Drake hung back as the Swedish soldiers ran hard at the museum steps. Once there, they started to un-sling their weapons. Dahl stopped them in the shadow of the high entrance, the team flanked by circular pillars.
“Tweeters on.”
A dozen ‘Checks!’ sounded out. “We go first,” he looked hard at Drake. “You follow. Grab these.”
He handed Drake two cylindrical objects the size of lighters, and two ear-pieces. Drake twisted the cylindrical barrels to 68 and waited until both started emitting a green light from their bases. He handed one to Kennedy and kept the other for himself.
“Tweeters,” he said to the blank looks. “It’s the new ‘friendly fire’ aid. Friendlies are all tuned to the same frequency. Look at a colleague and you get an annoying chirp in your ear, clock a bad guy and you hear nothing….” He fitted his ear-piece. “Not foolproof, I know, but it helps in situations where you’ve got a lot going on. Like this.”
Ben said: “What if the frequency clashes with another?”
“It won’t. It’s the newest Bluetooth technology — adaptive spread-spectrum frequency hopping. The devices ‘hop’ through seventy-nine randomly chosen frequencies within pre-assigned ranges — together. Has a range of around two hundred feet.”
“Cool,” Ben said. “Where’s mine?”
“You and the Prof get to spend some time in Central Park,” Drake told him. “Tourist stuff. Chill, mate, this is gonna get hairy.”
Without another word, Drake spun to follow the last of the Swedish soldiers through a high archway into the museum’s murky innards. Kennedy followed closely.
“Could do with a gun,” she mumbled.
“Americans,” Drake intoned, but then smiled quickly. “Relax. The Swedes should mop up the Canadians, double-quick.”
They reached an immense Y-shaped staircase overseen by arched windows and a vaulted ceiling, and hurried up without pause. Normally this staircase would be crammed with wide-eyed tourists, but today the whole place was eerily silent.
Drake paced himself, and stayed vigilant. Scores of dangerous men were racing through this vast old space right now. It was only a matter of time until they converged.
Up they ran, their boots echoing loudly off the high walls, squeaks of static from their throat-mics resonating with the building’s natural acoustics. Drake was concentrating hard, recalling his training, but trying to keep a close eye on Kennedy without appearing to. The civilian and the soldier continued to conflict inside him.
Approaching the third floor, Dahl motioned an ‘ahead-slow’. Kennedy moved close to Drake. “Where’s your SAS buddies?”
“Hanging back,” Drake said. “After all, we don’t wanna commit overkill now, do we?”
Kennedy stifled a laugh. “You’re a comedian, Drake. A real funny guy.”
“You should see me on a date.”
Kennedy missed a beat then said: “Don’t presume I’d accept.” Her right hand went habitually to smooth out the front of her blouse.
“Don’t assume I was asking.”
They started up the final staircase. As the lead soldier approached the last curve a shot rang out, and a chunk of plaster exploded an inch away from his head.
“Down!”
A fusillade of shots peppered the walls. Dahl crawled forward on his stomach, making a series of motion with his hands.
Drake said: “The scarecrow method.”
One soldier fired off a quick volley to keep their enemy busy. Another took off his helmet, hooked his rifle into the strap, and inched it forward, into the line of fire. They heard a faint rustle of movement. A third soldier popped up from cover below the staircase and nailed the sentry between the eyes. The man fell dead without getting a shot off.
“Nice,” Drake liked the well-planned movements.
They ploughed on up the stairs, weapons ready, as they fanned out around the arched entrance to the fourth floor, then peered cautiously into the chamber beyond.
Drake read the signs. This was the hall of Saurischian Dinosaurs. Christ, he thought. Wasn’t the bloody T-Rex kept in here?
He sneaked a glance inside the room. Several professional-looking dudes in civvies were looking busy, all equipped with some kind of heavy machine-pistol, most likely a ‘spray and pray’ Mac-10. The T-Rex stood before him though, rearing in nightmarish majesty, the enduring epitome of nightmare even millions of years after its extinction.
And walking right past it — clipping smartly past its jaws — was Alicia Myles, that other deadly predator. She was shouting in her signature fashion: “Keep it on the clock, boys! One fuck-up here and I’ll personally de-ball every last one of you fag-hags! Hurry it up!”
“Now there’s a lady,” Kennedy whispered mockingly from a millimetre away. Drake became aware of her understated perfume and slight breathing. “Old friend, Drake?”
“Taught her everything she knows,” he said. “Literally, at first. Then she went way past me. Weird Ninja-Shaolin shit. And she’s never been a lady, that’s for sure.”
“Four on the left,” a solider reported. “Five on the right. Plus the woman. The Odin exhibit must be near the back of the room, maybe in its own alcove, I don’t know.”
Dahl took a breath. “Time to move.”
EIGHTEEN
The Swedes burst out of hiding, firing with precision. Four Canadians dropped, and then another, three of them flying back into a glass exhibit which, in turn, toppled and crashed to the floor with a noise like an explosion.
The remaining Canadians spun and fired in place. Two Swedes screamed. One fell, leaking blood from a head wound. The other collapsed in a writhing heap, clutching his thigh.
Drake slithered into the room across the polished floor, and crawled behind a massive glass display of giant Armadillos. After checking Kennedy was safe, he raised his head to peer through the glass.
Saw Alicia kill two running Swedes with two perfect shots.
From beyond the T-Rex now appeared another four Canadians. They must have been in the alcove where the Wolves were on display. They had odd leather-harnesses strapped to their bodies and heavy-duty rucksacks on their backs.
And more Mac-10’s. They sprayed the room with bullets.
The Swedes dived for cover. Drake hit the floor, making sure he snaked an arm around Kennedy’s head to keep her as low as possible. The glass above him shattered, fragments spraying the area and pattering down on them. Armadillo fossils and replicas burst and disintegrated around them.
“Mop up quick, huh?” Kennedy muttered. “Yeah, right.”
Drake shook himself, scattering glass shards everywhere, and checked the outer side-wall of the museum. A Canadian had fallen there, and Drake had marked him immediately.
“Already on it.”
Using the shattered display unit as cover he shuffled over to the prone guy. He pulled at the Machine Pistol, but the man’s eyes suddenly snapped wide open!
“Jesus!” Drake’s heart hammered faster than the hands of Noah when he built the Ark.
The man grunted, eyes wide in pain. Drake recovered quickly, wrestled the weapon away, and clubbed him into oblivion. “Bloody zombie.”
He spun on one knee, ready to spray, but the Canadians had retreated beyond the ribbed belly of the T-Rex. Damn! If only they hadn’t altered its stance recently, making it walk less erect than previously. All he could see were a few disembodied legs.
Kennedy scooted next to him, sliding to a stop by his side.
“Nice slide,” he said, bobbing left and right, trying to see what the Canadians were up to.