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It’s not much of a plan, but it’s all I’ve got.
The gas station looms closer with each second. To my relief, despite the early hour and the wilderness feel of the area, I see a well-lit store with a few people inside, and some cars in the parking lot.
My hope is that Kent won’t want to cause trouble so close to his home, and sure enough, the SUVs behind me reduce their speed, allowing me to pull ahead as we approach the gas station.
Triumph floods my veins as I take my foot off the gas, preparing to execute my stop-and-run maneuver.
I’m there.
Even if they catch me before I make it to a phone, my capture won’t go unnoticed.
I’m less than two hundred feet from the gas station when it happens.
A dog darts onto the road in front of me.
I react instinctively, swerving as I hit the brakes, and as my car spins into the guardrail, I have one last illogical thought.
I hope Peter and his men return from their job unscathed.
49
Peter
“Now,” I bark into the headset, and Yan fires the RPG as Arslan’s bodyguards herd their boss into his car.
Boom!
For a moment, there’s nothing but the blinding flash of the missile exploding and the ringing in my ears, but then I see it.
The surviving bodyguards scattering like roaches, with more running out of the guardhouse to confront the threat.
“Do it,” I tell Anton, and he starts picking them off one by one, his semi-automatic sniper’s rifle firing with deadly efficiency. I join him, and before long, a dozen bodies litter the ground, their heads blown open by our bullets.
“Two o’clock,” Yan shouts in the headset, and I spot movement on the ground. A guard is crouched low, using the burning car as a cover. His arm is around a man’s back, protecting him.
Fury spikes through me as I recognize the man.
Deniz Arslan.
Our target is still alive.
He’s bloodied and covered with dirt, but he’s walking—which means his bodyguards are even better than we thought.
“It’s Arslan,” I snarl into the headset, shifting my position to angle my scope around the obstruction of the burning car.
I have to get this fucker.
He has to die today.
In the distance, sirens wail, and more bodyguards rush into Arslan’s yard. We have minutes, if not seconds, to complete our task.
Shutting out the noise and the pounding of my heartbeat in my temples, I concentrate and squeeze the trigger.
Arslan’s protector falls, his brains exploding all over the politician as I fire off a second shot.
“Fuck!”
Through training or dumb luck, my target falls and rolls—at the exact right time.
Swearing under my breath, I shoot again, and I hear the staccato roar of Anton’s weapon next to mine.
With grim satisfaction, I watch as two of our bullets rip through Arslan’s skull, exploding his brain on the way.
It’s done.
The corrupt politician is dead.
“Incoming,” Yan yells, and I jump to my feet, hearing a helicopter in the distance.
As expected, we’re going to have pursuit.
It takes mere seconds for Anton and myself to shimmy down from the neighbor’s roof and join Yan below on the street. It’s only a few blocks to the community fence from here, and we run as fast as we can as the sirens’ wail grows louder. The helicopter is approaching quickly, too.
“Ilya? Tell me you’re there,” I order, out of breath as I sprint down the street.
“Ready and waiting,” he reports. “You guys better hurry. It’s about to be a madhouse over here.”
Clenching my teeth, I pick up speed, and Yan and Anton do the same as a vehicle squeals out onto the street a block behind us.
Arslan’s remaining bodyguards are catching up.
The ten-foot fence looms ahead, with community guards pouring onto the road, armed to the teeth.
“Now,” I shout at Yan, and he pulls out a grenade, ripping the pin off with his teeth without slowing down.
The guards scatter as Yan throws the grenade, and Anton and I pull out our guns, firing indiscriminately.
We don’t need to kill them all, just get them out of our way.
We’re now at the fence, so I jump up, grabbing onto a tree branch to lever myself up. This, here, is why we train so hard, why we have to be stronger than most athletes. My muscles scream as I dangle by one hand, lowering the other arm to pull up Anton, and when Anton scales the top of the fence, he pulls me up before reaching down for Yan as I provide the cover fire.
Another grenade from Yan explodes in a deafening flash, chasing away the guards as we jump down from the fence, and then we’re off again, running at top speed.
We need to get to our rendezvous point.
That’s the only way we’ll make it out.
The helicopter roar intensifies above us, the police sirens screaming ever louder.
“Now, Ilya,” I shout into the headset, and his car screeches around the bend, slowing down just enough for us to jump in.
