Freaks.
They still thought they were fighting vampires. Suddenly I understood why they had sent so many. They were that afraid of the Red Knights. Maybe they’d found Krystos and his crew and thought that a Red Knight had taken out the whole team, so this time they sent two teams.
“Reloading!” I heard Violin yell.
I rolled onto my back and fired six shots downrange past where she crouched. I saw one figure fall and others scatter. As Violin slapped the magazine into place I heard feet crunch on glass, and I twisted out of the way as bullets chopped into the floor where I had been lying. I fired as I rolled away, sloppily but continually, and someone screamed.
But then several of them opened up at once and I had to throw myself behind the wall and curl into a ball to save my eyes from the glass and tile splinters that filled the air like a swarm of hornets.
Ghost kept barking, furious and frustrated.
Men began pouring into the building, running past me, unaware of the figure curled in the corner, hidden by smoke. They aimed their guns at the sound of the barks and I came up onto one knee and fired, hitting two of them and causing the others to skid to a stop. They realized their mistake and turned, but then Ghost hit them from the other side. He was among them like a white demon, and instantly it was all screams and blood. Guns were useless that close and already too late.
Beyond the melee I saw Violin rise up from behind the counter and kill three men in two seconds, her weapon switched to semiautomatic for accuracy and ammunition conservation. I’d only spotted two extra mags on her rig, and she had to be near the end of the second. I swapped out my own and slapped my last one into place; but as I came to my feet I pulled another fragmentation grenade and lobbed it outside. Just as it cleared the doorway there was a figure there and the grenade burst against the man’s chest, tearing him apart but effectively screening the knot of shooters behind him. I faded to one side and fired, but even as I pulled the trigger I saw three men fall. One flew backward from my bullet, but two more dropped with that distinctive rag-doll sprawl of men who had taken headshots.
Then a voice yelled in my earbud.
“ No fire from the house. Friendlies on nine, twelve, and three.”
I knew that voice.
Top.
I tapped my earbud and yelled. “Echo! Echo! Echo! Be advised, friendly taking fire in front of store. Friendly is female and inside.”
Bunny said, “ Got it. ”
Immediately the street out front and the alley behind were torn apart by bullets fired from three separate positions. Men screamed and shouted. The Sabbatarians tried to return fire, but they were being ambushed by Echo Team, and that is a bad place to be.
“Violin!” I barked. “Cease fire. My team is outside. Hold your position.”
There was no answer, and when I risked leaning out to look, her shooting position was empty. Ghost stood panting in the hallway, but beyond him there were only dead Sabbatarians and a floor littered with bullet casings and blood.
Then it was over.
The gunfire stopped. There were no more screams, no shouts. Just the sound of running feet as Echo Team swarmed into the store from both sides, weapons out, eyes blazing with anger.
“ Clear! ” called Khalid as he checked the small rooms downstairs. He and Lydia ran for the stairs and cleared the second floor. No one had tried to come in that way.
Bunny’s monstrous form filled the front doorway, a combat shotgun in his hands.
“Hostiles are all down,” he reported.
Top Sims helped me up off the floor. He looked me up and down. “I can’t leave you on your own for five minutes without you getting into some shit, can I?”
Chapter Seventy-Eight
Mustapha’s Daily Goods
Tehran, Iran
June 15, 7:49 p.m.
“Did you see her?” I demanded as Echo gathered around.
Bunny frowned. “See who, Boss?”
“The woman. Violin. She was fighting them from the store.”
He shook his head. “Didn’t see anybody but the bad guys. Lot of hostiles down out there. Saw a couple stiffs with their throats cut, too. Whoever she was, chick can fight. Who was she?”
“Long story.” I hurried into the store and checked the bodies, and though one of them was female, it wasn’t Violin. “Check everyone. Do we have anyone with a pulse?”
“Got one here,” said Lydia, who was crouched over a slender figure. Jamsheed.
“He’s one of ours,” I said. “Khalid-?”
“On it.” Everyone on Echo Team was a certified medic, but Khalid was an actual medical doctor with a specialty in traumatic injuries. He went to work on Jamsheed.
Top said, “This was a pretty noisy frat party, Cap’n. We’re going to be ass deep in police real soon.”
We listened for sirens but did not hear any yet. I wasn’t certain how reassuring that was. Special Forces and military SWAT units don’t roll with sirens.
“Who’s watching the street?”
“John Smith and he’s got night vision.”
I tapped my earbud. “Cowboy to Chatterbox. What are you seeing?”
“Nothing.”
He wasn’t the most talkative guy on the team.
“Stay sharp. You see so much as an old lady with a shopping cart give a yell.”
“K.”
I turned to Khalid. “Talk to me.”
He looked up from where he knelt by Jamsheed. I could read it on his face. “Blunt force trauma to the head resulting in a depressed fracture. Got some pretty severe damage to the cervical spine…” He let the rest hang.
I moved over and dropped to my knees by Jamsheed. His eyes were open, but they were bright and glassy with pain and one pupil was fully dilated, indicating a cerebral hemorrhage. Khalid’s eyes bored into mine and he gave a tiny shake of his head. I took a cotton square from him and dabbed at the blood and sweat on Jamsheed’s face.
Before I could say anything, Jamsheed spoke. His voice was hoarse, low. “You cannot stay here. The police…”
“I know, but we have to-”
“No, you don’t,” he interrupted. “You can’t take me with you and still do what you have to do.”
“You don’t even know what we’re here for.”
He smiled faintly. “Does it matter? You work for the Mujtahid. He called me to say that I should trust you because he trusted you.”
I didn’t know what to say to that, so I nodded.
Jamsheed tried to lift his hand; I took it and his fingers curled as tightly around mine as he could manage. He looked into my eyes and saw the truth, but instead of panic I saw a peaceful expression settle over his face.
“I am so… tired… of war,” he said, and that said a lot.
I thought of the photos he had on his walls and the gentle way he had touched the frame of the one with the playing children.
“The little girl-?” I asked.
His lips formed the word “yes.” The hurt and loss was palpable.
“She’ll be waiting for you, brother,” I said.
He nodded and then hissed with the agony that it caused. When he opened his eyes he seemed farther away.
We regarded each other for a few moments, and then he squeezed my hand.
“ Ma’assalama,” he said. Go in peace.
I returned his squeeze. “ Fi aman Allah.”
Go with God.
Jamsheed died without another sound, a quiet man going silently into the shadows that stood between this ugly world of pain and the paradise he believed waited for him. I placed his hands on his chest and sat back, exhausted and defeated. Ghost came over and sniffed Jamsheed, then he whined and lay down as if in vigil.
From the storeroom behind me, Lydia snapped her fingers. “Got another live one.”
My exhaustion shattered and fell away, and I turned, instantly hot and angry. Even Bunny took an involuntary step back from me when he saw my face. Top quickly closed in and knelt down, and I think he also saw my face and wanted to get between me and a hostile who was still conscious. The Sabbatarian was a young Spanish-looking man with a slab face and beefy shoulders. There was a ragged red hole on his right sleeve.