Hammer of Angels: A Novel of Shadowstorm by G. T. Almasi Page A

guards out front until we’re ready. I lay the mine down and push the red button on top. The mine’s motion sensor will wait until I move away before it arms itself. Brando carries a special remote control that’ll disarm the mine if we need to move it. He calls it his Mine-O-Matic.
    â€œOkay,” I comm. “Now what? Should we do the guards out front or go up the back stairs?”
    â€œBack stairs.” He pauses. “We’ve got help out front.”
    â€œIs Jade done already?”
    â€œNo, she’s headed north. This is a late addition … nice. He brought his Bitchgun.”
    â€œRaj is here?”
    â€œYeah.” Brando has a glint in his eyes. “Let’s secure the rear exit, and Raj will nail anyone who comes out the front.”
    We return to the first floor and run to the back stairway. I lead us up to the second floor, where my infrared vision displays three heat signatures in the first office on my right.
    Finally!
    I flash field signals to Brando with my right hand:
We got three.
He nods and hangs back in case someone comes from the rear staircase.
    I increase my neuroinjector’s Madrenaline flow until the hair on the back of my neck stands up. Then I approach the office of warm blobs, take a deep breath, and kick the door in with a splintering crash.
    The first Gestapo officer is directly in front of me, on the phone. I’m so zooted up that I’ve got time to watch his expression change from angered annoyance to confused perplexity. The second expression is what he’ll wear into Kraut heaven since it’s the last thing he ever does. Li’l Bertha’s .30-caliber standard slugs tear through his chest and neck. The impact lifts him out of his chair and rams him into the wall.
    The remaining two agents sit at a desk to the left. They spin to see what’s happening. This presents me with a juicy pair of foreheads. I nail extra eyeholes into each of them. Blood schpritzes across the room and hits me in my face.
    â€œScarlet,” Brando comms, “you’ve got a goon in the hallway.”
    I scoot back into the corridor. The lummox coming out of his office spots me and screeches unintelligibly. I assume he’s saying something like
Holy sausages, who’s that crazy chick with blood all over her face?
Li’l Bertha spits out a pair of slugs that rip the top of Screechy’s head off and slosh its contents onto the wall behind him. It already resembles a scene from Dante’s Inferno in here, and I’ve barely gotten started.
    More doors open, toward the front. Four bruisers look into the hall and quickly realize what’s happening. Three retreat into their offices. One makes a break for it and pitches over as my next shot smashes into his neck.
    Now I’ve got three offices to clear out: two left and one right. Li’l Bertha’s infrared sensor labels my targets as One, Two, and Three. I dive into the first left-side office. Target One is in here, desperately trying to open up his wall safe. He’s really thin, and this gives me an idea. Instead of greasing him outright, I have Li’l Bertha pop a bullet into the base of his spine. I catch him before he drops and hold him in front of me as I go back out to the hallway.
    Target One’s light build means I can lug him around with one arm. We approach the second office on the left. My human shield screams in agony and leaves a trail of piss behind us. Inside, Target Two has armed himself and certainly hears us coming, but when his colleague comes through the door first, he holds his fire. Target Two’s hesitation earns him a complimentary .30-caliber face-lift.
    Brando comms, “Scarlet, that last enemy is coming your way.”
    I spin around and face the door, my right arm still clutching Target One in front of me. Target Three barges in and fires his pistol. I let go of my shield and slip under his shot. The slug gets Target One in the