by Rob Sinclair
The guard pulled a Glock from his hip. He swung it upward, a perfect position and height for Ryker to take control. Ryker spun in an arc, grabbed the man’s arm as he moved down to the ground, and hauled the guard over his outstretched leg.
As he fell, the guard’s arm twisted around, almost to breaking point, and he released the gun. Ryker grabbed it. The guard was on the ground, and Ryker, now kneeling, faced back toward the on-rushing Mitchell and his small gang.
Without hesitation, Ryker opened fire, again and again, six shots in total. He wasn’t shooting to kill, just to create enough panic and carnage to help him and Willoughby get away. He hit one of the armed men in the leg, another in the foot. He missed Mitchell’s lower limbs by barely an inch, but the sudden onslaught was enough to cause the big man to dive for cover.
Ryker was up and on his feet not a second later. Willoughby was now about ten yards in front, just one of the crowd of people who were funnelling from the large back garden through the narrow space at the side that would take them to the front of the house and to safety. Ryker eased his way into the thick of the crowd too.
Mitchell and the others wouldn’t risk firing at the guests. Would they?
Pushing and shoving his way through the hysterical crowd, Ryker soon closed the distance to Willoughby. He spotted another security guard, gun held up, the barrel trained on Ryker. He was bobbing the gun up and down, as though weighing up whether he could take the shot. Of course, he couldn’t. He seemed to realise that fact a moment too late.
As Ryker bounded up to the man, he lashed out with the gun and pistol-whipped the guy in the side of the head. Then he sent a heel onto the side of the man’s knee and the guard keeled over screaming in pain.
The crowd in front were almost at a standstill now, the funnel too tight to allow anyone to move at speed along the narrow pathway and out onto the road. The only option Ryker could see was to get the crowd to disperse. It seemed Willoughby had thought the exact same thing. She lifted her arm up into the air. She was carrying a handgun, it looked to be another Glock, identical to the one Ryker was holding. He hadn’t seen how she’d acquired it but Ryker was impressed.
She fired the gun three times. The bullets shot up into the sky. There was always the slim chance the projectiles could do some damage on their way back down to earth but it was a calculated risk. Her action had the desired effect. Realising there was a shooter among them, the crowd went into a heightened state of panic.
Again, some hit the ground, but others ran in all directions – many even retreating into the back garden. It was mayhem, but at least it eased the pressure on the funnel somewhat. Willoughby and Ryker dashed through the chaos and were soon out onto the street with Mitchell and crew still in hot pursuit.
As he moved, Ryker grabbed the key fob from his pocket and clicked the button to unlock the car doors. He and Willoughby both dived in. Ryker shoved the key into the ignition, fired up the engine, flung the gearstick in drive and thumped the accelerator to the floor. The car burst forward, and Ryker spun the wheel as fast as he could to avoid the car parked right in front of him. Somehow he managed it.
‘Time to find out if I’m as good as you,’ he said.
Willoughby said nothing.
Gunshots boomed behind them. There was a clunk, then another, as bullets sunk into the back of the car. The engine revs peaked as the automatic gearbox responded to Ryker’s heavy foot. He swung the car left and right as they careened around the twisting roads of the Grasslands estate.
‘We should dump the car,’ Ryker said. ‘Try to lose ourselves in the woods here. It’s a huge place.’
‘No. Keep going.’
‘We’ll never get through the security gates before that lot catch up with us.’
‘Won’t we?’ Willoughby smiled and held up a small key fob in her hand.
Ryker couldn’t help but smile too. That was two tactile moves she’d made now that he hadn’t spotted.
‘I can do more than just mingle,’ she said.
‘I have to agree with you on that.’
Ryker looked in the rear view mirror. They weren’t in the clear yet. Every now and then when there was a straight part of road he could see two trailing vehicles behind. A black car, a silver SUV.
As Ryker took his eyes from the mirror to back in front, he was taken by surprise when a Jeep belonging to the estate’s security detail came hurtling around a corner. Ryker swung the car to the right, narrowly avoiding a head on collision. In his mirror he saw the Jeep crunch to a halt and attempt to swing around in the road. The driver’s move actually ended up helping Ryker and Willoughby, causing the chasing pack to brake.
Up ahead, the security gates to the outside world came into view. Another Jeep was parked up next to them. Two guards were on their feet by the side of it. They didn’t appear to be expecting Ryker’s onrushing car. He could only assume the Jeep that had moments earlier almost smashed into them was heading to the Ashfords’ house, having heard the gunshots and commotion, rather than trying to stop their getaway car.
Willoughby pressed on the key fob. The gates to the estate slowly swung open. Ryker breathed a sigh of relief. He’d half expected the whole place to be on lockdown already, but it seemed the estate security and the hired uniformed guards at Ashford’s party weren’t too well connected.
But with Ryker’s vehicle fast approaching, the two guards by the gate did suddenly seem to get what was unfolding in front of them. One pulled his gun and hunkered down by his Jeep. The other rushed over to the security hut – to call for backup, or to shut the gates, Ryker wasn’t sure.
‘Stop him!’ Ryker shouted.
Willoughby opened her window, leaned out, and fired two shots toward the guards. Both bullets hit the ground, but the attack had the desired effect of making the guards jump for cover.
Seconds later, Ryker and Willoughby flew past them and out through the not quite fully open gates. Willoughby wasn’t finished yet though.
As Ryker sped away from the Grasslands estate, Willoughby took off her seatbelt and leaned her whole torso out of the open window, pointing her gun back toward the gates. She fired off several more shots until the Glock’s magazine was empty.
Most of the shots hit nothing but tarmac, but one shot hit the front passenger tire of the now fast-moving Jeep at the head of the hunting pack. The tire exploded and shards of rubber flew into the air. The Jeep swerved left then right then came to a crunching halt when it plunged into the stationary vehicle by the gates. The road wasn’t blocked to the vehicles behind, but the crash would give Ryker and Willoughby some precious extra seconds of breathing space.
Ryker was confident it would be enough to get them clear.
Willoughby – a picture of calm – adjusted herself in her seat, shut her window and clipped her belt back in place.
‘I’m wondering just what other hidden talents you have,’ Ryker said, his eyes fixed on the road ahead.
‘If you’re lucky, James, you may just find out.’
51
Within five minutes, Ryker was sure he’d lost the chasing gang and he headed back toward New Orleans. He and Willoughby had intended to return to their hotel there that night anyway, and had left their belongings in the room. Even though it wouldn’t be safe to stay in the hotel another night, they had equipment there that they needed in order to read the memory drive in Ryker’s pocket, as well as cash, weapons, ammunition, and their passports that would undoubtedly come in handy.
‘Who do you think was shooting at Ashford?’ Willoughby asked.
‘I’d say the list of candidates is pretty long, but my guess would be Powell.’
‘I thought the same. We knew he’d be coming here to stop Ashford. To stop the cartel’s weapons deals.’
‘As are we.’
‘But why in the middle of the speech like that? If Powell simply wanted to assassinate Ashford then why today, at Ashford’s home, against a heavily protected target, and with two hundred members of the
public as potential collateral damage?’
‘Those are all good points. But there’s another.’
‘What?’
‘Why did the shooter miss?’
‘Exactly.’
‘Who knows? Perhaps because Powell knew we were there, and he wanted to put more pressure on us. I’ve already been set up for Luis Jiménez’s murder. Most likely for Vasquez’s murder too. Then I start shooting up everyone at Ashford’s house with two hundred witnesses and TV cameras everywhere. I’m just a nutter on a rampage.’
Willoughby said nothing. Ryker kind of hoped she would. That wasn’t him, was it?
‘Anyway, that could explain the miss,’ Ryker said.
‘It wasn’t a miss, Ashford was shot.’
‘Yeah, but my bet is he’ll be fine. It wasn’t a kill shot. The question is whether or not it was ever intended to be.’
‘We need to see what you’ve found as soon as we can.’
‘I know.’
Willoughby fidgeted in her seat, looking in the side mirror. There was no doubt she was rattled now that the adrenaline of the fight had warn off. She was certainly a skilled operator, highly trained, and cool under pressure, but she wasn’t quite the unfeeling robot Ryker had once been. She was still... human.
‘I was expecting a full on police chase to be after us,’ she said.
‘No. It’s Ashford’s guys we need to worry about. A man like Ashford won’t want the police coming after us just yet. It’s his own people who’ll come looking, wanting blood.’
‘And you’re not worried about that?’
‘There’s not much we can do about it, other than try to evade them. And if we can’t do that, then we just fight back.’
‘We should start by ditching this car.’
‘We will. When we get nearer to the hotel.’
Willoughby let out a long sigh. ‘It looks like our covert mission is well and truly over. I just hope we’ve got something on that thumb drive to make it all worth while.’
‘Shame. I quite liked Emily Clarke.’
Ryker looked over at Willoughby.
‘I never really got to know Jack Turner,’ she said, turning away.
Ryker returned his focus to the road ahead. ‘Those two are gone but we still have plenty of work to do. We’re getting closer to the end game now.’
The huff that Willoughby gave suggested she wasn’t feeling quite as positive as Ryker, but she needn’t have been down. All the various sides in the mess were now moving closer and closer together. The two of them may well end up in the firing line of everyone else, but Ryker would much prefer to be stuck in the heart of things than on the outside with no way in. And Powell was near. Ryker could feel it.
They made it into central New Orleans with no hint of further trouble. It looked like the immediate chase was over. Regardless, they both recognised the need for caution and dumped the car in the parking lot of a convenience store some half a mile away from the hotel and went the rest of the way on foot.
Ryker had a hand on the gun nestled in his waistband the whole time they walked. He knew Willoughby was still armed too. Once they had their things from the room, they’d leave the hotel in the opposite direction they’d come from and pick up a car from the streets. They didn’t have time now to be sitting in rental shops filling in paperwork.
When they arrived at the hotel, Willoughby crossed the road and held back at the entrance of an alley to keep watch over the hotel and the street around them. They opened up a call on their phones so they’d be able to warn each other of any potential threat. Ryker made his way into the hotel, up the staircase and then along the corridor toward the room. He checked the seals on the door. Both were in place and untouched. That was a good sign. Regardless, Ryker opened the door with caution, the gun held out in his hand, ready for any surprises on the inside.
There were none. The room was empty and exactly as they’d left it. Ryker moved through the room to the doors that led out onto the balcony. He stood by the baroque railing, looked across the street, and spotted Willoughby. She nodded to him and he glanced up and down the street from his higher perch; he saw nothing suspicious.
The light of the day was ebbing away and thick clouds had rolled across the sky. As Ryker stepped back from the railing, there was the clattering sound of thunder overhead and the first, thick droplets of warm rain pattered onto the street below.
Ryker retreated to the room and hastily set about gathering everything he and Willoughby had brought with them into a backpack.
Not long later, Ryker was zipping up the bulging bag. By now, the sound of the rain outside had grown to a constant rattle. Ryker slung the bag over his shoulder and headed for the door.
Just then, a muffled voice crackled from his phone. Ryker lifted the handset to his ear.
‘Ryker, they’re here. Mitchell and his crew.’
‘How on earth...?’ Ryker rushed into the corridor. ‘How many?’
‘Three. No four.’
‘Move. Just get away. I’ll go out the back entrance. Keep on the line and tell me which street you’re on. We’ll regroup as soon as we can.’
‘Okay.’
Ryker moved with more purpose. He could still hear Willoughby’s breathing above the sound of the rain, her breaths getting faster and heavier. She was running. Then he heard shouting coming through the handset’s speaker. Ryker cursed and bounded down the stairs so fast that he skidded over three steps and felt himself lose balance. He only saved himself from a clattering fall at the last second by dropping the phone and grabbing hold of the banister.
The phone clanked down to the bottom of the stairs and Ryker chased after it, begging the device not to break. If he lost communication with Willoughby, they really could be in the shit.
When he reached the ground floor, Ryker bent down to scoop up the phone: still intact.
‘James, are you there? ’
‘Yeah. I’m fine. You? ’
‘I’m okay, but they’ve seen me.’
Still crouching, Ryker spotted two looming figures coming in through the hotel’s front entrance.
They spotted Ryker too.
Ryker jumped up, spun, and ran in the opposite direction.
‘I've just turned onto Conti Street!’ Willoughby called. She was out of breath, and sounded panicked.
‘Okay, I'm coming for you.’
He turned left onto a corridor, then right toward where he knew there was an emergency exit. As he went around the last corner, he almost ran straight into a man.
Ryker was moving, aiming to put the man down, before his brain had even properly confirmed if the guy was a threat or just an unlucky passerby. Ryker delivered an elbow to his chest then swivelled and used his leg to swipe the man off his feet. The guy landed on the ground with a thump and his head smashed against the wall behind him. He wasn’t unconscious but he was dazed enough for Ryker to make a clean getaway.
As he went to leave, Ryker noticed the shiny black object in the man’s hand. A gun. At least he hadn’t just attacked some random tourist. But how many more men were out there after him and Willoughby?
And how the hell had they tracked them to the hotel?
‘You okay?’ Willoughby asked.
‘Yes. Where are you now?'
‘There’s no name. It’s just an alley. I think I’ve lost them.’
Ryker pushed down on the bar, flung open the emergency exit door, then rushed outside. A waterfall was streaming off the hotel’s overflowing guttering, water rushed down the pavement and the road; the heavy rain was battering onto the ground and the buildings, and the cars and people who were still outside.
‘Shit, Ryker, they’re still on me. I think I’m cornered, I can’t get away!’
‘Fight back. Hold them off. I’m not far behind.’
Having her open fire out in the middle of the city streets was far from ideal, but it was much better than the alternative.
Ryker soon found himself in a similar quandary
.
Up ahead, another man ran out from around a corner, gun held out in his hands. He spotted Ryker and lifted the weapon. Ryker ducked behind a car as the man opened fire.
If they were going to play it like that, then Ryker had no further need for caution. He rolled out into the open and fired two shots, both of which hit the guy in his right leg. Ryker was up and racing toward him while the man was still falling. Ryker added a shoe to the face for good measure and the man splashed into the water on the road, a stream of blood sweeping away from his shot leg.
‘Ryker!’ Willoughby screamed, her shrill voice echoing both through the phone and somewhere up ahead.
Ryker heard a cascade of gunfire through the downpour, the shots echoing just like Willoughby’s voice had a moment earlier. He set off into a sprint toward Conti street, the last street name she’d given him.
‘Willoughby!’ he shouted into the phone. ‘Where are you?’
‘I can’t fight them off. I’m... I’m going to let them take me.’
‘No! I’m almost there.’
‘You said yourself we need to be on the inside. They won’t kill me.’
Maybe not, but there were a hell of a lot of other horrific things they could do to her.
‘Don’t do it!’ Ryker shouted.
No response this time. More gunshots blasted. Ryker heard shouting through the phone. Smothered voices. Banging. A scuffle?
Then the call went dead.
Ryker tried to eek out every bit of energy and speed in his legs, pushing his body to move faster with everything he had. He saw Willoughby, a hundred yards in front. Two men were dragging her out of an alley. Her dress was soaked and clinging to her, and blood was pouring from a gash above her eye. They dragged her toward a waiting car.
Ryker shouted out. The men took no notice. Maybe they couldn’t hear over the thunderous rain. Ryker lifted his gun up but he couldn’t shoot, not at that distance, not unless he was prepared to hit Willoughby. He wasn’t. One of the men opened a car door, the other kicked and punched and shoved Willoughby in before he too jumped into the car.
