Pagano had only taken a few steps when a familiar rat-tat-tat erupted from behind. The weapon carved out a swath of chips in the cement floor and cinder blocks around them. The burst appeared to have been squeezed off as a reaction rather than a concerted action. Pagano slid into the recess of a doorway, and Sanders turned to loose off some defensive rounds as he dove behind a cement column.
The New Yorker was pinned down, and things weren’t looking good, his only consolation being the fact that they should already be dead. He had an angle to see Sanders’s position. They shared a look that acknowledged their dire straits. He watched as Sanders crouched down to sneak a quick look at the gunmen. His glance was immediately returned with a burst of automatic gunfire.
Pagano motioned for him to keep going, but the stubborn ex-soldier fired a fuck-you glance as he wiped the sweat and debris from his eyes. Then Sanders’s eyes told him something different, something much more sobering. Nothing short of divine intervention could get him out of his current situation alive.
Chapter 132
He was looking at a dead man. He had to check himself to make sure he was awake, to make sure this wasn’t some crazy dream. America had been duly informed that Lieutenant Brendan Manion, US Navy SEAL, had been killed in action in Afghanistan. The fact that he was on the other side of the window was impossible, but Turner couldn’t be happier knowing that they had all been wrong. He unlatched the deadbolt and opened the door.
“Holy shit,” Turner said. The two men clasped hands and exchanged a shoulder-check hug.
He stepped aside as Manion passed him a pack loaded with gear.
“Tell me about it,” Manion replied. He motioned toward the hallway with his thumb. “Twenty-five, maybe thirty Tangos. I just took a couple out down the other hallway, so let’s move fast before they get bold and come for us. They’re slinging lead like they’re taking a Scantron test.”
There was a groan as the Russian began to regain consciousness. Turner ejected the magazine from the Sig Sauer pistol Manion had handed him, racked the slide and familiarized himself with the weapon.
He then motioned to the groaning Kozlov and said, “I think he can help us with our exit strategy.”
Manion nodded his recognition of the Bratva leader. “Nice catch,” he said, and he noticed Turner’s smile spread to his eyes.
“No doubt.” He pointed out Victoria Eden, who had hidden off to the side behind the door and said, “She took care of him for us. Victoria meet Brendan.”
“Impressive,” he said. “Pleasure to meet you.”
The stunning beauty forced a nervous smile and shook his hand stiffly.
Turner addressed Manion. “Apparently you’re a tough man to kill,” he said, still shocked. “Good thing. It’s hard to find good help these days.”
Turner was still smiling. “Who did you bring with you?” he asked.
“It’s me, Heckler, and Throaty,” Manion confirmed.
Throaty’s real name was Chris Livingstone, a former British soldier in the Special Air Service, better known as the SAS. His mother had been a diplomat who worked at the United States embassy in London when she met his father. The highly decorated soldier had been brought into Island Industries by Addy Simpson after he retired from the service.
The SAS sergeant had worked closely with the American military on sensitive joint operations in the Middle East. His gruff voice lent itself to his nickname, Throaty, and Turner knew from experience that he was the kind of man you wanted on your team.
“There are three of you?” Eden said nervously. “That’s it?”
Turner gave her a sideways glance with his piercing blue eyes and then moved his thumb and pinky back and forth between the two of them. “Five,” he said confidently. “And we’ve also got a Poor Man watching over us.”
She returned a quizzical look mixed with annoyance.
Turner smiled. “Let’s roll.”
Chapter 133
Nervous eyes darted around the dimly lit room as the sound of gunfire erupted outside. The captive team of Bratva hackers flinched with the deadly chorus as it grew louder.
Dimitri Sokov had locked himself in the server room. For the past several minutes, he had been working frantically to encrypt the remaining files for transit to Northern Virginia. He encountered a program error each time he had tried to run the process to secure the files, and had been unable to figure out and correct the problem.
He was used to working under pressure, but not this sort of pressure. The muted staccato of violence rose over the sound of computer fans and air-conditioning units. Something had gone horribly wrong. From the soundtrack outside, he knew he’d be lucky if he made it out of the server room, so he no longer considered giving the files to the courier for transport. He decided to change his tactic to the option of last resort when the sound of pressurized air interrupted his thoughts.
“Dimitri, we are being attacked,” a soldier barked in Russian. “Kozlov said to make sure you have everything ready.”
Sokov nodded, his eyes still glued to the computer screen. “Da,” he responded. It was a single word, but the panic was evident in his voice. “I am very close. Do not let anyone come through that door!”
His command was followed by the sucking sound of air as the soldier sealed the door shut behind him.
Sokov had to improvise. He connected to a server he had hacked into and created a user account for his counterpart in Virginia to use. He created a directory where he could copy the files necessary to carry out the US-based operation. He had contacted the men in Virginia, and they were on standby, waiting to hear from him.
The gunfire was getting louder as he typed in the command to securely copy the files over the Internet. He hadn’t had the time to encrypt all of them, but at least the transmission itself would be secure. As soon as the transfer finished, he pulled out his phone and made the call.
“They’re waiting for you. Get them fast, and have him delete them from the server immediately. Let me know when he’s finished.”
He rattled off the user name, password, and location of the files before ending the call. Sokov turned to a metal box that was bolted to the server-room wall. He pulled open the small metal door and flipped on the power switch inside. It was one of several like it that had been affixed to the walls. Within a minute the hacker had activated all of the triggers to blow the Semtex that was housed inside.
Sokov and Pavel Kozlov were the only two people who knew the phone number that could be called to detonate the explosives. He rushed to the door. They needed to get out fast so the deed could be done.
Chapter 134
It happened in an instant. It was a potent mix of speed and aggression. The Bratva men who had them pinned down were so fixated on their positions that they didn’t even see the deadly blast of fire that spat out from behind them.
Rudy Pagano made a quick check amidst the moans of their attackers.
“Cover,” he yelled, and followed up with a dash to reach the relative safety of Jake Sanders’s location.
Sanders did a good job with peppering the already-crippled men with rounds.
“Holy shit, that was close,” Pagano said, sounding somewhat relieved, somewhat annoyed.
The two men pounded fists, and Sanders shook his head.
“Lucky bastard,” he said. It wasn’t the first time he’d seen the New Yorker walk away from what seemed to be certain death. “Just how many lives do you have?”