He took a deep breath and prepared to return fire as soon as there was a pause in the steady stream of bullets.
He didn’t have to wait long. A banshee shriek interrupted the flow of flying rounds, immediately followed by animal-like grunts and squeals.
Tatiana!
Molenski rose to his knees and saw his naked wife latched onto the killer robot, fighting fist and nail to bring the bitch down.
She was giving a good account of herself.
Tatiana clung to Inga, one hand bunched in her hair, the other attacking her face with a claw-like hand as the robot, one handed, tried to grip the naked, sweaty human whose blitzkrieg was preventing her from eliminating her target.
Molenski his elbows resting on the newly aerated mattress, aimed the Ruger two-handed. He took careful aim but was perfectly willing to risk hitting his wife to take out the bitch robot if a cleaner shot didn’t present itself.
Two things happened before he could take his shot. Ivan burst through the door and Inga, her pretty face now marred by the scratch marks on her left cheek, gripped the spitting, hissing Tatiana by the neck and, with enormous strength, threw her at Molenski.
The Russian didn’t duck quickly enough and was struck heavily in the shoulder by the lower leg of the airborne Tatiana. Her indignant scream was abruptly silenced by the corner of the bedside table as she landed beside him.
Gun still in hand, he quickly struggled back to his hands and knees, and, careful to stay under the level of the mattress, glanced at his wife. Her sightless eyes stared at the ceiling, the bloody, triangular indentation in her forehead a telling footnote to the final, violent minutes of her life.
Molenski felt no more emotion than he would looking at roadkill on a highway. He stayed down and waited for his bodyguard to open fire on the assassin robot.
Ivan stood in the doorway, his gun trained on Inga’s back as Molenski’s wildcat of a wife attacked her. While he didn’t want to risk hitting Tatiana, he would admit to himself later it wasn’t the only reason he held fire.
Behind them, he could see Molenski also taking aim at the two women. Ivan tensed, realizing that his boss probably had less regard for his wife’s safety than he did. He didn’t get a chance to find out. One handed, Inga finally ripped Tatiana free and, like a cruel child throwing a kitten, launched her across the room.
Ivan could have taken his shot then but didn’t. He was spellbound as Tatiana Molenski flew through the air and crashed into her husband and the bedside furniture, before coming to rest in uncharacteristic silence.
Inga wasted no time. As soon as she had rid herself of the pesky human, she stalked around the bed; machine pistol held out in front of her. Even then, knowing she would kill Molenski, Ivan couldn’t shoot her.
He yelled instead.
“INGA!”
She stopped and turned around.
When Ivan saw her eyes, he realized he’d made a terrible mistake. She didn’t know him… if she ever had.
“New target acquired,” she said, in her sweet voice and swung the weapon back to bear on him. Her arm tensed as she squeezed the trigger.
15
Tom Redfern felt sick to his stomach. The live stream from the robot had been distressing for the technician. While his two kidnappers hooted and hollered like they were watching a football game, he couldn’t wait for the carnage to be over.
When the robot kicked open the door of the bedroom, the men went into a frenzy.
“That’s him!” screamed the bigger of the two kidnappers.
“You’re dead, Motherfucker!”
They watched from the robot’s point of view, as she brought up the machine pistol she had taken from one of her victims. The naked man rolled off the bed, leaving his screaming wife to climb to her feet on the bed and stare wildly at the robot.
The thugs with Redfern jumped out of their chairs, watching rapt as the muzzle of the gun began spitting bullets into the place the naked man had just vacated.
Redfern experienced a moment of dizziness as the vision on the monitors suddenly reeled and tipped to the side. There was a flash of a woman’s crazed face, and a clawed, slashing hand. The vision reeled and tilted some more and then abruptly the naked woman was flying across the room, her scream cut off by the impact of her head on a piece of furniture.
The men laughed.
“Where is that fuck Molenski! Come on bitch, take him out.”
Someone shouted behind the robot, and the feed swiveled 180 degrees and came to rest on a powerfully built man with a crewcut. He was aiming a machine pistol at the robot, but he looked reluctant to use it.
The men in the room with Redfern ceased their shouting.
“New target acquired,” came the robot’s voice as her gun was raised towards the man in the door.
BANG!
The screen went black.
“What the fuck!?” yelled the bigger of the two kidnappers.
He banged the top of the monitor twice with his meaty hand, then the keyboard of the laptop computer.
There was nothing. No vision. No sound.
Redfern felt a sinking feeling as the men turned to look at him.
“What happened?” the big one asked as he pulled his gun from his belt and stepped up to him.
The crack of Molenski’s gunshot rent the air. Inga’s head jerked forward, her blonde hair flying in front of her accompanied by a spray of crimson as she stumbled forward from the force of Molenski’s bullet. Instead of ripping Ivan open, the burst of gunfire from her automatic weapon stitched the white carpet beside him with a line of ragged bullet holes.
In shock and with his ears ringing, Ivan was dumbfounded when Inga regained her balance despite being shot in the back of the head. She began to turn around as the Russian’s second shot struck her point blank, between the shoulders. She toppled over, dropping her weapon as she fell face first onto the carpet.
“Ha! You fucking bitch!”
A red-faced Molenski yelled at the thwarted assassin.
Ivan was so shocked and upset by the sight of Inga, shot and apparently dead; he barely registered the glimpse of metal he saw in the wound on her head.
He couldn’t tear his eyes away from her even as Molenski stalked across to him.
“And you!” the mob boss screamed and slapped him across the face. “You big dummy! Why didn’t you shoot her!? You could have got me killed!”
Ivan barely registered the blow. His eyes didn’t leave Inga. Sorrow racked him. He wanted to cry but knew somehow that if he tried, tears wouldn’t come.
“What the fuck is wrong with you, shit head? Are you going to fucking cry?!”
Ivan barely heard him. Behind Molenski, Inga had raised her head and looked at him, her bleeding face confused and pained.
16
The muzzle of the gun pressed into Redfern’s chin hurt. It hurt a lot, but it paled into irrelevance compared to the implicit threat of the bullet in the gun. His guts felt watery and, as he looked up into the angry face of the bigger of the two abductors, he thought he might just shit his pants.
A Chicago man with the top of his head blown off and shit in his underpants was found earlier today….
He pulled himself together, the imagined news item steeling his resolve. He clenched his buttocks in an attempt to shut off the threat of imminent bowel evacuation and tried to reason with his tormentor.
“Please, it’s not a problem at our end. It’s a problem with the feed…”
“That’s terrible news for you then,” said the big man, flicking off the safety of his gun.