Then Chris climbed the steps, and just before he reached the exit to his floor, he heard hurried footsteps above him getting louder and louder.
Animus stood at the top of the next flight of stairs with his pistol drawn. “Evelina!”
Chris had already aimed at Animus, but the adrenaline made his hand jitter. Animus stepped to the side, and Chris followed him with his sights. He jerked the shot, causing the projectile to strike wide and miss. Damn!
Suddenly, the intimate puff of wind on the side of his face created a sensation he’d experienced in combat before. The velocity of the incoming round created shock waves behind it, which crashed into each other. Pop!
In the chaotic swirl of combat, Chris hadn’t heard the report of the handgun, but the pop of the mini sonic boom was unmistakable. Animus was still moving his pistol to bear on Chris, so the shot had to have come from someone else. Although he guessed the unknown shooter’s location was somewhere above Animus, Chris didn’t know exactly where. And if Chris stayed to fight Animus, the other shooter might succeed in making his next shot count.
The passageway leading to Chris’s floor was the closest, but he didn’t want to lead Animus to Hannah and Sonny, so he spun around and headed downstairs. In the same moment, a flurry of lead blasted the hallway. If he hadn’t turned around and headed the other way when he did, Animus and the other shooter would’ve nailed him.
Chris bounded over Evelina’s body, and when he hit the landing, his feet slid on the scattered ice. He caught the floor with his ass, desperately hanging on to his pistol as a hailstorm of bullets passed through where he’d been standing. If there was pain, he didn’t have time to feel it. That was twice he’d cheated death in the stairway, and he wasn’t counting on a hat trick. He turned and fired a burst in Animus’s direction before racing downstairs again. He skipped three steps at a time as he descended the next flight of steps.
Now that he was on the floor below the ice machine, he breezed through the exit and rushed out of the killing zone. The stairwell he’d just left had become a deathtrap. He glanced at the elevator, but that could turn into a more confined place to be ambushed, so he ran away and turned down the hall. A cheerful man stepped out of his room, but when he noticed Chris, his cheer faded, and he backed into his room and closed the door. Chris glanced down at himself, red splatter on his shirt and pistol in hand. He looked like a gangster. Even so, he was determined to survive, and he didn’t give a damn about appearances.
At the end of the hall, he burst through the doors to the north stairway and leaped up two stairs at a time, ascending two flights, until he reached his floor. He burst into the hallway. Hannah and Sonny must have already heard the gunshots, and at any moment they would rush to see if he was in trouble. Gunshots rang out from the southern stairwell.
Oh no. Hannah and Sonny are already there!
Just before Chris reached the southern staircase, footsteps came running up the stairs from that direction. Unlike the terrorists, who could shoot first and ask questions later, Chris had to identify the danger first. He aimed but kept his finger off the trigger. Hannah and Sonny appeared.
“Let’s get out of here,” Hannah said, dashing past him.
“Trouble coming!” Sonny shouted as he blew by Chris and Hannah. “I’ve got the point.”
“I’ll bring up the rear,” Chris said, following behind them.
They descended the north stairs unmolested. As they blew through the hotel lobby, some customers and hotel staff talked and pointed at the stairs, while others went about their business as if nothing was happening.
Chris, Hannah, and Sonny departed the building and had to wait for traffic before they could jaywalk across a one-way street and onto a tree-filled island, where they waited again for an opening in the traffic. Finally, they caught a break in the flow of cars and crossed into Hyde Park, where they took cover behind London plane trees.
“What the hell happened back there?” Sonny asked.
Chris explained quickly.
“Holy shit!” Sonny said. “Did you see Xander?”
Chris shook his head.
“You think he’s in there?” Hannah asked.
“Everybody else seems to be,” Chris said.
Through the trees surrounding the trio, Chris spotted Animus and an albino man stepping out of the hotel, both holding pistols down by their sides. The albino wore a porkpie hat, his white hair extending over his ears, and he had sunglasses covering his eyes and a white soul patch fixed between his lower lip and chin. He wore a black leather jacket and black pointy shoes.
“Whiteface looks like he just stepped out of a jazz club in Hell,” Chris said, nodding his head toward the men.
Sonny and Hannah turned to look. “Whiteface was one of the guys in the stairwell who was shooting at us,” Sonny said.
Police sirens sounded then, and six beefy Caucasian men came out of the hotel. Animus shouted at his comrades before pointing across the street in their direction.
“I think they’re coming our way,” Chris said.
Hannah nodded. “Sonny, take us out.”
Sonny resumed the point. There were no more trees immediately to the west, only an open grassy area, so going there would leave them exposed. If they went north, they’d run out of park—and trees—to hide in. Thankfully, Sonny had the tactical sense to take them south, staying in the tree line next to a wide walkway. Although Sonny set a fast pace, when Animus, Whiteface, and their comrades crossed the street, the trio couldn’t move fast enough.
Sonny sped up after a glance over his shoulder and approached a fountain where statues of a couple seemed to frolic, almost dancing, above the water as children around them dived and played in the sparkling liquid. The cheerfulness of the statues contrasted the impending doom of Chris’s situation. The area immediately surrounding the fountain wouldn’t conceal them, and Sonny guided them through the swath of trees to the right until they reached more trees.
With Sonny still on point, Chris had to keep watch behind them. Animus, Whiteface, and their gang were becoming more animated and picking up momentum. Animus raised his pistol in Chris’s direction.
“Contact rear!” Chris shouted.
Hannah and Sonny turned and faced Animus and his men, preparing to deliver the pain. Animus got off the first shot, and it nicked Chris’s shirt and he took cover. From behind a tree, Chris exposed only enough of himself to see and shoot, but a jogger in her mid-twenties stopped running and stood petrified near Animus. The shot was too close to take without risking a hit to a friendly, so Chris aimed at the next available target, Whiteface, but he rushed the shot and missed.
A small, potbellied elderly man who was walking two poodles through the park jumped at the gunshot. He dropped to the ground and hung on to his leashes. The dogs barked and tried to run away, but the man held on tight and shouted to his pets.
More police sirens sounded, and through the trees, Chris spotted a man who appeared to be a police officer standing on the sidewalk, talking into a radio, but he was unarmed and didn’t stand a chance of fighting Animus’s crew with a baton as his only weapon.
Animus’s team engaged Chris’s, and as mini sonic booms crashed against each other, the air snapped, crackled, and popped. Chunks of tree bark flew, and splinters of wood sprayed.
Animus seemed to follow Chris’s cue, taking cover behind a tree, but a hulking enemy was caught out in the open. Chris shot Hulk’s arm, sending him into a short spin, exposing his back, which Chris also fired at. The shot struck low, near the kidneys, but Hulk was still standing. Chris squeezed the trigger again. This time, Hulk fell over.
The air near Chris heated up, and a projectile narrowly missed his left arm. Although relieved the bullet hadn’t made impact, he still had to eliminate the threat of Animus and his goons. One of them, wearing a green shirt and green trousers must’ve been shot by Hannah or Sonny because he crumpled to the dirt.
Chris’s team had plenty of tree cover on each side for s
hooting and shielding their movement, but Animus’s squad had too many men and not enough wood. While Chris, Hannah, and Sonny fired and maneuvered freely, Animus and his comrades were trapped like fish in a barrel. Animus was no idiot; he wisely ordered his men to retreat.
Chris took a shot at a black-haired man who moved slow like molasses and nailed him in the back, but the shot propelled him forward rather than drop him. Chris breathed hot and fast, and his heart rate spiked without restraint. Molasses was about to find cover behind a tree. Chris aimed again, but his sights wobbled, hovering over nearly everything except his target. Chris hoped to take the shot when his sights aligned on Molasses’s upper back, but the shot missed.
As soon as Animus and his men reached a patch of woods for cover, he ordered his men to return fire. Chris wanted to chase them, but moving forward would put him and his team out in the open. He looked to Sonny, who wasn’t making a move, either. Hannah looked to Chris. She was a master at recruiting spies, but Chris and Sonny were the masters of killing. They needed to do something to gain a tactical advantage, but he didn’t know what. Patience could be a virtue, allowing the situation to unfold until an opportunity presented itself.
In the lull between the shots, one of the Russians started speaking, but Chris couldn’t hear what he was saying or notice anyone responding. Chris could only guess they were calling someone for reinforcements. Even if Chris’s team survived the initial fight against superior numbers without the benefit of surprise, they’d soon run out of ammo.
Off to the right, two policemen wearing bullet resistant vests and armed with submachine guns stepped out of a white police vehicle marked with an orange stripe on the side.
“We can’t stay here,” Chris whispered.
“No shit, Sherlock,” Sonny said.
Hannah nodded.
Because Chris was the strongest shooter of the three, it made the most sense to pair up Hannah and Sonny. Chris pointed to them. “You two leapfrog back.”
They didn’t have to be told twice. They hustled back ten meters to the nearest cover, while Chris watched their six. But Animus, Whiteface, and their men weren’t making even the slightest movement. What are they up to?
When Hannah and Sonny opened fire on Animus and his clan, Chris took that as his signal to fall back. He passed a young mother and her child huddled on the ground, and he wished he could help them, but it was going to be all Chris could do to save himself. The best thing he could do for the mother and child was to leave the area quickly to remove the danger. His feet pounded against the ground as he passed Hannah and Sonny at a run and went ten more meters to the cover of a tree.
Animus’s crew shot at the armed police officers, and the police officers fired back. The police took out two of Animus’s men, but they retaliated with full force. A shot hit one of the officers in the neck, immediately dropping him. The other officer seemed to be wounded in both his arm and leg. He limped as he tried to drag his fallen buddy to safety.
While Animus and his men occupied themselves with the police, Chris and his crew were able to put nearly a hundred meters of distance between them and the bad guys.
“Time to haul ass,” Sonny said. He led Hannah and Chris southeast through the woods.
Police sirens descended on the park now. Chris glanced back. Animus and his comrades were still following Chris’s crew. And fast.
As Chris, Hannah, and Sonny ran, the ground appeared level, but a dip in one spot caused Chris to trip. He dodged trees. Their roots threatened to topple him, but he stayed on his feet. When one foot came down, a root made him lose his balance, twisting his ankle and wrenching his nerves. The agony caused his eyes to tear up, but he held his tongue.
He didn’t know how far he’d have to run, and having to do it on a bum ankle was not good. The pain in his shoulder returned from the shot he’d taken back in Athens, and he regretted not having done more physical training on his own after he left the Teams.
He gritted through the fire consuming his ankle and the stabbing in his shoulder, maintaining his pace. Animus could cause him even more pain, and if Animus turned him over to Xander, the man would surely clang Chris’s chimes for killing Evelina. He would much rather die than be captured—especially now.
The trio had run half a klick, reaching the southeast corner of Hyde Park, and the nerves in Chris’s shoulder and ankle had become numb. Although the numbness provided relief, he prayed he wasn’t causing permanent damage.
They passed a giant dark metal statue of Achilles armed with sword and shield. Chris considered how excruciating a shot to the heel would be, then banished the thought. Getting shot in the shoulder hurt enough as it was.
To the northeast of the nearest park exit was a bus stop where a red double-decker bus was parked. Trying to catch it would cause the trio to backtrack closer to the enemy. Before Chris could weigh the option anymore, the bus pulled out.
They slowed down to a walk and holstered their weapons to blend in better with the civilian population. Now there seemed to be people everywhere: entering the park, walking on the sidewalk, crossing the street, waiting for a bus, and driving. They were going about their everyday activities, clueless as to what danger was on its way.
Sonny crossed the northbound Park Lane. Hannah and Chris followed. Then Sonny traversed a grassy square where there were few trees. Traffic ran across multiple lanes of the southbound street, and Sonny, Hannah, and Chris came to a stop as they waited for an opening to cross.
“Damn!” Sonny cursed.
While they waited, the distress in Chris’s shoulder and ankle returned, and Animus and his clan were closing the hundred-meter gap behind them. Chris walked out into the street holding his arm out and yelling at oncoming traffic. He was sure a car would hit him, but the vehicles slowed down, honking at him as they crossed. I’d rather get killed by a car than give Animus the satisfaction of killing me.
Hannah and Sonny followed, and a young white guy in a white Audi honked his horn. His vehicle pushed forward, his bumper nudging Sonny.
Sonny banged his fist on the hood and shouted, “I’m walking here, shit-for-brains!”
The driver waved his hand and shouted back in Jafaican—a mix of Cockney, Jamaican, and something else.
Sonny flipped him the bird. “Up yours, sweetheart.”
When they reached the other side of the street, they faced a tall concrete wall that ran for some distance and seemed to have no entrance. Sonny jumped and grabbed the top of the wall, pulled himself up, climbed over and dropped out of sight. Hannah went next, and Chris followed. Intense burning in his shoulder gripped him, but he made it over. On the other side, they scaled another wall.
They landed in a lush casino garden. Under a porch canopy, supported by fluted white pillars, a TV monitor displayed BBC News. The green card tabletops matched the color of the ivy and other plants. At the roulette table, men and women wearing business attire stopped gaming, drinking, and cigar smoking to gawk at Chris and his friends. The looks on their faces ranged from curiosity to fear.
Sonny took the point, briskly and confidently walking across the patio past the red horse chestnut and bay trees.
Hannah smiled at the guests. “Maintenance.”
At the time, it sounded like a weak cover, but in the heat of the moment, no other excuse came to mind, so Chris smiled, too.
Some of the guests returned to their activities, but the croupier kept staring, her brow creased and her roulette wheel stationary.
Sonny passed the bar on his way into the building. Inside, they found another roulette wheel and more card tables, but this time they didn’t attract as many eyes.
A man in a tuxedo approached Sonny. “May I help you, sir?” he asked, his tone haughty.
“Yes, actually. Can you show me the way out?” Sonny asked. “We’re in a bit of a hurry.”
“Right this way, sir.” The man in the tuxedo led them off the gaming floor and down an arched hallway where chandeliers lined the ceiling. At the e
nd of the hall, Chris and his team exited the building, returning to the streets of London.
To their left, three of the Russians rounded the street corner, discreetly holding their pistols down to their sides but not concealing them. It appeared Animus had split his men up to look for Chris’s crew.
“These guys won’t quit,” Chris muttered.
Sonny’s face twisted in determination. “We have to make them quit.”
“Or at least slow them down,” Hannah said.
Animus and another Russian appeared. Now there were five of them.
Across the street, the doorman to the Four Seasons Hotel greeted Sonny, who ignored him and entered the lobby. Chris and Hannah followed close behind. The lobby was clear except for a handful of guests checking in at the front desk. Chris’s first impulse was to form a hasty ambush on Animus, but that would endanger the guests. He didn’t like choosing a path of escape through populated areas, but in the heart of London, there wasn’t a plethora of unpopulated places where he and his friends could stay alive.
As they made haste through the lobby, Chris threw a quick glance over his shoulder. The Russians followed behind, but they weren’t displaying their weapons anymore. Sonny picked up his pace to a jog. The Russians picked up their pace, too.
Chris and his crew exited the hotel and slipped through the front doors of the Playboy Club. It was a classy joint similar to the first club they’d passed through, with expensive furnishings, a casino, and well-dressed guests. The main difference was the female staff, who wore black pantyhose, corset teddies, cuffs, bow tie collars, rabbit ears, and fluffy white cottontails.
A bunny greeted them at the door, and Sonny swiftly brushed past her. The door bunny cocked her head as if to ask a question, but before she could say anything, the trio had passed her.
Entering the club, Sonny voiced his disappointment. “Where are the naked women?”
Chris shook his head. Only he would think about that at a time like this.
From Russia Without Love Page 10
