needed this to go off without a hitch. He fished the detonator from the front of his vest and depressed the button. A boom echoed through the complex, but he’d rigged it for effect more than destruction. The northeast door buckled, drawing the guard’s barrels.
Screams seeped through the walls and rose into the night. Workers ran. Metal parts bounced across the concrete.
“One and two down,” Greer said.
“Sea of workers headed your way.”
“Target in them?”
Zeke pocketed the device and found Coen in his scope. He crouched next to the container. His gaze swung left and right, low and high. The chap’s brown eyes centered Zeke’s sights.
“No.”
“I’m going in.”
“Negative.” Zeke growled.
Something wasn’t right.
He swung the barrel to the left. Greer bulldozed her way upstream through the crowd. She looked like a pebble in a raging river. Somehow she burst onto shore, her cheeks red. Her mouth opened, forming Derrick’s name.
Coen shoved himself away from the container. His hands lifted palm up. He waved Greer away. Stubbornly, she charged forward.
Zeke swept the warehouse. Three of the guards had vanished out the door. The fourth sprinted in Greer’s direction. He yanked the deadly point of his gun around from the blown door.
“Bogey, quad six.” Zeke shouted in the quietest voice he could manage.
Greer sank her fingers onto Coen’s sleeve and hurdled him around the open end of the container. But she wouldn’t make it in time.
Zeke focused his crosshairs on the guard’s temple. His fingers found the trigger with ease.
The world shook. He lost sight of his target. He lost sight of Greer. Night took hold. The bite of metal and blood filled Zeke’s mouth.
A string of shots roused him from the depths. Greer . Zeke struggled to his elbows to find his rifle and Greer. Weight planted itself against his kidney and pressed.
“Who are you?” The bur of a Russian accent swam in his ear.
His reply came out as an incoherent mumble.
“What?” A hand pressed against his collar and rolled him.
One of the guards from the warehouse leaned close, assessing the amount of weapons strapped to his body. “Alexi Basov,” Zeke wheezed.
Shock widened the man’s features. He straightened just enough.
Zeke kicked out, aiming for the knee cap though he couldn’t see it. The man’s howl reverberated at what seemed a distance. He rolled to the side. The boot that had crushed his kidney disappeared over the side of the building.
He sat, scanned the empty roof, grabbed his rifle, and turned back to the warehouse. His heart lodged firmly in his throat.
The splat-crunch punctuated the end of a life.
Left to right, Zeke scanned. No bodies littered the warehouse floor. Footfalls pounded up the building’s north end fire escape. He righted his brains with a shake, wiped the blood and grime from his lip, slid off the elevator shaft roof, and ran for the south escape.
He gripped the rails and lifted his feet. Gravity did the rest until each landing. A spray of bullets pinged off the metal barrier between him and the Stas guards. His cheeks puckered, but he didn’t stop.
Zeke tossed himself through a window and into the painter’s lair. He rolled to his feet and pressed on toward the interior stairs. The farther he moved into the building the dimmer it grew. His monocular read like a cracked cell phone screen. A regular ol’ flashlight guided him through the trash laden stairwell and to the main entrance.
“Greer?” Zeke whispered into the comm link.
When several precious seconds passed without an answer he hunched and bolted for the car four blocks away. He expected to dodge bullets again, but none rained.
The longer he ran with no answer from Greer the harder breathing became.
“Greer?”
Where the fuck was she?
“Greer?”
“Shut up and move.” She nearly plowed over him around a blind corner. Coen’s legs pumped just behind her.
“Are you hurt?”
“No.” Greer snapped
Screams seeped through the walls and rose into the night. Workers ran. Metal parts bounced across the concrete.
“One and two down,” Greer said.
“Sea of workers headed your way.”
“Target in them?”
Zeke pocketed the device and found Coen in his scope. He crouched next to the container. His gaze swung left and right, low and high. The chap’s brown eyes centered Zeke’s sights.
“No.”
“I’m going in.”
“Negative.” Zeke growled.
Something wasn’t right.
He swung the barrel to the left. Greer bulldozed her way upstream through the crowd. She looked like a pebble in a raging river. Somehow she burst onto shore, her cheeks red. Her mouth opened, forming Derrick’s name.
Coen shoved himself away from the container. His hands lifted palm up. He waved Greer away. Stubbornly, she charged forward.
Zeke swept the warehouse. Three of the guards had vanished out the door. The fourth sprinted in Greer’s direction. He yanked the deadly point of his gun around from the blown door.
“Bogey, quad six.” Zeke shouted in the quietest voice he could manage.
Greer sank her fingers onto Coen’s sleeve and hurdled him around the open end of the container. But she wouldn’t make it in time.
Zeke focused his crosshairs on the guard’s temple. His fingers found the trigger with ease.
The world shook. He lost sight of his target. He lost sight of Greer. Night took hold. The bite of metal and blood filled Zeke’s mouth.
A string of shots roused him from the depths. Greer . Zeke struggled to his elbows to find his rifle and Greer. Weight planted itself against his kidney and pressed.
“Who are you?” The bur of a Russian accent swam in his ear.
His reply came out as an incoherent mumble.
“What?” A hand pressed against his collar and rolled him.
One of the guards from the warehouse leaned close, assessing the amount of weapons strapped to his body. “Alexi Basov,” Zeke wheezed.
Shock widened the man’s features. He straightened just enough.
Zeke kicked out, aiming for the knee cap though he couldn’t see it. The man’s howl reverberated at what seemed a distance. He rolled to the side. The boot that had crushed his kidney disappeared over the side of the building.
He sat, scanned the empty roof, grabbed his rifle, and turned back to the warehouse. His heart lodged firmly in his throat.
The splat-crunch punctuated the end of a life.
Left to right, Zeke scanned. No bodies littered the warehouse floor. Footfalls pounded up the building’s north end fire escape. He righted his brains with a shake, wiped the blood and grime from his lip, slid off the elevator shaft roof, and ran for the south escape.
He gripped the rails and lifted his feet. Gravity did the rest until each landing. A spray of bullets pinged off the metal barrier between him and the Stas guards. His cheeks puckered, but he didn’t stop.
Zeke tossed himself through a window and into the painter’s lair. He rolled to his feet and pressed on toward the interior stairs. The farther he moved into the building the dimmer it grew. His monocular read like a cracked cell phone screen. A regular ol’ flashlight guided him through the trash laden stairwell and to the main entrance.
“Greer?” Zeke whispered into the comm link.
When several precious seconds passed without an answer he hunched and bolted for the car four blocks away. He expected to dodge bullets again, but none rained.
The longer he ran with no answer from Greer the harder breathing became.
“Greer?”
Where the fuck was she?
“Greer?”
“Shut up and move.” She nearly plowed over him around a blind corner. Coen’s legs pumped just behind her.
“Are you hurt?”
“No.” Greer snapped
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