“After them.” She forced herself to stand.
Her radio crackled. “Are you okay?”
“No thanks to your men. Do you see the bad guys?”
“Yeah, and the captives. They’re headed for the beach. We’ll be right down. Keep them in sight.”
Alicia started toward Russo, picking up two weapons as she went. Her own gun rested in its holster along with six spare clips. She held out a hand to the big giant.
“You coming?”
“That was close.”
“Yeah, I thought we had it there for a few seconds.”
“Watch out for Ricci. He’s good.”
Alicia nodded, already aware. They took a moment to fill their lungs with air, steady their pulses, then took off after the terrorists.
Alicia crossed the grass and ran up the bank at the far end. As she crested the hill shots were fired, erratic and high, the terrorists shooting wildly as they ran. Some bullets passed way over her head to hit the windows of second and third floor hotel rooms behind them. Alicia threw herself to the ground. The terrorists were either skirting around or wading through the pool now, water sloshing from their boots. One man fell and came up sluicing water, then quickly fired behind to cover his mistake.
He hadn’t even turned around.
Alicia unplugged her radio. “Vino? You have to evacuate that beach, man. These guys are out of control. Don’t you have a siren or something? Shark warning?”
Vino yelled that he’d check and that they were now just minutes behind.
Alicia maneuvered herself into position and made sure to loose off a couple of shots. The gunfire was their best way of warning civilians now. The return shots helped for once, and Alicia was already safe behind cover.
The way ahead cleared as the terrorists ran and stamped and tore their way through to the next pool.
Alicia signaled Russo and followed as fast as she dared. They kept vigilant, wondering if the terrorists might leave a sniper behind, but it soon became clear that wasn’t Ricci’s intention. It was a speedy getaway. Even now the banner and the captives were slowing them down, but he refused to leave them behind.
They hugged the edge of the pool as they raced around the edge, careful not to slip in any puddles their quarry had left behind. Russo dragged a sun lounger out of the way, sending it flying over a hedge. Alicia kicked a plastic chair to the side.
They reached the next bit of landscaping — a sinuous slope winding between four palm trees about three meters high. Racing straight up, they slowed near the top.
Alicia looked over, saw many men crossing the next pool area. She lined one of the stragglers up, but then a cacophony of noise came from the right: FBI agents streaming toward the running terrorists.
They came around another chunk of designer camouflage, weapons drawn and shouting loudly, ordering the terrorists to lay down their guns.
Alicia flinched at the sight. “Oh, no…”
The strategy was all wrong. The runners would never give up; that much was abundantly clear. And they had hostages. To a man they didn’t break stride, but turned their weapons on the FBI. The two men running with the banner ran harder. Ricci pushed and shoved Crouch almost beyond his limits.
Alicia couldn’t stand and watch the outcome. She started to give chase again, slowly closing the gap between her and the last man. Out of the corner of her eye she saw three agents go down and the rest jumping for cover.
The terrorists cleared another pool area and then passed among a huddle of palm trees as they headed to the beach. Alicia and Russo were close, maybe within ten meters, and could hear bullets thudding into the hard trunks. One of the men fell, but their losses weren’t close to the same level as the collapsing agents.
Alicia hurdled the dying man. The beach was spreading out all around now, wide open spaces, well-tended, raked and flooded with sunshine. She could even hear the powerful roar of the surf to their left.
The chase strung out. The banner-bearers were ahead, just hitting the real sand, followed by more men, then Ricci and Crouch, another man and Terri, and half a dozen trailing terrorists.
Alicia shaded her eyes as she ran. Sunshine bounced and reflected off the bright blue seas. “You got any sunglasses?” she shouted across at Russo.
“Oh yeah, let me pull a pair out of my jockstrap.”
“Maybe not then. You wear a jockstrap?”
“Just like you.”
Alicia became aware of a huddle of tourists up ahead. The terrorists hadn’t noticed them yet, but several men and women were hiding behind a heap of stacked chairs and tables. Their bodies were visible through the gaps in the slats. Alicia grimaced and pointed it out to Russo.
“Get ready, mate.”
The big man charged slightly ahead, just in case. The lead terrorists stomped quickly by. Ricci didn’t appear to notice, although Alicia suspected otherwise. The men at his back barged past too, but then Alicia noticed the very last man. She saw his head turn and then do a double-take. She saw his finger tighten on the trigger of his gun.
She knew what type of man this was.
“No.” She was nowhere near close enough to stop him. “No!”
The man raised his semi-auto and they could all hear his demented laugh.
CHAPTER THIRTY SIX
The day stretched taut like a ragged nerve about to snap.
Alicia’s fingers weren’t fast enough to use her gun, but Russo was close and brutal enough to give the terrorist an instant of pause.
He fired anyway.
But Russo was a cannonball, a missile made of bone as hard as mountains, flesh the thickness of animal hide. His body, airborne, struck the terrorist at shoulder height, folding him fast and knocking the weapon out of his hand. Russo fell and then spun in the sand, as quick as Alicia had ever seen anyone move and, even before she ran past, was on top of the downed terrorist, reaching for his neck.
Her heart leapt when she saw his face.
Shit… that’s…
The berserker rage.
A dilemma fell over her, causing her pace to falter. Russo’s concern for the civilians and hatred for anyone that would try to murder innocents so heartlessly had manifested into the one thing he hated. It was not Russo anymore. It was an animal.
She saw the terrorists ahead, getting further away with every moment that passed. The FBI were to the right, keeping track but choosing not to close the gap at the moment. In the distance, maybe a quarter of a mile away, she believed she could see a small jetty and several moored boats.
Russo locked massive fingers around his opponent’s throat and commenced to smash a fist into his face. Again and again the sledgehammer came down.
Alicia cursed. It wasn’t the stranger she worried about; it was Russo’s sanity.
The fist came down at the rate of one blow per second. Russo was gone; his face red, his eyes wild, spittle flying from between his lips which bled profusely because he had bitten them in his rage. The grunts coming from his throat were feral, inhuman. Alicia couldn’t let this happen.
Waving at the civilians to run back toward the hotel, she approached Russo, shouting at the top of her voice. He didn’t even acknowledge her. She bent over and punched him in the side of the head. There was nothing in response, not even a grimace as she rabbit-punched his ear.
The man on the ground was smashed and bloody, barely moving, blood bubbling from his mouth and covering his face like a thick blanket.
Alicia tapped the barrel of her gun firmly against the back of Russo’s neck.
“Rob. Come back to me. Rob!”
The fist was raised once more.
“Listen to me! It’s me! Alicia!”