“It would have been nice to know that before now!” Katya snapped.
“You seemed a bit busy,” Lydia said with a hint of humor in her voice. “The bulk of the force is engaged in the town or on other operations. Kildar says that you need to run, or fight, your choice, but hold on for a few more minutes until we can get some support to you.”
“Understood,” Katya said, looking around. “I think… run.”
“I take it you’re using that special thingy in your head,” Calthrop said. “What do they say?”
“The lead car is a friend,” Katya said, frowning. “The trail car is a Land Rover, probably hostile. The Keldara can’t get free for a few minutes. So we’re on our own.”
“Then I agree,” Calthrop said, holding out his hand and helping her to her feet. “We run.”
“Mikhail.”
“Go Lydia,” the Keldara said, steering through a hard turn.
“Get ready to take a right.”
“Is that the way to Katya?” Mikhail asked, confused. “I saw their lights above us.”
“It will be.”
“The other car is turning,” Chito said, looking over at Bezhmel.
“Yes, but the Mercedes is up there,” Yarok replied, pointing up the hill. “This road takes us up there. Keep going.”
“Okay, the Tango One is still headed up the hill,” Captain O’Keefe said, over the sat phone. “Sierra Two is headed down the side road.”
“Got that,” Lydia said, picking up the microphone. “Katya…”
“…Turn right at the next intersection,” Katya said, pointing.
“That’s sending us back towards town,” Calthrop said, braking to make the turn.
The big Mercedes was solid and a comfortable ride, but it was really lacking in acceleration and turning; the soft shocks made it turn extremely wide. He could already see flashes of light from the following Rover.
“We’re meeting a friend.”
Mikhail pulled the Lada backwards into the road and then bailed out, running across the small distance to the stopped Mercedes and tumbling into the back seat.
“Nice of you to join us, Mikhail,” Katya said dryly. “Great security. I had to depend on the British for protection.”
“I was doing my best,” Mikhail said, jacking a round into the SPR. “But I was driving a Lada. What did you expect?”
“So was I, lad,” Calthrop replied in Georgian. “Of course, I had a bit of a lead on you. Speaking of leads, we’re losing ours with the Rover. Nice of you to park your car in the road, but I don’t think that’s going to stop them.”
“Slow them down a bit, I hope,” Mikhail said, shrugging and looking out the back window. “If not, well, we will die well.”
“The only way to do that is late,” Katya replied.
“Who the fuck would park a car…” Chito said, swerving the Rover around the parked Lada. He’d barely spotted it in time and had a seriously hard time keeping the SUV in control as it hit the verge of the road. But he managed after a moment.
“Someone trying to slow us down,” Bezhmel replied.
How many in the car was the question. The American was dead; he’d seen the body as they drove past. He could take the credit on that one. All he had to do was take out the hooker, Natalya. Then he would be sixty thousand euros richer. But there was more than just the hooker in the car. At least one, probably more.
However, he had three fighters in the back of the SUV, himself and Chito. That should be enough to take out whatever was facing them.
“Hang on,” Calthrop said, braking hard as he saw a switchback ahead.
The diplomat/assassin had taken the girls far up into the hills over the town but the current road was headed downward again. And the narrow, barely paved, road was descending in a series of nasty switchbacks that the big Mercedes dearly hated.
The outer tires dug gravel on the outside shoulder of the road, causing a burst of adrenaline through his system that hit like a hammer.
“That was too close,” Katya said disapprovingly.
“Yes,” Calthrop said through thinning lips. “But so are they.”
“There,” Bezhmel shouted, pointing to a narrow trail.
The switchbacks were not the only way down the mountain. At various points, local shepherds had driven their flocks straight down, generally just short of the switchbacks. Where the sheep and goats could go, a Rover could follow.
Chito hit the brakes and turned hard to the left, the front tires briefly leaving the ground and then thumping down.
The ride was bumpy, tossing the three gunners in the back around to shouted complaints. But the Rover debouched onto the road ahead of the speeding Mercedes as Chito braked it, narrowly, to a stop short of the far side of the road.
“Oh… shiiit,” Calthrop shouted, slamming on the brakes and turning hard to the right.
As the Mercedes fishtailed across the road, Mikhail grasped a handhold and lowered the window on his side. As soon as it had more or less stopped he pointed his SPR out the window and opened fire.
“Fuck!” Bezhmel shouted as rounds began cracking into the SUV. “Out!” he continued, ducking and pushing on the driver so the idiot would bail out on the far side.
However, the duck had been fortuitous since it permitted the 5.56 round meant for his head to instead strike the driver in the right temple.
Chito’s head snapped to the left as blood filled the interior of the vehicle and his body slumped in the same direction, tangled in the steering wheel and effectively blocking the door.
“Fuck!” Bezhmel shouted again, pushing at the body and trying to get to the door latch. “What are you fuckers in the back waiting for? SHOOT!”
“Out!” Calthrop yelled, bailing out on his side. He was somewhat surprised to feel the sharp strike of high heels in his back as Katya made her own time out of the targeted vehicle. Rounds were cracking through the air, and the car, before he could even get to his knees. But, in the meantime, the hooker had pulled Natalya from the back of the car and was already headed away into the darkness.
“Where are you going?”
“I am saving my life,” Katya said, not looking back. “And hers, the primary, yes? You are going to help by killing as many of them as you can before you die.”
“Oh, that is so bloody…” Calthrop said, rolling behind a wheel for cover as AK rounds began thumping into and through the car. The two girls, however, were already fading into the darkness. “Whorish.”
He reached in with his right hand and drew the Walther from its shoulder holster, then shook his head.
“Not bloody likely,” he muttered, reaching in to the other side and removing a Winchester .454 revolver. The weapon was a “pistol” only in technical description; the round it fired was similar in ballistics to a very heavy assault rifle. It also kicked like a mule. “Better. Right.” He took a deep breath and then let it out, getting a good two-handed grip and licking his lips as the fire died from the back seat. So much for Mikhail. “Right. Bloody James Bond time, right? Get my double-O rating and everything. Right. They so did not cover this in recruiting. Mum was right; I should have been an actor…”