh magazine to the Uzi. Dillon could do nothing. The Assassin stepped lightly forward, intense stare boring down into him and he recognised that gaze, those insanely blue eyes, from back in Scotland, from back at his home when it had been violated.
“Nice to see you again,” he croaked.
“Mr Dillon. It has been a pleasure.”
The soft female voice held no pain, no emotion? Thought Dillon. And there was that voice again, were these Assassins all female, or was his mind playing tricks on him?
Dillon could see the finger start to gently squeeze the Uzi’s trigger. And the Assassin’s hooded face exploded.
Dillon watched, dumbstruck, as a rain of blood, brains and fragments of skull showered him. The black-clad figure crumpled slowly to the ground and was then completely still.
Dillon’s focus switched: from the corpse in the foreground to behindthe corpse where Tatiana stood, Uzi in her hands, a faint almost hysterical smile on her lips.
“You owe me a big one, Dillon,” she whispered weakly.
Dillon coughed, and said. “I need something to cover this wound,” his voice was soft, he pushed himself into a sitting position. Warmth had spread across his torso and down to his crotch.
Tatiana knelt by his side, inspecting the long bullet wound running down Dillon’s side. Her gaze met his. She swiftly tore the arms off of her shirt and made a thick pad, which she applied, and Dillon’s world of pain exploded to a new height of searing heat, that made him gasp and expel a string of expletives…
And the headache inside his head started to burn.
Returned to burn deep inside his brain.
“Tats, this is turning out to be a shit day,” he croaked.
Dillon struggled to his feet, the pad of cloth pressed firmly to his side by his trouser belt. Tatiana bent, retrieved his Glock and helped him reload the blood spattered weapon with a fresh mag. They both took the Uzi’s off of the dead Assassins’ bodies, slinging the weapons over their shoulders and then they took a deep breath.
“What now?” Tatiana’s voice was barely a whisper.
“We get the hell out of here, that’s what.” Dillon patted his jacket pocket, the small digital device wasn’t there, panic immediately gripped him and a bitter bile rose up into his throat. It must have fallen out during the fight. He started frantically looking around the tunnel for the device, and moments later, Tatiana picked it up from out of the dirt; covered in congealing blood and grime.
“What do I do with this, Dillon?” Asked Tatiana softly, her shaking hands holding the device up for Dillon to see.
“It’s a digital lock reader. Hold it over the DigiPad on the door and push the button in the left-hand corner. The numbers will all change from red to blue when it has the combination sequence.” Dillon said, holding a hand to his head that felt like it was going to split open at any second.
Tatiana followed Dillon’s instructions, one by one, each of the red lights turned to blue, and a moment later the access door to the control chamber slid silently open.
“Come on,” she said, finding a new level of strength, feeling the adrenalin surge through her battered body once more. She entered the chamber with the Uzi held tightly, her finger on the trigger. Looking around the empty room, everything was as she had seen it earlier, but now it was only the monitor screens that emitted any form of life. “Dillon, you’d better take a look at this.”