Several meters down the hallway he began to hear voices, and he moved ever slower, not wanting to alert his prey. He had no idea if they were armed, and he would need some leverage. Sticking to the shadows, he could clearly see the forms of a handful of people up ahead illuminated by an opening in the ceiling. They were having a discussion, and beyond them was a pool of black. The oil.
Novikov crept closer. The girl, Metry, was nearest to him, which was perfect. She would be the least dangerous, and he could use her against the rest. He quickly moved behind another column, closing the distance to the girl.
She was almost in reach when a gunshot rang out, and everyone began to turn in the direction of the sound. With lightning-quick reflexes, Novikov shot out from the shadows and grabbed the girl.
“Ana, look out!” Wilde yelled, but he was too late.
CHAPTER SIXTY-TWO
Tim waited patiently until the first man was within a hundred meters. He probably could have tagged him from much farther away, but he wanted to lure them in, and he was hoping for a quick transition between targets. There seemed to be seven fighters, and he wanted to take down as many as possible with his opening salvo.
What he found interesting was that these men were white, not Arab, and they were decked out in expensive-looking military gear. They must have been mercenaries, but for whom?Who the fuck would go through so much trouble to kill them?It must have been about the city.No matter, he thought as he tightened his grip on the rifle. They would die all the same, regardless of who sent them.
Sitting back from the door so as not to expose the barrel of the Mosin-Nagant, the former Green Beret put the first man in his sights and pulled the trigger. The bullet struck the mercenary in the upper chest and the man spun around 180 degrees and collapsed to the ground. Immediately, Tim transitioned to the stunned man walking just to his right and behind and fired. The round impacted him in thegut and he tumbled down as well. Then a hail of bullets stitched up his position and he had to dive for cover behind the heavy metal door.
He laid the clunky rifle down and picked up the AK-47. Sneaking a peek, Tim identified targets who were now taking refuge behind the pillars. He homed in on the nearest and fired, his rounds impacting the marble pillar, then ducked as he received a burst in return. The fight was on.
They exchanged blasts of gunfire and Tim reloaded his weapon with a fresh magazine. He peered out just as one man was transitioning to a position of cover closer to the gate. Tim caught him out in the open and sprayed him with several rounds. The man collapsed, writhing in pain on the ancient road. That was three. Four more left.
He heard a clank against the outside of the door, followed by the sound of something impacting the soft dirt. The former weapons sergeant didn’t need to look to know that it was a grenade, and he dove farther behind the gate as the explosion rocked the door and sent shrapnel flying through the opening.
Time to fall back, he thought, slinging the bandoliers of ammo and securing both rifles. He ran across the expansive courtyard, making his way to the palace door, and set up in position. He should be able to hold them a while longer as they attempted to cross the open space of the courtyard and hopefully take out a few more in the process.
As the first man came through the gate to check the damage from the grenade, rifle at the ready, Tim put a 7.62 round through his face with the Mosin-Nagant, and pieces of his skull and brain matter sprayed onto the golden door behind him. The number two man fired wildly in the direction of the shot as he fell backward out of the fatal funnel, swearing in what sounded like Russian.
Tim took the lull in fire to reload the rifle, then aimed it back at the gate.
“Come on, you bastards,” he muttered.
CHAPTER SIXTY-THREE
Nate was too late. In the blink of an eye, a man leapt from the shadows and grabbed Ana violently. On instinct, the Glock 19 flew out from the small of his back and Nate pointed it at the man’s head.
“Let her go,” Nate growled.
The man shook his head and made atsksound. He wiggled his hand slightly to signify that he had his own pistol pressed against Ana’s head, and if Nate didn’t do as ordered, the man would kill her.
The implication was clear. Nate could kill him, but not before the man killed Ana. It was now a battle of wills, and looking at the man’s hardened face and cold eyes he knew it wasn’t a bluff.
“Put the gun down, Mr. Wilde. We both know you won’t risk Miss Metry’s life,” the man said.
Nate was confused.How the hell did the man know their names?He sounded as if he was Russian, which didn’t make any sense. Still, there was something familiar about him. The build. The eyes.
“You’re the one who attacked me in Germany,” Nate said coldly.
“Bravo. You were lucky, but it will not happen again.” His eyesshifted toward Shane and Wally. Shane had kept his hands up but was creeping ever closer with the intent of taking action. But the man was switched on and had caught it.
“The gun, Mr. Wilde. Or I will kill your girlfriend in three, two…”
“Alright, alright!” Nate said, stopping the countdown. He lowered the gun before dropping the magazine and racking the slide back, ejecting the round from the chamber.
“Toss it here,” he said, and Nate did as instructed. Without another word the man turned and shot Shane in the chest.
“You bastard!” Nate made a move as if to rush him, but the man pointed the gun in his direction.
Wally wasted no time. He closed the distance and caught Shane as he fell. “You’re alright, mate,” he said, gently lowering him to the ground. “I’ve got you.”
Nate could tell that Wally was going into medic mode. If anyone could save Shane right now, it was him. Nate had seen him do more with less. Wally unslung his medical bag and began taking out occlusive dressings, bandages, and a needle decompression kit. The man flicked his eyes toward Wally, amusement on his face, and Nate understood the source. None of them were leaving here alive.
