CHAPTER TWELVE
Drake led the way back down the steep hill. With no clear way forward, the team had decided to scope out the town’s highpoints, reasoning that such intimate knowledge would come in handy later. The big church and its surrounding graveyard offered many places of concealment, but flushed out no assassins. Now, they were on their way to the train station and after that the castle. As a team, they weren’t afraid of being ambushed; they were confident in each other’s abilities to predict and react.
“Hey,” Alicia breathed down the line. “Wouldn’t it be easier to just go to the pub? You know, wait until all these assholes kill each other and then just take out the final man.”
“Possibly,” Dahl said with a big grin. “But where’s the fun in that?”
“My guess is, Coyote’s got something planned,” Drake said uneasily. “They’ve mined the damn town, for God’s sake. She has men guarding its outskirts. I’m betting her exit strategy will not be people-friendly.”
“We need to avoid that,” Dahl agreed.
“So we take Coyote out of the running as quickly as possible. Her plans will die with her.”
They passed the flapping huddle that constituted the town’s market. At the bottom of the street a road intersected, running both ways. The train station lay around the gently curving corner and across the road, swathed in darkness. A high dirty brick wall enclosed it, protected at its apex by barbed-wire mesh. The only way inside that Drake could see was a wrought-iron gate topped by spikes and chained with a padlock.
“Station’s closed,” he said.
Dahl waved the tracking device. “One blip has been stationed inside there for the past half hour. We don’t know if that means they’re dead, in hiding or something else.”
“What about the three blips up at the castle?” Alicia said. “Another group?”
Drake shrugged. “We’re here now. As much as I hate the idea of a tracking device that refreshes every twelve minutes, the question has to be asked — how else are we going to find them?”
The group kept to the shadows as much as they could, crossing the road and reaching the high wall that enclosed the station. Drake tested the padlock that secured the gate. “Locked,” he breathed.
Dahl pointed up. “Over we go.”
With a leg up the Swede was soon poised with his arms over the top of the wall, his eyes scanning the inside of the station. The top of the wall was just a little higher than anyone could boost him, so he had to remain still using only his arm muscles. After a few minutes he called down.
“It’s quiet. I don’t like it, but there’s some cover right inside.” He lifted himself over the wall. Drake gave Mai a leg up then waited until her arms reached back down toward him. Within seconds they’d crossed over the wall and were crouched in the shadow of a shed on the other side.
“We have to assume the assassin knows where we are,” Drake whispered. “It’s not exactly Swedish Special Forces we’re dealing with here.”
Dahl shook his head. “No. They’d have snapped your scrawny neck by now.”
“Shh,” Mai hissed. “Please. We have to take this seriously. Gozu is one of the assassins and even with Coyote and Beauregard involved I find it hard to believe there is anyone better.”
Drake nodded in silence, accepting the rebuke. Carefully, he raised his head, scanning ahead. Their shelter lay at one end of the station, the actual terminus of the track. The platform led away on both sides of the rusty tracks, sloping upward. A ticket booth and store stood to the right-hand side and a low bridge toward the end of the platform. So many dark places filled his vision that he could barely tell them apart.
Between the shed and the next place of shelter, the store, lay about twenty feet of exposed ground.
“Hope Alicia’s found a way in,” he muttered. “This way couldn’t be more dangerous.”
As if in answer, a shout rose up from the darkness. Drake saw two quick things — a shadow approach fast from the far end of the platform and then another chunk of darkness shift amidst the deep shadows that clung to the roof of the store.
Alicia had caught someone’s attention, and that person had moved, betraying themselves.
“Down!” Drake yelled, breaking cover. Instantly, the shadow above the store rolled again and a flash of light erupted. Drake dived for cover. A blast rocketed overhead.
“Was that a shotgun?” Mai gasped. She yanked on Drake’s legs, pulling him back as a second explosion occurred about the same time a rocket of flame erupted from the path where his head had been.
“Almost blew my bloody brains out!” Drake twisted back into the shelter.
Dahl chuckled. “Not even an assassin’s that good a shot.”
Mai rose and fired one of the handguns, giving the assassin reason to doubt. Sure enough, knowing they’d been spotted, Drake saw the shadow flit off the edge of the roof and land, catlike, on two feet, poised on the platform.
“Again,” he said.
Mai rose and fired. The shotgun spat flame. A throaty chuckle drifted through the air.
“It is Drake and his comrades, dah? Lucky for me. I fuck you up early and take prize.” More laughter and an increase in gunshots as the assassin closed the gap.
Drake’s mouth was a thin line. “Another fucking Russian. I’ve had my fill of fucking Russians lately.”
“Must be Gretchen,” Dahl said.
Mai peered out at a low angle. “Wait. Just wait,” she said. “You know my thoughts on Russian-made items. Well, that’s a Russian Saiga boomstick if I’m not mistaken.” She held up five fingers and then counted down.
“Four… fi—”
There came the unmistakable sound of a gun jamming. Mai rolled instantly, firing hard. Drake and Dahl both broke cover, running up the side of the platform. As they sighted the Russian they noted Alicia advancing from behind.
Gretchen dropped the shotgun and whipped out a compact Uzi. Drake had expected all kinds of weapons present tonight — assassins knew how to smuggle their weapon of choice into any country — and so far he was not disappointed. Gretchen herself was on the large side, a slab of pure nondescript muscle from the Soviet era that could have belonged to either gender. No expression crossed her bland features. Her arms and legs were trunks of pure muscle.
When Alicia hit her from behind, the Englishwoman appeared to bounce off, her face twisted into an almost comical expression of shock. Gretchen merely blinked and brought the Uzi to bear, but then hesitated, as if unsure which direction to attend to first.
Alicia shook her head and rose. Drake and Dahl closed the gap rapidly. Mai’s rolling gunshots passed close to the Russian but were too random to be accurate, especially as Mai had the added problem of also avoiding Alicia. But by now most of the team were converging on the Russian and the time for gunplay was over.
Gretchen saw it, drawing a wicked blade over twelve inches long. It was the first time any emotion touched her eyes — wicked and excited expectation. A pale tongue flicked across her lips.
“I gut swine like you for my breakfast.”
Drake didn’t doubt it. He paced warily outside the woman’s swing. She may be big, muscle-bound and clumsy looking, but she certainly wasn’t slow, this Russian travesty of times past. He studied as she adjusted to Dahl’s movements and his own, and then to Alicia’s padding up behind.
The problem wasn’t taking her down. It was taking her down and remaining fully intact. The night was yet young and full of terrors. Even the slightest mistake could cost them the tournament and their lives.
With every sense and nerve on edge, Drake feinted. Gretchen ignored him, sensing it was a ruse. Instead she turned to Dahl.
“You are fine Englishman, dah? Big. Solid. We could make strong Russian babies, you and I.”