The Malta Escape

by Chris Kuzneski

  “That’s not good.”

  “No, it’s not. Do you know what covering fire is?”

  “Yes. Jarkko former soldier.”

  “Really? You never told me that.”

  Jarkko shrugged. “You never ask.”

  Payne was about to respond, but he noticed movement above. He glanced up and saw Jones signaling down to him. One of the henchmen was making his move toward Marissa.

  Payne cursed under his breath. They had to act now.

  “On three, I want you to shoot across the way.”

  “At what?”

  “Anything but Marissa.”

  “Okay.”

  “Three.”

  Jarkko stood and did what he was told, firing a few quick shots toward the shelves in the back of the room. His covering fire had the desired effect, forcing the Russians to temporarily scramble for cover while Payne left the safety behind the display case and dashed across the floor. Instead of diving headfirst over the desk and risking a concussion, he slid across its wooden surface on his hip and used his feet to stop his momentum as he crashed into the alcove.

  “Ouch,” he mumbled as he scrambled to his knees and looked for someone to shoot. Fortunately, the only person he saw was Marissa, who had armed herself with a stapler but was staring at him like he was crazy.

  “What are you doing here?” she demanded.

  “Saving you.”

  “I don’t need to be saved.”

  “Fine,” he said. “Then I can leave.”

  She grabbed his arm. “Don’t be hasty.”

  Payne smiled at her before he glanced at Jones, who was signaling from his perch. Two Russians were toward the back of the room, hiding behind a card catalog. The other one was lurking behind an overturned table in the middle of the chamber. Payne nodded in understanding, then signaled back to Jones, letting him know that Jarkko had another chance to help their cause.

  Only this time he would get to aim at the Russians.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Jarkko was in the corner, still laughing at his good fortune, when he heard a voice from above.

  A few minutes earlier, he would have assumed it was an angel calling his name, but now he knew it was his jobless friend David, who had apparently jumped thirty feet to the upper level and was hiding behind a painting of an old guy in a red blouse.

  Jarkko glanced up at him and waved.

  Jones smiled and signaled for Jarkko to move along the wall behind the display case to a spot near the center of the room. From there, he would have a direct shot at one of the goons.

  Jarkko’s grin got even wider.

  If there was one thing he liked more than vodka, it was killing Russian scum.

  As a native of Finland, he and his homeland lived under the constant threat of a Russian invasion. They all knew it was coming; it was just a matter of time. And when it happened, there wasn’t a damn thing that they could do about it, because their military lacked the resources and manpower of the empire to their east.

  It was one of the reasons he did so much illegal business in Russia.

  He liked screwing them any chance he got.

  With his gun raised and his shirt wet, Jarkko did what he was told. He creeped behind the display case until he reached its end. From there, he spotted the exposed leg of a Russian, who was crouching behind a table directly across from the circulation desk. He posed a direct threat to both Payne and Marissa, who were temporarily out of harm’s way but would be in the line of fire if the Russian pressed forward.

  So Jarkko made sure that didn’t happen.

  He pulled his trigger and fired a single shot into the Russian’s knee. The goon screamed out in pain while falling backwards on his ass, which conveniently exposed him to a headshot.

  A second later, Jarkko silenced him forever.

  ◊ ◊ ◊

  Payne didn’t need to look. He knew the Russian was dead. He had been in enough firefights to recognize the sudden silence that came with a kill shot.

  That meant two gunmen were left.

  Both hiding in the rear of the library.

  If Payne had wanted to escape, this would have been the time to do it. He could tell Marissa to run toward the door while the rest of his team slowly retreated toward the exit while firing just enough shots to keep the Russians pinned in place in the back of the chamber.

  But the truth was Payne didn’t want to leave.

  He wanted answers.

  That meant he needed to capture one of the goons alive.

  Payne signaled to Jones, who signaled to Jarkko, who signaled to Payne, until all of them knew what they were doing. The only one who wouldn’t participate was Marissa, who had traded in her stapler for a pair of scissors. She was using it to tend to the gash on the back of her leg. She cut off a strip of duct tape that she had found in one of the drawers and used it to seal her wound until she got stitches or a proper bandage.

  While she worked, she didn’t wince or complain.

  Which brought a smile to Payne’s face.

  A lot could be learned during pressure situations.

  And this revealed that she was tough.

  Payne glanced at her leg. “Want me to kiss it and make it better?”

  Considering their circumstances, the comment was so unexpected she had to cover her mouth to keep from laughing. “If you get me out of this alive, I might just let you.”

  “Then it’s a date.”

  “Whoa, cowboy. I said might. Besides, you still have work to do.”

  “No worries. I’m working on the problem as we speak.”

  ◊ ◊ ◊

  Truth be told, Jones was the one doing most of the work—because he was crawling on all fours from his perch above the door to the ledge that lined the wall across from the circulation desk. Payne had noticed that it went directly above the two card catalogs where the Russians were hiding, which would give Jones the decisive high ground in a shootout.

  Meanwhile, Jarkko was told to stay put near the display cases.

  If the Russians ducked underneath the ledge to avoid Jones’s wrath, Jarkko would be there to pick them off. And if the Russians ran toward the center of the room, Payne would pop up from behind the desk and gun them down.

  As far as Payne could tell, they had every angle covered.

  Regrettably, Payne was wrong.

  ◊ ◊ ◊

  Jones could crawl almost as skillfully as he could climb, so he had no problem making his way through the narrow gaps to his new perch above the card catalogs. Once he got into position, he snuck a quick peek over the edge to inspect the Russians below.

  They were down there, whispering to one another.

  Each held a gun in his hand.

  Jones leaned back against the wall and waved his arms above his head to get Payne’s attention. From across the room, Payne nodded and then signaled instructions to his men.

  First to Jones, then to Jarkko.

  For this to work, they needed to be in sync.

  Both men nodded back, ready for action.

  Jones took a deep breath as he stood on the narrow ledge. With his back against the bookshelves, he couldn’t be seen by the goons below, but the instant he stepped toward the decorative railing, he would be exposed. As far as he was concerned, it was worth the risk because he would have a clear downward shot at the Russians. If he fired quickly, he would be able to take them out before they even knew what hit them.

  Unfortunately for Jones, that’s not what happened.

  And the thing to blame was the library he loved.

  The moment he stepped forward to line up his shot, the floorboard underneath his left foot creaked, a sound that screamed in the quiet room.

  The Russians looked up and saw the face of their foe staring down at them, so they raised their guns and fired. Both shots missed wide as Jones got off a shot of his own that clipped the shoulder of one of the men. He screamed out in pain and darted underneath the ledge that was holding Jones. The other
Russian joined him, temporarily out of Jones’s range.

  “Shit,” Jones mumbled.

  Payne cursed even louder across the way.

  From his position near the display cases, Jarkko had a shot at the Russians, who were partially protected by one of the ladders that leaned against the stacks. Forced to hurry, Jarkko’s first shot clipped one of the thick side rails of the ladder.

  Wood splintered near the injured Russian’s head, but he didn’t flinch due to the adrenaline coursing through his veins. Instead, he turned and fired two shots that hit the side paneling of the case next to Jarkko, who fired right back and hit the ladder once again. This time a chunk cracked off and punctured the Russian’s flesh. He yelped in pain and slumped to the floor as blood gushed from his cheek, matching the liquid that leaked from his shoulder.

  “Fuck you, you commie bastard!” Jarkko yelled in Russian.

  Staring at the splinter in his comrade’s face, the healthy henchman got an idea. He glanced upward at the boards underneath the ledge and realized that they were ancient. So he turned his gun skyward and waited for another creak, at which time he pulled his trigger.

  Jones was staring at the floorboards beneath his feet when they erupted in a barrage of gunfire. Shot after shot after echoing shot, delivered so precisely that they burst through the old floor and embedded themselves in the ceiling above, narrowly missing Jones, who managed to jump back on the bottom bookshelf while somehow keeping his balance.

  A moment before the floor had been solid, but now he could see straight through.

  And grinning at him from below was the healthy Russian.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  Payne knew their plan had gone to shit the instant the floorboard had creaked, which is why he had cursed so loudly behind the circulation desk.

  Now he was forced to enter the fray and leave Marissa behind.

  Despite his size, Payne was incredibly light on his feet. He had the ability to sneak through jungles, deserts, forests, or snow, without making a sound—so the tiled floor of a public library was hardly a challenge.

  Directly across from the circulation desk was a long chain of tables that had been pushed together, each draped by a green tablecloth that hung below chair level. Payne knew it would give him adequate cover as he moved closer to the Russians. After signaling Jarkko, he covered the distance between the desk and the tables in less than a second, then he scooted along the floor until he reached the far end of the row.

  Now Jarkko was to his left and the goons were on his right.

  In a matter of seconds, blood would be spilled.

  ◊ ◊ ◊

  The henchman who wanted to be a plumber had remained in the stairwell while his comrades were gunned down, one after another. Although he was racked with guilt, there wasn’t much he could do since one of their foes had positioned himself above the main door. The plumber realized if he charged forward to help, he would quickly be another corpse on the floor.

  So he waited. And he waited. And he waited some more.

  Until his patience paid off.

  The gunman above the door finally left his perch and made his way toward the back of the room, followed by the smuggler in the puffy shirt. And last but not least, the muscle-bound warrior left the circulation desk, leaving the woman behind.

  If the plumber was going to make a move, this was the time to do it.

  So he took a deep breath and crept forward.

  ◊ ◊ ◊

  Jones knew he was in deep shit when he saw the bastard’s grin. Soldiers from Russia rarely showed positive emotions when engaged in battle. They preferred to stay cold and clinical, just like their training, so a smile that wide meant something horrible.

  Then he saw what it was through the hole in the floor.

  The henchman from hell had a grenade in his hand.

  And then he didn’t.

  Because he had leaned forward and tossed it onto the ledge.

  At that moment, Jones had a decision to make—and less than a second to make it. Should he grab the grenade and throw it back toward the goons? Or would the damn thing go off before it left his hands? And even if he managed to redirect it, would the ancient ledge with the bullet holes be able to sustain the blast?

  Of course, he could always catch the grenade and try to throw it far away, but during the past several seconds, he had lost sight of his friends—thanks to the barrage of bullets that had been pumped through the floorboards. He didn’t want to endanger their lives, so he ruled that out the instant it crossed his mind.

  Unfortunately, that left him with no good options.

  And one really dangerous one.

  So he opted for that and made the most of it.

  Using the iron railing like the monkey bars he had mastered as a kid, Jones jumped over the top bar while twisting his body. This allowed him to catch the bottom rail and swing back underneath the ledge where the two goons were hiding.

  The grin left the henchman’s face when Jones crashed on top of him, slamming his head against shelf after shelf as Jones rode him all the way to the floor. At some point the impact shattered the goon’s skull, because the bumpy ride ended with Jones on top of a dead Russian leaking brains while staring at a live one with a gun in his hand.

  The injured henchman couldn’t believe his luck. One of their targets had literally fallen from the sky and landed at his feet. Despite his pain, he raised his arm and put the gun in Jones’s face. But before he could squeeze the trigger, the grenade exploded above, producing a thunderous blast and a bright burst of light that filled the entire room.

  And it happened directly over Jones.

  ◊ ◊ ◊

  Payne had watched the events play out from his position behind the table.

  He saw the grenade go up and Jones come down.

  Right on top of the healthy gunman.

  Payne stepped forward to make sure his friend was okay when he saw the injured Russian point his gun at Jones, so Payne did the only thing he could.

  He raised his weapon and fired.

  ◊ ◊ ◊

  With everyone’s focus toward the back of the room, the plumber crept in silence. He had no interest in tangling with one of the enemy gunmen, so he went after another prize.

  Based on everything he had seen, the plumber knew that he would be the only henchman to survive this battle. He also realized if he left the library uninjured and empty-handed, that his boss would interpret that as failure, something to be punished with torture…or worse.

  Which put him in a difficult position.

  He had to return with something, but what?

  And then he saw it.

  The perfect trophy to take back to Volkov.

  He snuck quietly toward the circulation desk where the injured woman sat alone, armed with a pair of scissors and a roll of tape. With a gun in his hand, he crept closer and closer until he was so damn close that he could practically hear her breath.

  And that’s when he made his move.

  There on the floor sat two matching gym bags.

  Purchased by the enemy an hour before.

  He grabbed the first one and quickly filled it with books and papers and anything he could find. Then he grabbed the second bag and immediately did the same.

  Now the bags were filled with stuff.

  Library stuff.

  He could work with that.

  He was about to turn and run for the door when he sensed some eyes upon him. He glanced up and noticed Marissa. She was hiding behind the desk with her scissors raised. At some point she had spotted him and had retreated to safety.

  As far as he was concerned, she had the right idea.

  So he followed her lead.

  He grabbed the two gym bags and ran for the door.

  ◊ ◊ ◊

  The bullet left Payne’s gun a split-second before the grenade went off. It whizzed through the air and struck the injured Russian in his head at the same time the device exploded.

 
The goon’s gun hand went limp as thunder roared above.

  Thankfully for Jones, the grenade was merely a flash-bang—a nonlethal explosive that was meant to temporarily disorient an enemy’s senses—otherwise the entire side of the library would have come crashing down on him and the dead goons.

  As it was, it was still enough to knock Jones silly and scare the shit out of everyone else in the room. Books vibrated on shelves and tables rattled as Payne and Jarkko turned from the blast and did their best to protect their ears and eyes.

  Each of them had seen the grenade in the air, so they were semi-prepared.

  Across the way, Marissa had no idea what had happened.

  After watching the plumber sneak away, she remained in the alcove behind the desk until the coast was clear, but even then, the thunderous sound echoed in her mind.

  As did the multiple deaths she had witnessed.

  ◊ ◊ ◊

  Volkov’s plan had been simple.

  His henchmen were supposed to enter with stealth, disarm the Finn and his unsuspecting bodyguards, and then summon Volkov by phone for the inquisition. His cadre of hackers had turned off the surveillance cameras from afar, so he didn’t have to worry about being seen.

  Once inside the library, he had planned to find out everything he could about the Russian documents that the smuggler had received as payment from Bobrinsky and anything else that he could profit from before he disposed of the Finn and his men.

  Some would think that Bobrinsky’s brutal death in Estonia had more than offset the perceived slap in the face, but Volkov had felt differently.

  He would not be satisfied until everyone had suffered.

  And yet, as he sipped his iced tea at the café outside the library, he was the one doing the suffering. His team had entered the building several minutes earlier, and he hadn’t heard a word from them since. That was very unlike this particular crew. They were elite soldiers, who had trained in the Russian military before taking positions in his organization. He had seen them in the field on many occasions and was confident in their abilities.