by Cliff Ryder
"Cover!" David still kept his eyes on the two men even as his team scattered for whatever concealment they could find. He heard more coughs, followed by the impacts of subsonic bullets. A pained grunt came from nearby, then a scream as a civilian was hit and collapsed in the entryway.
The obviously dead man had a galvanizing effect on the nearby people, who screamed and scattered, the fear radiating outward as they turned in a blind, panicked mob, seeking cover or flight away from the danger.
"M-Two, report," David heard in his ear.
"M-Four is down. Repeat, M-Four is down! Watch for hostiles coming out the main doors. We have engaged at least three of them inside. Have not recovered the target yet." More bullets thudded into the bank of pay phones David had taken cover behind, smashing open one of the machines and scattering coins across the floor.
"Do you have the target in sight?" M-One asked.
"Negative, I can't see her…shit!" A bullet careened off the floor near David's foot coming from behind and to the left of him. Scooting over to his right, he looked up to see a tall man standing on a green-railed balcony with a perfect sight line over the entire lower level. David raised his pistol and triggered three shots, aiming below the railing at the man's crouched form. He saw the man convulse, and knew he'd hit him at least once, but a fusillade of return fire made him duck back behind the phones.
Next to him, David saw Tara behind one of the tall green columns that supported the roof high above them, which was now scored from bullets ricocheting off its surface. "You got anyone?" he asked.
"I think he took her behind the ticket counter, but we're going to be hip deep in National Police in thirty seconds! We need to get her and get out!" she replied.
"All right, cover me from the shooter at eight o'clock!"
Tara turned and quickly sent four shots at the balcony, making the gunman duck for cover behind some kind of sculpture. David used the distraction to crawl over to the ticket booth, which was already pocked with bullet holes. A row of advertisements mounted on Plexiglas panels meant to funnel people out of the station extended in a line back from the large booth, but David thought there was just enough room to squeeze between the first one and the cubicle wall. He peeked underneath to make sure no one was on the other side, then sucked in his breath and forced his way through the narrow gap. Behind him, he heard more shots, followed by the loud report of unsilenced pistols, which meant the French police had arrived.
David slid to the far corner of the booth and listened hard, trying to hear who was around the corner. He heard the rustle of movement, then a man's voice speaking. "Liam, evade and head out the back way. Carl, Gregor, cover us until we're out the main door, then follow. I'm moving out right now."
Without hesitation, David half stepped out from behind the corner, aiming his pistol at the voice. Scarcely a yard away, the woman crouched, the man behind her, his arm around her waist and his other hand holding a pistol pointed up. His head snapped around at her indrawn breath. "What the — ?"
David had him in his sights, about to squeeze the trigger, when the woman moved, blocking his shot. Throwing an elbow into her captor's chest that shoved him backward, she scrambled toward David, who wrenched his own firearm up so as not to shoot her. The man recovered fast, bringing his pistol down to aim at both of them even as he fell to the floor. David grabbed her and pulled her around the corner just as the other man shot.
The hiss of the passing bullet was overwhelmed by a sharp explosion in the middle of the train station that sent shrapnel whizzing by. David covered the woman with his body and ran a quick check on her with one arm while keeping his pistol trained on the corner, ready for their assailant to come at them again. "Are you all right?" he asked.
"I…I think so," she said.
"M-Team, M-Team, this is M-Two. I have the target. Repeat, I have the target. All members withdraw. Repeat, withdraw to extraction point." David heard the singsong wail of the French police cars in the distance, and got up on the balls of his feet. "I need you to get ready to run as fast as you can, following the line of ads to the main doors. Once outside, turn right and head for the hospital next door. Can you do that?" he said.
The woman nodded. "Who are you?"
"Don't worry, we're on your side. Okay, ready — go!" David propelled her toward the main doors, doing his best to keep himself between her and any gunmen who might be pursuing. They were almost there when a shot from above them and to the left scored across the top of David's shoulder, making him gasp in pain and stagger to the doors.
She skidded to a stop and looked back. Raising his right arm across his body, David shot several times at the figure. "Keep moving!" He almost shoved her into the door, and together they staggered out into the Paris street.
27
"Jesus, Louis, what the hell was that?" Kate watched in helpless horror as the Gare du Nord train station erupted in gunfire and what looked like small explosions. "Where are your operatives?"
Louis sounded agitated, which, along with the public gunfight playing out in front of her, was Kate's confirmation that things had really gone to hell. "We're trying to raise them — they made contact with the target, then something happened and we lost contact."
"Well, keep trying, damn it! Okay, it looks like one of our team has the target, and has exited the station, so at least she's in our hands now. The National Police will be swarming all over that place, so you'd better make sure your people are going to be all right."
"I'm sure they will be fine. I'm more concerned about the Midnight Team doing something rash as they leave the area," Louis replied.
Kate scowled at the insinuation. "Like recover the target, exactly as they were supposed to? Knock it off, Louis, they're professionals. They came in to do a job and get out, that's all."
Kate checked the log hanging in virtual reality in front of her. It told her the location of each member of the Midnight Team at that exact moment. When they joined the agency, every Room 59 operative had a small transmitter implanted in his or her body. It was used to monitor their location at all times. Instead of five small green dots, there were four, which meant they had lost a member during the op. Kate pushed the unpleasant thought from her mind and concentrated on the here and now, watching through the M-Two's camera as he hustled the woman through the hospital. He may be a cowboy, but he sure got her out of there in one piece, she thought.
"All right, the target and her escort have reached the roof. I see two others entering the hospital, but we have no line of sight on the hostiles." That was the one drawback with their system — she knew exactly where her people were, but the bad guys had never gotten the memo to wear radio transmitters, so she never knew exactly where they were.
Kate dialed in. "M-One, this is Primary. What's your sitrep?"
"Upon entry, the team ran into a pair of hostiles on the way out with the target. The standoff distracted them long enough so that a backup pair was able to ambush, terminating M-Four. We have recovered the target, and she is on her way up now with M-Two. M-Three and M-Five are also withdrawing, and I expect them to arrive shortly."
Kate checked the feeds for M-Three and M-Five, watching them walk to the hospital doors, one of them limping, from the herky-jerky picture she saw. "Okay, listen up." This was the part she hated. "When the target is aboard, you give your people ninety seconds to arrive, and if they're not there, you withdraw."
"Say again, Primary?"
"The rest of your team has ninety seconds from when the target arrives to get to the evacuation vehicle. If they don't make it, you leave them behind. Acknowledge." Kate couldn't risk giving the other team another chance to acquire the woman — they had gotten too close to her twice already.
There was silence, then the team leader replied. "Affirmative."
"If they are left behind, we'll arrange for the French division to pick them up. The target is the important thing right now."
"Understood, Primary. M-One out."
"Louis, yo
u got that?" Kate asked.
"I heard the whole thing, Kate. Don't you worry, if anyone is left behind, we'll be sure to get them to ground safely."
"Thank you." That was the other problem with Room 59's standard operating procedure. Although the agency had the approval of practically every other intelligence agency in the world, they were expected to execute their operations as quietly as possible. If they were caught, they were often treated like any other criminal, or, in these times, a suspected terrorist. Of course, Kate thought, shaking her head, any civilized country would look askance on people waving a gun around in a public place. The National Police would have little mercy on whomever they caught, friend or foe.
Kate wanted to pull off the eyewear and go take a long, hot bath, but that was an impossibility now. Instead, she leaned forward in her chair, silently rooting for the rest of the Midnight Team members to make it to the roof in one piece and get out of there.
28
I'm gonna kill that flicking bastard!
It was Anthony's overriding thought, almost swamping his years of military training and iron discipline that kept the beast inside at bay. Ironically, it was the loud cracks of the French policemen's pistols that distracted him from the almost overpowering red rage to burst around the corner — and most likely take a bullet to the face for his trouble — in the vain hope of putting a round right between that smarmy git's eyes.
"Anthony, we've got locals on our ass," he heard.
"Follow the plan, but take cover first — fire in the hole." Anthony plucked a grenade from his pocket and sent it skittering into the main area of the building, now completely deserted, as the crowds bustling through the station had either taken cover or fled into another tunnel. The grenade detonated with an echoing bang, making the approaching officers duck for cover. Anthony used that time to bolt for the door, hitting it with both arms outstretched after holstering his pistol under his jacket.
A National Police car screeched to a halt nearby. Anthony twisted his features into a mask of fear and staggered over to them. He pointed to the station, talking wildly. "L'interieur!"
The officers pulled him down behind the car and told him to stay there. They then approached the main doors of the station. As soon as their backs were to him, Anthony got up and walked off, past two more police cars that screeched to a halt in front of the station. He kept up his cowering-civilian persona until he reached the corner of the building, and once around it, he looked in all directions for the woman and her rescuer. They were nowhere to be found. He skirted the side of the building, past a taxi stand, peering into the windows of idling vehicles.
An angry horn blare made him look up at the hospital across the street, just as a blond-haired woman and brown-haired man entered the doors. His gaze instinctually went up to the roof, in time to catch the briefest glare of sunlight off glass. Like a sniper scope.
No sooner had the thought gone through his brain than Anthony acted, picking the narrowest slot and running into traffic, heedless of the blaring horns and curses flying in his direction. He expected to feel a heavy rifle slug punch through his neck, or maybe even his skull and be done with it, fading him to black before he could even register he had been hit. However, no sudden death rained down on him from above, and in another second he was at the entrance to the trauma center, or what passed for it in Paris. "Liam. Status?"
The reply that came back was between pants for breath, as if he had been running. "I'm at the…far end…of the train shed…" His voice was washed out by the roar of an incoming train. "West side of the building."
"Excellent, you should almost be able to see me. They're heading to the roof of the trauma center, right next to the station. Must be going to a helicopter. Get over here and follow me up."
"Affirmative."
Anthony was already heading inside the trauma center, pushing through the white-jacketed crowd, ignoring their questions as he scanned for the entry to the staircase. "Gregor, where are you?"
"Outside, on the east side of the station," came the reply.
"Are you hurt?" Anthony asked.
"Bullet glanced off my vest, but I'm fine."
"Good. Get back to the car. The code for the back is three-three-one-six-six. There's a rifle inside. Take it and get to a vantage point where you can see the hospital roof to the right of the museum. Once there, take out anyone you see that isn't one of us or the woman."
"Affirmative."
"Carl, status report."
Carl's reply was drowned out by a flurry of gunshots. "Didn't make it out. I'm pinned in a corner, low on ammo, and I just used my last frag. No cavalry coming to the rescue, huh?"
"I'm afraid not," Anthony said.
"What are your orders?"
The question made Anthony hesitate for a second, not just because Carl was still enough of a professional to ask it, but because of the answer it required. While he didn't like leaving a man behind, he knew there was no hope of saving him at the moment. If taken alive, he might talk, but there were ways around that. Unfortunately, nowadays a dead body also told tales, but less so than the living, and there were ways around that, as well. "Hold them off as long as you can. Surrendering is your call," Anthony said.
Now at the doors of the stairway, Anthony peered into the reinforced safety-glass window to see if anyone was lurking on the other side. He couldn't tell, so he put his shoulder to the door while drawing his pistol with his other hand, ready to shoot. The heavy door swung open, and he burst inside, eyes scanning everywhere for potential enemies. Finding no one, he eased the door closed.
He heard several more gunshots through his earpiece, then he heard a bitter laugh. "Surrender to the French? I'd never find decent work again!" Carl said.
"That's the spirit. Good luck, and be sure to destroy your phone before they take you."
"Affirmative. It was a pleasure working with you, sir."
"You, too." Anthony disconnected before he heard anything else. He could well imagine what the young man was about to go through. He didn't need to hear it confirmed. With luck, Carl would distract the police long enough so that they could recover the woman and get out before they threw up roadblocks around the city.
He was about to begin his sprint up the stairs when he heard voices from the hallway.
"Take the stairs?" a deep male voice asked.
A female answered. "Not with this leg, we won't."
"I could carry you…"
"Leaving us both defenseless if the hostiles are still around. Hold up — damn it, that hurts. "M-One, this is M-Three and M-Five. I took a hit to the leg, but we got out…we're coming up now…hold the chopper…yes, sir, that's great news. Thanks for letting us know…M-Three out. Come on, we've got ninety seconds to get to the roof, or the chopper's leaving without us. Orders from Primary," she said.
Anthony crept up the first flight of stairs, then ran as fast as he could up the remaining five flights, the plan sprouting in his mind as he went. His powerful legs ate up the distance as he reloaded his pistol, yanking back the slide with a vengeance, then threading a compact silencer onto the barrel.
Reaching the top, he saw a small landing with the elevator doors on one side, and the double doors leading to the roof on the other. In the dim light, he caught a dark splotch on the ground, and bent over to wipe it up with his fingers. Sniffing it brought the coppery scent of blood. They were here.
The chime of the elevator straightened him up, and he quickly scrambled over the railing to press against the wall of the elevator shaft, above the empty stairwell, one hand grasping the railing, the other holding his pistol. He balanced on the edge of the landing on just his tiptoes, the rest of his feet hanging out in space.
The doors slid open, and a pistol extended out, covering the landing and the stairwell. Anthony held his breath and tried to blend in with the shadows. If the soldier looked his way, he'd take him out, but lose the element of surprise.
"It's clear." The quiet male voice still echoed i
n the stairwell. "Come on."
Leading with the pistol, the two came out of the elevator, the woman leaning on the taller man, who Anthony recognized as the man he'd kicked into next week at St. Pancras. They stepped out fast, even though each movement was hurting the woman, as evidenced by the little gasps she let out as they moved forward.
Anthony visualized his movements in his mind, waited for them to take one more step, then it was his turn. Leaning out, he lined up his Walther's sights on the back of the man's head, exhaled and squeezed the trigger once. The subsonic bullet tore through the soft muscle at the back of his target's neck where the skull met the spine, killing him instantly. He turned from support to deadweight in a second, collapsing on top of the woman, who grunted in surprise.
In that second, Anthony moved, vaulting over the railing and stepping over the woman, his pistol pointed at her head. For a second, his vision blurred, and her brown hair became blond, her features sharpened from round to more angular, with defined cheekbones. She looked very much like the woman who had gotten away from him.
Anthony blinked before he could squeeze the trigger, and suddenly his target was gone, and the wounded soldier — or whatever she was — was in front of him. He put a finger to his lips, stilling her to silence, then waved his pistol to make her raise her arms higher in the air.
"I'm going to lift you to your feet, and you won't try a thing, or I'll cripple you permanently. Nod if you understand."
She hesitated, then nodded, her eyes dark and venomous. Anthony didn't mind; he'd seen that look many times before. Keeping his pistol trained on her face, he grabbed her arm and hoisted her up, ignoring her grunt of pain as he did so.
"All right, we're heading out now, you leaning on me like so…"
The squeak of a boot sole on linoleum below caught his ear, and he turned enough to listen for more noise while still keeping an eye on her. He dragged her to the other side of the corridor, so he could watch the stairs to his left. "Do not move or make a sound," he whispered.
