visual on me and Miyake,’ the security guard was gibbering. ‘Repeat, no indiscriminate fire.’
He was waiting for reinforcements, but Shelley had his position now. Shelley came from behind his cover, found the target and neutralised it with a single shot. The guard fell, almost noiselessly.
Threat over, Shelley rose from cover. Not far away the wounded player was writhing, moaning with pain. Shelley moved over to him and saw that an MP5 round had made a mess of his upper thigh. ‘You’re Mr Miyake, are you?’ he said.
He squinted down the gun sights at the man, who nodded. With his chin, Shelley indicated towards the TrackingPoint that lay on the ground.
‘And you killed Cookie with that, did you?’
Miyake nodded. ‘He was a worthy opponent,’ he croaked. Whether that was supposed to comfort Shelley, he wasn’t really sure.
Shelley’s finger tightened on the trigger. Mr Miyake saw and tensed. ‘Please,’ he said.
‘You rich?’ asked Shelley.
Mr Miyake nodded his head furiously. ‘A billionaire,’ he said. ‘I’ll give you anything.’
‘Good. Make it fifty million to homeless charities by Thursday. And if it’s not done, I’ll come for you and it’ll cost you a lot more than fifty million, I can promise you that. Do you believe me?’
Miyake nodded.
‘Good. You’re right to.’
And with that Shelley took off.
A round crashed into the foliage around him. He fired a burst in return and heard the sound of the gunman beating a retreat. He stopped, checked the angle of sunlight coming through the trees, mentally recalibrated his position and set off. This time he was going towards the access road. Now he had a plan.
He slowed as he reached the perimeter, then stopped, seeing a guard as well as a Land Rover parked on the road. There would be a sentry on the far side, guarding the treeline. The idea was to bottle Shelley in.
Right. It was crucial he did this without being spotted.
Shelley flitted through the undergrowth, moving from tree to tree in time with the guard’s diligent scanning from left to right. Each move brought him closer and he was pleased that the buzzing of the drones cancelled out what minimal sound he made. Gently he let the MP5 fall to its sling, crouching ready to make his move.
The sound of drones increased suddenly, and Shelley looked up to see one above his position. He couldn’t let it report his location, and with a curse he snatched up the MP5 and took it out. The two security guards were startled into action, and Shelley swung the barrel in an arc, putting two rounds in the man closest to him. The sentry on the far side dived behind the Land Rover and Shelley went down to his stomach, tucking the assault rifle into his shoulder and tracking the man in the space beneath the chassis. He fired. Once. Twice. The guy screamed and was still.
Shelley ran to the road and checked the bodies. He grabbed more magazines from them, as much ammo as he could carry. He smiled. Everything was going according to plan now.
With the road clear, he set off once more, storming upwards for about two hundred yards and then taking a sudden left into the treeline and back into the woods. He moved quickly but stealthily, hoping he’d timed this right . . .
He had. With their backs to him was a pair of hunters, a player and his security. They were joining a haphazard pincer movement that was trying to trap Shelley, but he’d anticipated them and now dropped quietly to one knee, finding the guard in the sights of his MP5.
He hated himself for doing it the coward’s way, but he put two bullets in the guy’s back. The player cursed in German and panicked, running off into the woods. Shelley fired after him, deliberately missing, but his shots had the intended effect. Other nervous players, unaware that their fellow competitors were being driven towards them, opened fire.
There was shouting, confusion, more shots fired and more screams.
Good . It was just as Shelley had hoped. He
He was waiting for reinforcements, but Shelley had his position now. Shelley came from behind his cover, found the target and neutralised it with a single shot. The guard fell, almost noiselessly.
Threat over, Shelley rose from cover. Not far away the wounded player was writhing, moaning with pain. Shelley moved over to him and saw that an MP5 round had made a mess of his upper thigh. ‘You’re Mr Miyake, are you?’ he said.
He squinted down the gun sights at the man, who nodded. With his chin, Shelley indicated towards the TrackingPoint that lay on the ground.
‘And you killed Cookie with that, did you?’
Miyake nodded. ‘He was a worthy opponent,’ he croaked. Whether that was supposed to comfort Shelley, he wasn’t really sure.
Shelley’s finger tightened on the trigger. Mr Miyake saw and tensed. ‘Please,’ he said.
‘You rich?’ asked Shelley.
Mr Miyake nodded his head furiously. ‘A billionaire,’ he said. ‘I’ll give you anything.’
‘Good. Make it fifty million to homeless charities by Thursday. And if it’s not done, I’ll come for you and it’ll cost you a lot more than fifty million, I can promise you that. Do you believe me?’
Miyake nodded.
‘Good. You’re right to.’
And with that Shelley took off.
A round crashed into the foliage around him. He fired a burst in return and heard the sound of the gunman beating a retreat. He stopped, checked the angle of sunlight coming through the trees, mentally recalibrated his position and set off. This time he was going towards the access road. Now he had a plan.
He slowed as he reached the perimeter, then stopped, seeing a guard as well as a Land Rover parked on the road. There would be a sentry on the far side, guarding the treeline. The idea was to bottle Shelley in.
Right. It was crucial he did this without being spotted.
Shelley flitted through the undergrowth, moving from tree to tree in time with the guard’s diligent scanning from left to right. Each move brought him closer and he was pleased that the buzzing of the drones cancelled out what minimal sound he made. Gently he let the MP5 fall to its sling, crouching ready to make his move.
The sound of drones increased suddenly, and Shelley looked up to see one above his position. He couldn’t let it report his location, and with a curse he snatched up the MP5 and took it out. The two security guards were startled into action, and Shelley swung the barrel in an arc, putting two rounds in the man closest to him. The sentry on the far side dived behind the Land Rover and Shelley went down to his stomach, tucking the assault rifle into his shoulder and tracking the man in the space beneath the chassis. He fired. Once. Twice. The guy screamed and was still.
Shelley ran to the road and checked the bodies. He grabbed more magazines from them, as much ammo as he could carry. He smiled. Everything was going according to plan now.
With the road clear, he set off once more, storming upwards for about two hundred yards and then taking a sudden left into the treeline and back into the woods. He moved quickly but stealthily, hoping he’d timed this right . . .
He had. With their backs to him was a pair of hunters, a player and his security. They were joining a haphazard pincer movement that was trying to trap Shelley, but he’d anticipated them and now dropped quietly to one knee, finding the guard in the sights of his MP5.
He hated himself for doing it the coward’s way, but he put two bullets in the guy’s back. The player cursed in German and panicked, running off into the woods. Shelley fired after him, deliberately missing, but his shots had the intended effect. Other nervous players, unaware that their fellow competitors were being driven towards them, opened fire.
There was shouting, confusion, more shots fired and more screams.
Good . It was just as Shelley had hoped. He
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