Marrs swallowed and fell back in his seat.
She looked away from him and tried to recapture some of the emotional high she had felt earlier, but it was gone, replaced instead by the depressing realization that Marrs was right. She had been outplayed, and now everything was in ruins. Somehow, the American had discovered the connection to Consolidated Energy, a fact that threatened everything and connected her to Mulamba’s abduction. Consolidated Energy and Executive Solutions would survive this by finding a way to disavow everything that she had done, labeling her a rogue agent and making themselves out to be as much the victims as the Congolese. They would cut her loose, maybe even put a price on her head.
Strangely, the idea excited her. She might be on her own now, but she wasn’t alone. She had General Velle and his army, and she had the bomb.
This was, she realized, not a defeat at all. It was a perfect opportunity.
32
King set Asya down in a shadowy recess near the west exit from the Palais and scanned the perimeter. The army forces holding the seat of the Congolese government were mostly clustered near the front entrance, but there were still a lot of troops spread out around the grounds. About fifty yards from where King hid, there was a GAZ Tigr armored vehicle, similar in design to a Humvee, with a gunner manning a DShK heavy machine gun in the top turret and four more soldiers milling about nearby. More vehicles and soldiers were dispersed along the fence line, close enough that slipping between them unnoticed would be impossible. Not that walking out was really an option. Asya needed immediate medical attention.
He checked her wound. The field dressing was soaked through, but Asya continued pressing it against the injury. He took out a fresh dressing and laid it over the top of the first, tying both around her waist to hold them in place. Only then did he look her in the eye. “How are you doing, kiddo?”
“Kiddo? I may be kid sister, but don’t treat me like child.” Her attempt at playful mock-outrage was confounded by a tremor of pain that turned her smile into a grimace.
“I’m going to get you out of here. Stay put.”
“I can walk,” she protested.
“Don’t,” he said, with all the forcefulness his whisper would allow. He turned away before she could argue, and scanned the area once more, tagging targets in the virtual environment.
With grim determination, he settled the cross-hairs on the gunner in the Tigr’s turret and fired a single silenced round. The weapon made a soft huffing noise that went unnoticed by the soldiers at the perimeter. The man behind the machine gun slumped away without making a sound. King moved the Uzi to another target, one of two men on the right side of the vehicle, and took another shot. The soldier went down, and as the other man looked on in surprise, King shifted the muzzle of his weapon and fired again.
As he switched his aim to the pair on the left side, he heard a cry of alarm and saw both men abruptly take a defensive stance. Another target suddenly popped up in King’s display. A previously unnoticed sixth man was climbing out of the Tigr, warning the others of the silent attack.
King took out one of the soldiers, but the other two raised their Kalashnikov rifles and started firing. They clearly didn’t know where he was. They were shooting into the shadows and none of their rounds came anywhere close to him, but the damage was done. Now, everyone was alerted to his presence. The mechanical coughing sound of a suppressed burst startled King, and both of the soldiers he was trying to target went down.
“Got them,” Asya announced through gritted teeth. She struggled to her feet. “Let’s go!”
“Damn it, Asya. Stay down.” He knew she was not going to heed him, and also recognized that he wasn’t going to be able to carry her to the Tigr, especially not with the rest of the Congolese army now looking their way. “Just stay here. Cover me.”
He bolted out into the open, making a bee-line for the vehicle. The movement caught the attention of soldiers on either side, and before he had crossed half the distance, bullets started sizzling though the air all around him. He kept going, and when he got within a few paces of the vehicle, he dove forward onto his belly as if sliding into home plate. Above him, rounds began pelting the armored exterior of the Tigr, but a hasty high crawl got him the rest of the way, affording some cover from the incoming fire on his right. He let loose a burst from the Uzi, pointing in the general direction of the troops to his left, then scrambled through the open door of the Tigr and pulled it shut.
A bullet cracked loudly against the side window, the impact hard enough to gouge out a divot and start a spider web fracture pattern. The armor would stop all small arms fire, but unlike the composite plates that protected the Tigr’s flanks, the bullet resistant coating on the glass was a perishable product. It would lose its effectiveness after prolonged exposure to adverse weather conditions — or a crap ton of bullets. It might slow down a few more rounds, but King wasn’t going to trust it with his life. Keeping his head down, he located the starter switch — like most military vehicles, there was no keyed ignition — and brought the 205 horsepower diesel engine roaring to life.
Without raising his head, King shifted the transmission into reverse. The Tigr started rolling backward. He goosed the throttle a little, holding the wheel steady until the vehicle jolted to a stop with a loud crash that reverberated through the metal frame and nearly shook him out of his seat. Head still down, he moved his foot onto the brake pedal and shifted into forward drive.
The door behind him opened and Asya tumbled inside. “Why don’t you watch where you’re going?” she said, the pain once more robbing her voice of the intended humor. “You just hit national palace. That’s going to cause an international incident.”
“Why don’t you stop being such a backseat driver?” King punched the accelerator, and the Tigr rocketed forward.
There was another shuddering impact as they crashed through the fence, but the Tigr was made of tougher stuff than the barrier, and its momentum carried it through without slowing. As the hailstorm of bullets started to slacken, King finally risked sitting up.
A stand of trees loomed into view. He cranked the steering wheel hard to the right and felt the heavy military vehicle skid closer to the wood line. Resisting the urge to brake, he instead pushed the accelerator harder. The tires threw up a shower of turf but the Tigr responded and veered onto a new course. He could see a paved road ahead, but between them and it was a gauntlet of troops and trucks, all of whom were now targeting the renegade Tigr.
The interior of the vehicle was suddenly filled with the roar of a heavy machine gun. King glanced back and saw Asya, standing upright in the turret, firing the DShK into the mass of troops.
He bit back a curse and focused on the near objective. “Blue, how’s that escape route coming?”
“Sending it to you now.” There was palpable helplessness in the disembodied voice. Deep Blue sounded as frustrated and haggard as King felt. “My satellite imagery for Kinshasa is two hours old, but assuming that the army is redeploying to repel General Mabuki’s attack, the weakest place in their lines will be to the southwest—”
Asya let loose another burst. The thunderous report drowned out the rest. King felt the tires grip pavement and the Tigr picked up speed. He risked a quick glance back and saw his sister’s feet moving back and forth as she swiveled the gun. A haphazard pattern of bloody footprints surrounded her.
“Negative,” King said, turned his eyes back to the road. “I need to get to Mabuki by the most direct route possible.”