We take off at breakneck speed. I don’t need to look back to know Alessandro has disappeared into the gloom. I can only hope he makes it to his next location in time.
“Clear at the rendezvous point.” Teo’s voice crackles into my earpiece. His eagle eyes are undoubtedly monitoring every available camera feed across the dock. “No SIL at the west exit.”
I reach behind me, grabbing hold of the silencer for my AR-15. “I need eyes to the north. We have company.”
Martino takes a corner so sharply I can feel the car begin to lift beneath me, but I have total faith in the man driving. His skills behind the wheel have made the difference between life and death on more than one occasion.
Teo curses in my ear. “Coming in hot. You’ll intercept in T-minus twenty.”
“Make that ten,” I instruct Martino, his matching earpiece relaying everything Teo says.
I have to fight against the g-force as Martino hits the gas.
“We only have a small window of opportunity to intercept our target,” I reiterate needlessly. “These bikes are likely some kind of distraction. Let’s deal with them fast.”
Tires screech as we make it around the final corner. Warehouses tower over each side of the road—there’s only one exit, and two motorcycles currently guard it, revving their engines. Their headlights are bright enough to blind us as we race toward them.
“They’re armed, boss,” Teo warns as I open the window.
“So am I.”
I click the magazine of my assault rifle into place and manoeuvre out the window. I aim directly at the rider on the right—it would be a shame to shoot out the wheels on such nice Super Dukes. I make a mental note to ask Alessandro if he can salvage them later.
Bullets begin to bounce off the Mercedes’ plated armor as we approach, but my aim is steady, honed over years of drilling and far too much field experience.
Zip.
The bullet shoots clean through the target’s brachial artery in his shoulder. The bike beneath him wobbles, then flips, throwing the rider to the ground with a sickening crunch.
“Should have worn a helmet,” Martino mutters. “Brace!”
It’s all I can do to cling to the top of the car as Martino pulls off a handbrake turn behind the other bike.
The second rider takes off with a lurch when he realizes we are directly on his tail. He shoots at us blindly, focusing on jerkinghis bike across the road in random zig-zags to throw us off, making my job that much harder.
“I’ll cut him off at the next intersection,” Martino barks.
I jam the stock into my shoulder to keep it steady as Martino maneuvers us into position. For a single beat, I allow myself to breathe out.
“INCOMING ON YOUR LEFT!”
Teo’s warning couldn’t have come a moment too soon. I turn in time to see the headlights tearing toward the intersection and jump on instinct. I hit the unforgiving tarmac in a roll just as a spray of bullets pounds into the car door.
A third bike swerves to avoid T-boning the Mercedes, clearing it by less than an inch.
I gasp into the throbbing pain in my side as I force myself to stand.
“Teo. Tell Martino to take out the second bike,” I order as I pat myself down, cursing at the tear in the side of my new suit. “I’ll deal with this.”
The Mercedes takes off to give chase to the second rider as I haul up the assault rifle I had cradled against the impact with the floor. This time, I’m squaring off against my opponent on foot.
Finally recovered from the near collision, the third bike turns back to me just as I begin my approach. A spray of bullets blows up dirt from the tarmac a few yards in front of me. I check my gun as I continue to walk forward.
The bike accelerates. The bullets are hitting the ground only a few feet away. Now only inches.
I dive at the last possible second, and I can almost feel the instrument of my death slicing across my skin.
The bike flies past, unable to react in time.
