Still howling with pain and fury, Skull-man hobbled to standing and kicked Connor in the thigh. ‘On your knees!’ he ordered.
His head ringing and his jaw aching, Connor struggled into a kneeling position as he was booted again.
‘So there was a little more fight left in him.’ The cage-fighter laughed. ‘He broke your finger!’
Skull-man didn’t laugh. Scowling at his partner, he picked up the gun in his left hand and planted the cold metal of its muzzle against Connor’s forehead.
‘This is an SPS handgun,’ he told Connor with vindictive glee. ‘My personal favourite when executing scum like you. When loaded with armour-piercing SP10 bullets, like it is, this weapon is able to penetrate thirty layers of Kevlar body armour backed by a titanium plate. Why am I telling you this?’
He paused for effect, a grin revealing uneven coffee-stained teeth.
‘So you know what’s going to happen to you when I pull the trigger,’ he said, answering his own question. ‘The bullet will literally blow your brains out and leave a hole so large in the back of your head, I’ll be able to reach inside your skull and scoop out what little’s left.’
‘You might have trouble with your broken finger!’ Connor spat, his joke a last stab at his attacker. By the murderous look in the man’s eyes, Connor knew it was over. He’d had his chance to disarm him … and failed.
In the brief few seconds he had left to live, his thoughts turned to his mum and gran. You shouldn’t have to risk your life for ours, his gran had pleaded. You’re in the line of fire. Risking everything. And for what?
For you and Mum had been his answer. And it remained so. But how he wished he could be safe with his mum and gran at that very moment.
His final thoughts were of Charley. He would never again hear her voice, hold her hand or kiss her soft lips. She’d warned him not to take this mission. Why hadn’t he listened to her? Now he would die in this frozen wasteland.
Skull-man put his finger to the trigger. ‘Say your prayers, little bodyguard!’
When the shot came, Connor didn’t expect it. Nor did Skull-man.
The bullet went straight through the man’s upper chest. A second bullet drilled a hole three inches to the left of the first. As he staggered backwards, a third clipped him in the head.
Mozambique drill, Connor thought, as Skull-man keeled over in the snow.
His partner made a dash for the snowmobile, where his assault rifle hung from the handlebars. But two well-aimed shots downed him before he could reach his gun.
Connor blinked in shock. Barely a few seconds ago he’d been facing certain death. Now both his attackers lay dead. Connor glanced over his shoulder, half-expecting to see Mr Grey. But it was Jason and Anastasia who emerged from the forest, Jason with the hunting rifle still pressed to his shoulder, its muzzle targeted on the prone body of Skull-man.
Anastasia hurried over to help Feliks while Jason continued to head his way. As he passed the fallen gunman, now lying in a slush of red snow, Jason tapped him with his foot. There was no response.
‘He’s … dead,’ said Jason, sounding as if he didn’t quite believe it. He lowered his gun and helped Connor to his feet.
‘You had no choice,’ said Connor, noticing the tremble in Jason’s hands. ‘It was either them or me.’
‘I know, a tricky decision!’ said Jason with a forced laugh, its hollowness betraying his deep shock. ‘Bet you’re glad now I’m a better shot than you.’
‘Too right. If it had been the other way round, I might have hit you!’
Jason suddenly embraced him. ‘I’m just glad you’re OK, bro.’
‘Likewise,’ said Connor, taken aback by this unexpected show of friendship.
Jason released him and for a moment an awkward silence hung between them, neither knowing what to say next.
‘So … what happened to you?’ Connor eventually asked. ‘And where’s your snowmobile?’
A distant report of gunfire caused Jason to glance anxiously in the direction of the forest, then he turned back to Connor. ‘We lost you during that second ambush. It was chaos, but we managed to ride through. Two of the gunmen chased us on foot, then gave up. Just as we got clear, we ran into another unit. There must be a small army in there! We barely escaped with our lives. Then we hit a ditch a little way back and broke one of the snowmobile’s skis. Had to go on foot after that.’
‘Did you see if Viktor or Mr Grey made it?’
Jason shook his head. ‘No, but I heard a couple of snowmobiles in the distance.’
‘Could have been these two,’ said Connor, nodding at the dead gunmen.
‘We need to go!’ Anastasia urged, as she half-carried a limping Feliks to one of the snowmobiles.
‘She’s right,’ said Jason. ‘The other gunmen aren’t far behind us. You OK to walk?’
‘I’ll run if I have to,’ Connor replied, not admitting that every bone in his body felt like it had been beaten with a hammer.
As they headed to the snowmobiles, Anastasia’s eyes opened wide and she yelled, ‘Watch out! Behind you!’
Connor and Jason spun to see Skull-man sitting up in a pool of blood-red snow, his scarred face a pale death mask. Although the first two bullets had hit home, the third had glanced off Skull-man’s forehead, temporarily stunning him rather than finishing him off. His outstretched arm shook as he tried to steady his aim with the gun.
‘Too late for prayers now!’ spluttered Skull-man, blood spilling from his lips as he pulled the trigger.
Connor never felt the bullet’s impact … because Jason took it for him.
In the second prior to Skull-man firing, Jason had wrapped his body round Connor’s and shielded him. As the round struck him in the back, Jason stiffened and grunted with pain. Behind them, Skull-man collapsed, his final act of violence done.
‘Jason!’ cried Connor, holding his friend in his arms as they both sank to the ground.
‘Man, that hurts!’ he groaned, his face screwed up in agony. ‘Real bad.’
‘Don’t worry, you’re wearing your bulletproof jacket. You’ll be fine. It’s just the impact that kicks like a mule,’ Connor explained, his own back still throbbing from where he’d been hit during the first ambush. Still, concerned about the risk of blunt trauma, he unzipped Jason’s jacket to check for any unusual bruising … and discovered blood soaking through Jason’s sweater.
That wasn’t right.
Then Connor remembered … SP10 armour-piercing bullets! This weapon is able to penetrate thirty layers of Kevlar body armour backed by a titanium plate.
As Anastasia rushed over and snatched the gun from the dying Skull-man, Connor peeled away the bloodsoaked layers of clothing to expose an alarmingly large hole in Jason’s stomach. The armour-piercing round had gone straight through him, finally being stopped by the bulletproof panel at the front of his jacket.
‘Tell me the worst, doc!’ Jason gasped, a sweat breaking out on his brow.
‘You’ll be OK,’ Connor replied, applying pressure to the wound and causing Jason to cry out. But blood continued to pour through his fingers.
Connor couldn’t bear the thought of losing his friend and partner. Not after all they’d been through together on this mission. He frantically reached for his Go-bag, but it had been ripped open during the snowmobile crash and the contents had scattered across the ground. But he soon spotted what he needed.
‘Anastasia, grab that dressing and that packet of QuikClot over there,’ he ordered, pointing to the two potentially life-saving items.
She gathered them up – and anything else she could grab – and ran across to her friends. Connor tore open the packet and poured the QuikClot agent over Jason’s entry and exit wounds. The powder instantly set to work, speeding up the clotting process and arresting Jason’s blood loss.
‘You’ll be OK,’ said Connor again. But he knew this was just a temporary fix – and so did Jason. They needed to get him to the dacha fast, where there was a full tr
auma kit.
Jason smiled weakly. ‘You keep saying that. Doesn’t feel OK …’
Connor turned to Anastasia, who stood staring numbly at Jason’s wound. ‘Get one of the snowmobiles. We need to move him.’
Snapping out of her trance, she hurried off and started the engine, while Connor began to wrap the dressing around Jason’s stomach.
‘Hey, do me a favour,’ wheezed Jason. ‘Tell Ling … I’m sorry … for being such an idiot …’
‘Tell her yourself,’ replied Connor, continuing to bandage the wound.
Jason shook his head weakly. ‘I don’t feel right. I’m cold … so cold …’
‘That’s cos I’ve got your jacket open.’
‘No, it’s more than that. The cold’s inside me …’ He clasped Connor’s arm. ‘Promise … to keep Ana safe … promise?’
Connor nodded. ‘Sure, I promise, but –’
All of a sudden Jason’s body went limp and his expression slackened. ‘Hey, I don’t feel the pain any more. Perhaps I am OK …’
He gave Connor a winning smile. Then his eyes lost focus and the smile slipped from his face.
The falling snow slowly shrouded Jason in a white blanket. Connor knelt next to his dead partner, lost in a storm of grief, anger and regret.
His sorrow at the cruel death of his friend was mixed with rage at the gunman whose armour-piercing bullet had made that final killing shot. But most of all he regretted the petty squabbles with Jason, the stupid insults they’d exchanged and the trivial one-upmanship. And in all that time he hadn’t taken one opportunity to show the admiration and respect he had for his partner. Now it was too late.
Too late to make amends. Too late to say sorry. Too late to be true friends.
The two of them had been like bickering brothers. But, despite always arguing, their training and mission had united them. And Jason had clearly felt the same way. His last words kept replaying in Connor’s mind. I’m just glad you’re OK, bro.
Connor began to choke up. When the time had come, Jason hadn’t hesitated to save him. He’d leapt into the line of fire and made the ultimate sacrifice.
Anastasia rode the short distance over to Connor with the snowmobile and cut the engine. When she saw Connor’s grief and the unnatural stillness of Jason’s body, her ice-blue eyes melted with tears.
‘No …’ she said softly. ‘Not Jason …’
She slid from her seat and fell to her knees beside Jason. With a tenderness that betrayed her true feelings for him, she caressed his unruly hair and wept. Connor fought back his own tears, clenching his fists in frustrated fury, barely aware of the gunfire drawing closer.
Feliks limped over. ‘Jason’s dead. OK, it’s tragic. But you need to get me out of here. Now!’
Connor didn’t move, or even look up. He no longer cared. For himself, for Feliks, for anyone.
Anastasia reached over and squeezed his shoulder. ‘Feliks is right. There’s no point Jason sacrificing himself for you if you let yourself be killed now.’
Connor stared at her, her face appearing angelic in his blurred vision. He remembered the promise he’d made to keep Anastasia safe, and got to his feet. He hated abandoning Jason in the snow. But he vowed he’d return for his friend when this was all over.
Suddenly the forest edge erupted with gunfire. Two security guards sprinted from the treeline, only for one to be cut down a few paces later in a storm of bullets. A unit of gunmen in white ski jackets emerged and continued firing at the other guard – and at them. Connor pushed Anastasia and Feliks into the cover of the snowmobile. A percussion of bullets raked along its side, the sound like hail hitting a car roof.
‘We’re sitting ducks!’ cried Feliks, covering his head with his hands.
More steel-jacketed rounds whizzed past. But this time the harsh clack of automatic weapons came from behind. Connor glanced over his shoulder and spotted three more of Mr Grey’s security guards hunkered down inside the boathouse on the other side of the lake. They were laying down a wave of suppressing fire to help their comrade to escape and forcing the enemy back to the treeline.
‘This is our chance,’ said Connor. He reached up and twisted the snowmobile’s ignition. Nothing happened. He tried again. The engine didn’t even turn over. Then Connor noticed the dribble of black oil in the snow and the multiple holes in the cylinder block. The engine was dead. The other snowmobile was equally damaged, gasoline spurting from its fuel tank.
‘We’ll have to make a run for it,’ said Connor.
Feliks looked all the way up the slope to the dacha in the distance. ‘We’ll never make it.’
‘It’s our only hope,’ said Connor. ‘Now let’s go –’
‘Wait!’ said Anastasia, grabbing his arm. ‘We need a distraction first.’
‘Like what?’ asked Connor.
She held up a small round plastic container. ‘I picked these up when I was getting the dressing and QuikClot,’ she explained, prising the lid off.
On the container’s side, the label declared All-Weather Survival Matches. Connor smiled. Another life-saving item from his Go-bag. Bugsy, their surveillance tutor, had once demonstrated their effectiveness. They were more like small flares than matches. They burnt intensely for almost twelve seconds, couldn’t be blown out and even continued to work in water. But they weren’t any sort of grenade or smoke bomb.
‘How are those going to help us?’ said Feliks dismissively.
Anastasia flicked the match against its striker and it burst into flame. She threw the match over to the other snowmobile where it landed in a patch of petrol-soaked snow. The fuel instantly caught light and a moment later the entire snowmobile exploded in a mighty fireball, billowing black smoke into the air.
‘Like that!’ she said, as a wave of heat hit them. She struck another match and planted it in the ground. ‘I’d advise you both to run.’
Connor glanced down and saw the dribble of black oil advancing on the match. He leapt to his feet with Feliks and they sprinted for their lives. A moment later the snowmobile detonated like a firebomb, the blast almost knocking them off their feet.
‘You’re crazy!’ Feliks shouted at Anastasia, as parts of flaming snowmobile rained down on them.
‘Crazy but clever!’ said Connor, once again admiring Anastasia’s natural instincts as a buddyguard.
Concealed by the smoke, they ran up the slope towards the dacha. It was tough going, the thick snow like glue around their feet. Thanks to his fitness training, Connor had the stamina and so too did Anastasia. But Feliks was flagging, his breath ragged and laboured.
‘Keep going!’ Connor urged as his Principal’s limping pace slowed even more.
Anastasia’s quick thinking had given them a head start, but now the smoke-screen was dispersing and the gunmen renewed their attack, splitting their firepower between the boathouse, the surviving security guard and the fleeing group.
Feliks collapsed in the snow, his chest heaving.
‘Come on!’ said Connor as deadly rounds zinged overhead.
‘I can’t … go … any further …’ he gasped.
The security guard caught them up but didn’t stop to help. Instead he ran past, more concerned for his own life than saving his boss’s son. Connor had every mind to leave Feliks behind too, after his self-centred remark following Jason’s death. But he’d sworn to protect Feliks and wouldn’t fail in that duty. Taking him by the arm, Connor hauled him to his feet. Anastasia took his other arm and they half-dragged him up the slope.
The gunfire increased in intensity. Connor glanced back. The boathouse had been overrun and the gunmen were now in pursuit. Supporting Feliks as much as he could, Connor dug deep and ran for all he was worth. But the dacha still seemed a mile off, the garden somehow growing in length with every step they took. Suddenly the snow around them erupted and the security guard ahead screamed as one of the bullets took him down.
Connor threw himself on top of Feliks and Anastasia, shielding them as bes
t he could with his jacket.
Pressed against the snow, her face flushed and her breathing rapid, Anastasia stared at Connor with true fear in her eyes for the first time. ‘We’re not going to make it, are we?’
Connor realized the chances of them all safely reaching the dacha were virtually zero. Exhausted and half-lame, Feliks was a dead weight and a liability. Connor had little left in the tank himself, having supported his Principal most of the way. Anastasia had the greatest chance of survival. Quick and nimble in the snow, she might just outrun the gunmen. But with every passing second their pursuers drew closer and their aim improved.
‘You go ahead!’ Connor told her. ‘I’ve got Feliks.’
Anastasia hesitated.
‘Just GO!’ he ordered.
With the gunmen bearing down on them, Anastasia ran off towards the dacha and Connor made one last-ditch effort to save his Principal.
‘You’ve had your rest,’ he said, sliding himself off Feliks’s back. ‘Now get to your feet.’
‘But my leg hurts,’ Feliks complained, grimacing with pain as he tried to stand.
‘I promise you, a bullet hurts a helluva lot more.’
Holding his Principal in front so that he acted as a shield from behind, Connor propelled Feliks up the slope. A volley of gunfire chased them and a bullet clipped Connor’s arm, winging him. He wheeled round but kept his feet, the jacket doing its job and absorbing the impact. But, as he staggered on, Connor knew with dead certainty that the next direct hit would drop him.
Then, when all hope seemed lost, Mr Grey appeared like an avenging devil at the top of the slope. Crouched behind one of the garden statues, an assault rifle in his grip, he began to pick off the gunmen one by one. His precision shooting made short work of their pursuers, and soon Connor and Feliks were the only two left running up the slope.
Bodyguard (Bodyguard 5) Page 22
