He heard Alicia’s groan: “Ah, shit.”
The lower part of the tower came down in a cascading, fragmented shale whilst the top half collapsed to the right, groaning as it leaned and then fell, its last moments becoming a roar and then a blast like a detonation. Smoke and dust marked its final resting place and the graves of the mercs that had been chasing Healey. The entire team slowed as they were then faced with three gun-toting mercs.
Alicia was already sprinting their way.
Healey pulled Caitlyn to the side as he lifted his gun and fired in one swift movement, leaping left. The action sent the mercs scrambling and Caitlyn flying, but it helped gain them precious extra moments. Healey had been a badly bullied younger brother until he joined the Army at the age of eighteen. Now, he reveled in the new experience and the incredible responsibility. He hit the grass and rolled, rose fast, took a punch to the jaw because he hadn’t reckoned on the proximity of his opponent. Rookie mistake. He survived it, though, stumbling on purpose, creating space and shooting the man. Alicia was then at his heels.
“C’mon, Zacky, stop praying. The bloody cathedral’s gone.”
Funny. He stood up and immediately looked for Caitlyn. She was struggling on her haunches as a merc strode toward her, pointing his gun. Caitlyn couldn’t raise hers and Healey set off on an impossible sprint, screaming, “No!” as he went.
The merc grinned.
Caitlyn turned her eyes to Healey.
No.
Russo came out of nowhere, hitting the merc with a rugby tackle that almost broke him apart at the waist. The gun went flying, the man’s headset too as he all but folded in half. Russo pounded down as he landed, the arms descending like a full-size gorilla’s upon a small animal, breaking bone and shattering teeth with every strike. He would not stop. He could not stop. The rage was a living thing that encompassed all and sent the world away for a time. Healey helped Caitlyn up and then raced over to Russo.
“Rob, stop! You’re killing him.” He tried because he knew Russo would regret it later, only for his teammate. He got in close and risked a battering.
“It’s not worth all the self-loathing, mate,” he said quietly. “Not this brain-dead animal.”
Russo flung arms down twice more. The merc’s face was bloody, misshapen. Alicia arrived at that moment. Russo hesitated with his fists in mid-air, blood dripping down, and drew in a deep, wracking breath.
“Oh, hell. Oh, bloody hell.”
He collapsed face first beside the unconscious figure, rasping for air and coughing at the same time. Healey moved in but Alicia held up a hand.
“Let me.”
He delayed, allowing Caitlyn to draw him away. It was easy to forget that Alicia, having overcome some major crisis of her own recently, was fast becoming a deeper, more caring person and trying to help in every way she could. The more she succeeded the more she would try.
Healey draped an arm around Caitlyn’s shoulders. “I was worried there.”
“You didn’t see Russo. That merc never stood a chance.”
“Still… it was too close.”
“Aw, still looking out for me?”
“Always.”
She hugged him briefly. Healey allowed her that few moments even as he cast around for what they should do next. Caitlyn would need the close companionship even if they weren’t together. Her recent move to the Gold Team had been due to an early-twenties burnout. Devastating, and all down to the revelations surrounding the fact that her father beat and killed her mother. A lifetime of love could never put that knowledge to the side, but Healey would be happy to try.
Crouch had now finished off the last merc. He glanced over to their little party. “Is Russo aware?”
Healey knew he was questioning how deep the rage-state had affected the soldier. Healey caught Alicia’s eye.
“All good?”
Alicia blinked. “Give me a few.”
Healey held up three fingers. Crouch nodded and then started to survey the area.
“We have to find Jensen,” he called over. “Did they find anything? And this will never be over until he’s out of the picture. Not for us.”
“Sorry?” a British accent called out. “Did someone mention my name?”
CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN
Alicia didn’t move a muscle, but studied the scene from beneath hooded eyes. Jensen had finally emerged from around the side of the devastated cathedral, four men flanking him. All had machine pistols trained on the Gold Team. Jensen staggered a little, still clutching what looked like a bottle of rum in one hand and a Glock in the other. The gun faced the floor whilst the bottle’s rim approached his lips.
“Well, here I am.” He swallowed deeply and wiped his chin. “Come get me.”
Russo stopped breathing, constantly trying to get a grip on his anger. Alicia reviewed the options. It was a short list. They still had their weapons, but without a distraction some of them were going to die.
Crouch walked steadily toward Jensen. “What did you find?”
The Englishman took a moment to turn an ironic eye upon the fallen, still smoking building. “Would you believe — nothing at all?”
“I’d say you were full of shit.”
A shrug. “No matter. We found the usual — a strongbox full of trinkets that are worth nothing at all.”
Crouch sighed. “But of course they’re worth something to someone, that’s the whole point of what Morgan has been doing here.”
“Eh?” Jensen raised the plastic bottle and drank some more.
“Don’t you see? This is his atonement. Only a pirate could express his regret this way and only Morgan did it. These treasures, returned to their rightful owners — are a four-hundred-year-old act of contrition.”
“You’re saying Morgan became a pussy?”
Crouch continued to engage Jensen as his team moved inch by inch to attain better positions. An elbow moved here, a knee there, a better grip on the pistol. A clear way in which to roll. A better line of sight. The minutes passed and the odds lessened.
“You never committed an act you regret?”
Jensen shrugged. “Plenty.”
“And you never tried to atone.” Crouch was now between his team and two of the shooters. Alicia silently berated him for such idiocy.
“You can’t take it back,” Jensen spat. “And they never, ever believe you. You take what you can in this life, Crouch, and you never give back.”
“Spoken like a criminal.”
“Maybe. But this criminal outsmarted you and is about to kick your damn ass.”
“Maybe…” Crouch let it hang.
Tension fell over the cathedral grounds like a thick blanket, cancelling out any other noise. The thin air itself seemed to curdle with a jittery energy. Nobody wanted to die that day, but nobody wanted to back down either.
Alicia moved first, decision made minutes ago and as good as she was going to get. She fell flat alongside Russo, sheltered somewhat by the dead mercenary’s body and pulled her trigger. At the same time two of the four mercs shot at them, bullets slamming hard into the dead flesh, shooting up two separate red mists. Alicia didn’t flinch, but kept firing. Her second bullet found her target’s chest, her third his heart and he was falling away.
Alicia ducked as a line of ammo stitched across their shield. She dug in closer, head below his body and pushed against the grass. Russo returned fire but the rage had left pockets of fiery adrenalin within him that appeared to be affecting his aim.
Healey had body-slammed Caitlyn out of the way; she landed among the fallen cathedral’s stones and struck her head, but the swift movement saw bullets pass them by. The only person that didn’t move at all was Michael Crouch.