He sat on the bed, wincing as it creaked under his weight. Hayden’s eyes fluttered open.
“Mano?”
“I’m here. You’re safe. I’m going to use the tech in here to find a safe hospital and call an ambulance. They can’t follow us everywhere can they? How the hell do they keep on finding us?”
“The . . . the Grid,” Hayden whispered. “I figured . . . it has to be . . . it’s compromised—”
Her eyes closed again and she stopped talking. Kinimaka leaned in. “The what? The Grid?”
“It’s the only . . . way—”
Hayden’s words rattled like a last breath. Kinimaka pulled away, heart flipping, but saw her eyes wide open and staring. The life in them was vivid, the will to live dazzling. Quickly, he checked her dressings.
“You think the Grid’s compromised?”
Hayden gave a bare nod.
“But that means . . .”
Kinimaka stared around the bedroom and through the door at the other part of the safe house. All seemed well, but an icy sliver of dread slipped down his spine. In that single quiet moment he felt every hair on his body stand on end.
“Oh no.”
The safe house door exploded.
CHAPTER THIRTY FOUR
Drake pelted along the street, all thoughts of his own safety put aside, as the five-man terrorist team fell into disorder at the top of the Metro steps, right underneath the long metal and glass canopy that curved above the Foggy Bottom GWU Station. Some kind of internal battle was going on. One man tore away from the rest, ripped off his balaclava and started to shout.
“The President!” the team leader shouted. “Right there! That’s him!”
Drake took off like a missile, Dahl and Alicia at his heels. The rest of Team Bravo divided around them, spanning the street, and sprinted as if they were inches away from winning gold.
Which they were.
President Coburn wrenched himself away from the grip of a man and backed off. Another man ran at him, but Coburn punched him in the nose, stopping his advance with one blow.
Drake almost cheered.
The team leader screamed into the comms. “Send everyone! Coburn’s here! Send fuckin’ everyone!”
Drake raised his rifle. He breathed deeply, letting the habitual custom relax him. He ran at full speed, without compromising his skills, and felt the presence of Team Bravo all around. Ahead, the President swiped at another hooded figure, but this one stepped away and around the blow, showing practiced ability. The figure danced around behind the President and caught him around the throat, halting all his movements, then forced him roughly down the steps. The rest turned, firing a quick burst before following.
The team leader’s voice reflected his anger. “Hurry!”
Alicia was the first to fire back. Drake mentally kicked himself for not following suit. No one had shouted out a change of the original no-fire orders so he had just gone with it. Once a soldier . . .
But not Alicia. She had opened fire, probably hoping she took out Kovalenko and ended this whole clusterfuck. They hit the top of the steps just in time to see legs disappearing into the circular space of the station below, and started to leap down three or four at a time. The words Foggy Bottom—GWU Station shouted at him as he passed beneath a thick concrete roof. When Drake saw a rifle pointing up from the wide-open space below, he threw himself to the side, hitting the wall hard. A volley of shots passed among Team Bravo, striking no one, but slowing their pace.
Drake started down again, trying not to look at the shiny escalator sides. The team gained level ground, now standing in the surprisingly small entrance to the below-ground station. Ticket machines bordered the small space in a blue-and-silver half-circle. Yellow ‘Wet Floor’ cones lay scattered about. Through a wide opening Drake saw several barriers that led to the tracks and a couple of information-cum-guard stations. Large-scale maps dotted the walls amidst advertisements and electronic signs. The area was deserted apart from the five men they were pursuing, who even now were racing across the station at an angle to put as much distance as possible between them.
“Move!”
Alicia ran with her rifle tracking one of the fleeing figures. Drake watched her closely. “Be careful.”
Alicia tracked her enemy but didn’t fire. The men were too close together. Dahl pulled his trigger, but fired high, ruining a sign that read ‘Elevator to Street’. As the fleeing men slowed near the top of an escalator, a shout went up and all five of them turned.
And stopped.
Drake put the brakes on. One enemy gun was pressed hard against Coburn’s head. The rest of the rifles were trained on Team Bravo. Drake zeroed in on the man closest to the President. It was possible to kill a man so that his finger didn’t twitch on the trigger, but a millimeter to either side of the kill point and you risked a catastrophe.
And this was the President.
The team leader spoke rapidly into his comms. Drake stopped not eight feet from the terrorist group. Behind and above them, they heard vehicles screeching to a halt and the sound of many thudding feet approaching the station. Sirens wailed and the sound of military choppers landing was loud even down here.
The man standing in the middle whipped his balaclava off. Dmitry Kovalenko, the Blood King, faced the man who had become his nemesis.
“Matt Drake.” The guttural growl was hatred incarnate.
“Fuck you. Let the President go.”
“How are your friends? And young Ben? How’re his mommy and daddy?”
Drake tightened his finger on the trigger.
“Oh, and your army mates.” Kovalenko spoke in mock English. “Spiffy are they?”
One more ounce was added to the pressure.
“Don’t shoot!” the team leader cried. “Stand down!”
Kovalenko grinned devilishly. “Shoot me and your President dies.”
Drake gritted his teeth so hard he tasted blood. The arm holding his rifle shook. He heard Dahl whisper a quiet “hold,” and Alicia’s indifferent grunt, saw the mocking challenge in Kovalenko’s eyes, but it was the look in President Coburn’s eyes which stopped him.
The Blood King’s men removed their masks. The one holding Coburn was the dark-skinned African. The man’s quiet smile revealed a wealth of confidence.
“Gabriel here and his brother, Mordant, are better than you will ever be, Drake. Better than you all. They would take title—” Kovalenko laughed. “Oh, and Mordant, even now, has just crashed party at CIA safe house. Your friends die as we chat, dah? How nice.”
Drake’s finger twitched again. He concentrated solely on Coburn’s eyes, seeing the intelligence there, the calm confidence, but most of all, the tactical prowess which said this man was a heroic strategist, a player in their game, and was just awaiting his moment . . .
Tension flooded his body like never before. This was the game of games, and with a reward beyond imagination.
“Da best is yet to come.” Kovalenko grinned. “Your mistake was to ever know my name, Drake. Now, my Blood Vengeance will take everything you ever loved and drive it into ground.”
“Excuse me,” Alicia said. “Do you have a point to make? These boots are friggin’ killin’ me.”
“And your disgraced biker gang, Myles? Did they die well?”
“Funny thing,” Alicia said emotionlessly. “I ended up killing most of the bad guys. Can you guess what I’m gonna do to you?”
Kovalenko raised his own gun. “So I shoot you now, dah? You can’t shoot me. I have the President.”
The gun discharged point-blank into Alicia’s face. She had no chance. Her body fell backward. Drake fired at the African, but he had already slipped down onto the escalator, the bullet fizzing above his head as he pushed President Coburn before him. Kovalenko’s men whirled and jumped in the African’s wake, dragging Kovalenko with them.
“Whoops,” the Blood King smirked with open arms. “Never was the best of shots.”
Drake fell to his kne
es, cradling Alicia’s head. He was surprised to find her shocked eyes staring into his own.
“Are . . . are you okay?”
“Yeah. I think so. Bullet passed by my helmet. I think it even glanced off.”
Drake breathed deep. Thank you, God. Thank you. Thank you.
Dahl was by his side. “Don’t do that again,” he said sternly. “You gave me a goddamn heart attack.”
Alicia climbed to her feet. The team eased forward past the ticket barriers and stared down the giant escalator at the escaping terrorists. Dahl clenched his fists.
“Balls to the wall.” He grunted. “Live or die. Shall we go save the President?”
“Fuck, yeah.” Alicia sprang forward.
“This ain’t happenin’ on my watch.” The team leader jumped after her.
Drake slammed Dahl on the back. “You with me then, mate?”
The mad Swede simply leapt onto the middle of the escalator and threw himself headlong down the curved shiny surface, firing as he picked up pace.
“Jump on, Drake! It’s crazy time!”
CHAPTER THIRTY FIVE
Kinimaka pulled his handgun out and fired even before figures burst through the breached doorway. Two men ran into his rounds and sprawled half-way across the room, lifeless; but more quickly followed. This was a full-scale breach. Smyth was closest to the door and used the smoke created by the blast to launch a surprise attack, wrestling with the next two attackers. One he punched so hard Kinimaka saw his face cave; the other he spun around and grabbed in a chokehold.
Komodo slid belly first across the floor, reaching for the weapon he had left lying on the sofa. Karin kicked it toward him, at the same time scrambling over the back to find shelter. Komodo caught the gun and shot another attacker in the knees, then the head.
Already that was five down. More surged inside the house.
Smyth used his captive as a shield whilst wrestling away his gun. Kinimaka was shocked to see Yorgi step up and stand in front of a dazed Sarah Moxley. Not even the closeness of her own death penetrated her stupor. Yorgi fired as a bunch of attackers burst into the room.
Kinimaka stood at the bedroom door. The attackers were bunched together, expecting sheer numbers to win the day. And it just might. At this rate the SPEAR team would be overwhelmed in minutes. Then the battle took a turn toward something much worse.
Kinimaka saw the albino arrive, slip like a wraith around the shattered door and square up to Smyth. To his credit he waited until Smyth threw his current assailant to the side, but then he hit like a cargo plane. Even Smyth staggered under the onslaught, barely able to defend himself; each defensive deflection seeming to cause him pain. When he found a second to attack, his strikes were blocked, turned aside, then punished.
Kinimaka emptied his clip and rammed home another. Hayden was trying to sit up in bed.
“Mano?”
“No. Lie down. You’ll die if you move, Hayden.”
“I’ll die if I don’t. It’s the Agents’ Grid, Mano. And no way . . . no way to shut it down unless . . . unless Karin can—”
“Got it. I know.” Kinimaka saw Yorgi shoot a man and Smyth’s huge bulk lifted into the air as if he were a rag doll.
“Shit,” he said. “We’re in trouble. That fuckin’ albino could take us all out.”
Smyth crashed down, crying out loud. Komodo scrambled toward the door. Bullets laced the air. Rounds struck the sofa, the floor, the walls, and the windows. The safe house was a crazy melee, swarming with hired madmen and their bloodlust; heavy with death.
Kinimaka saw Karin crawling around the back of the sofa. He beckoned her over, covering her brief run with gunfire. When she gained the bedroom she went straight to Hayden’s side.
“What can I do?”
“Nothing. But we might have to move her, so get ready. There are two more ways outta here. One through a trapdoor, the other out the back. Hayden can’t go down the trapdoor, that’s for sure.”
“Okay.”
Kinimaka loosed another bullet. “And Hayden seems to think they found us by using the Grid. That sound right to you?”
“The Grid? You mean the Special Agent Grid? That’s unhackable.”
“So’s the DOT’s secret traffic signal system. But they broke into that.”
“Bloody hell. I’m not even sure I could—”
“We need you to unhack the hack,” Kinimaka said. “And fast.”
“Well, I need a computer first. And how do they even know the Grid exists? Very few are privy to that kind of information, Mano.”
“This bastard, Kovalenko. He has his fingers into everything.”
“No. He has a major insider—”
“Not now.” Kinimaka saw they were losing the battle. The team was on the defensive. They only had scope for one more gigantic effort. “Gotta go.”
The big Hawaiian plowed into the room, lining up his targets. In a matter of seconds he plucked Lauren from the floor and threw her bodily back into the bedroom, sending her tumbling through the open door. In another second he was level with Yorgi and yelling at him to take Moxley and retreat. The Russian thief took her weight and dragged her away. Kinimaka held strong as a bullet smashed into him, striking his Kevlar vest. He charged at the crowd of men, splitting them apart like bowling pins and then, when he reached the other end of the room, he ripped the shattered, dangling door right off its broken hinges.
The attackers turned toward him. Kinimaka swung the big door like a baseball bat, smashing every man aside. The timbers shattered, falling apart as they hit. Kinimaka was left with shards of wood in his hand and an open front door behind him.
Could they . . .?
But then Smyth collided with him, bouncing clear. Kinimaka locked eyes with the albino.
“Fancy a shot at the title, big boy?”
He didn’t. Kinimaka grabbed hold of Smyth and hurled the ex-Delta soldier toward the far door. At his feet, felled men were beginning to stir. He had dropped his gun when he wielded the door and now didn’t have time to look for it.
“Back away,” he said to the albino. “Now.”
“You ever been to jail, big boy?”
Kinimaka felt pissed. Suddenly, it was okay for everyone to be sizist was it? “No. And stop calling me ‘big boy’, you vile white devil.”
“In jail, you speak like that, it’s like issuing a challenge. You need to learn more respect . . . big boy.”
Kinimaka never stopped moving, easing carefully past the one remaining attacker, knowing that he didn’t want to provoke this man. Now was one of those times when retreat seemed more prudent than wading into battle. Not only that, he had seven bruised buddies about to wake up.
Komodo rose unsteadily, giving the Hawaiian a hard look. Kinimaka realized he might have inadvertently taken his own man out too. That sure wouldn’t help his clumsy reputation. Smyth finally managed to compose himself and turned, reaching for a weapon.
Kinimaka backed away. “You good enough to take all three of us, chalky?”
The albino’s eyes raised and narrowed, red-rimmed and bloodshot against his pure white skin. Shit, Kinimaka thought. The crazy bastard’s up for it!
Faster than thought, Kinimaka turned and ran. Komodo moved with him. Smyth squeezed off a round. Maybe they could have stayed and defeated the albino, but Hayden’s life was more important now. They flew into the bedroom. Karin already had Hayden sitting in an upright position, and had wrapped some duct tape they had found in the kitchen around both her wounds. Hayden’s head hung low, but rose when Kinimaka ran to her.
“Let’s get outta here.”
He started to scoop her up, but then Smyth held out a hand. “Wait,” he said.
“We can’t wait.”
The angry man glared over at Kinimaka. “I said wait. I didn’t say it for fun.”
Komodo’s stance changed. His whole demeanor altered from one of aggression to one of relief.
“They’re gone,” Smyth said. “They just got up, liste
ned as the albino took a call, and left.”
Kinimaka sighed with relief. “Now we can get her to a hospital.”
“For that to happen,” Karin said. “Kovalenko must have called them off. Only he could do that. And that means . . .”
“Something huge is going down,” Komodo said. “Only that would make the Blood King feel the need to interrupt his vendetta.”
“Fire up a computer,” Kinimaka told Karin. “See if you can take down the Special Agent Grid. And Komodo, grab a satnav. I want the nearest hospital programmed in. And Smyth—”
The soldier still glared at him.
“Go outside. Take a look around and over the city. Maybe head up to the roof. I wanna know what happens the moment it hits.”
CHAPTER THIRTY SIX
Drake felt like a man leaping to his own doom as he jumped onto the escalator’s central divide and sailed down in Dahl’s wake. The surface was slippery smooth, contributing to a swift increase in their speed. Drake heard a whoop from behind and knew that Alicia had climbed on too.
One after the other, the three SPEAR team members slid toward the Blood King, his men, and the President at high speed, firing high but still making them duck their heads and lose focus. One man tripped and fell headlong down the escalator. Dahl smashed through an oblong-shaped upright in the center of the divide, but barely noticed. His balance was perfect and never altered. He flew down the entire escalator at high speed, in just a few seconds hitting the end with his legs high and tucking to control his inevitable tumble. He landed, rolled and came up with his gun raised just as the Blood King’s men jumped down the last few steps.
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