‘There!’ Kitchener said, pointing to one end of the runway. ‘See that?’
Sure enough, he noticed activity far in the distance, perhaps half a mile away. A grey low-wing monoplane rested idly in the centre of the runway. Blurred shapes moved in and out of its fuselage. With relief flooding his veins, he aimed for it and accelerated to maximum speed.
‘They’re still there,’ Kate said, her voice shaky.
‘They’re going to try to kill us,’ King said. ‘You two need to be prepared for that. Kate, stay down when we get close. Kitchener, give me your pistol. I need accuracy.’
She handed her M&P over the centre console, the butt of the gun facing him. He took it and quickly checked the safety was off, heart pounding.
‘You have the M4?’ he asked her.
‘Yes.’
‘You know how to use it?’
‘Yes.’
Matter of fact. Straight to the point. In the heat of imminent combat, he liked nothing better. Best to keep all conversation short and sharp when the blood was flowing.
‘If they don’t put up a fight, don’t kill them in cold blood.’
‘Why not?’
‘They deserve a long and tortured stay in some underground hellhole. I’ll make sure that happens.’
‘That will be a lot more difficult.’
‘I know. But don’t get me wrong. If you see any kind of weapon, don’t hesitate to shoot.’
As they grew closer, the scene became more clear. A military truck with a canvas storage area attached to the rear was parked near the P-750 aircraft. The rear flap lay open. From what King could see, the boot was empty. Which meant the plane was fully loaded, and they’d made it with little time to spare. Just as he expected.
Lars stood in between the vehicles, watching them approach. A mercenary flanked him on either side.
His last two hired guns.
So I really did wipe out most of his forces back at the dropzone, King thought.
One mercenary held some kind of automatic weapon in his hands. Unclear from this distance, but King guessed an M4. It seemed to be the same shape and colour. Whatever the case, the man raised it as they came within range and began sprinting across the tarmac, charging directly at them.
King saw the unmistakeable muzzle flash and knew the mercenary had unloaded his magazine. Yet he did not duck. Kate and Kitchener dove into the rear footwell, shocked by the gunfire. But the bullets pinged harmlessly off the front windscreen. Its glass was bulletproof. King kept his speed up, refusing to slow down even under a barrage of gunfire.
Which clearly unnerved the mercenary, as he kept firing until his gun clicked dry, spurred on by the urgency of a vehicle heading for him at eighty miles an hour.
King waited for the sound of discharging rounds to stop. He knew it would. Typically when under fire drivers panicked and slowed, or swerved, or changed course even slightly. He refused to do any of those things, continuing on his course without fault.
It was then that the mercenary realised his mistake.
Realised how heavily he had been counting on King to panic.
Realised he was now out of bullets.
King sat up. He saw the man standing only fifty feet in front of the speeding Hawkei, eyes boggling, mind racing, searching for some kind of alternative plan.
He had none.
King knew he would attempt to dive clear of the vehicle’s trajectory. He kept his muscles loose, his grip poised. He guessed the man would jump right. Most did. He kept his foot planted down and narrowed his eyes, employing tunnel vision. He waited for the man to make a move.
The man dove right.
He wrenched the wheel milliseconds later, aligning the front of the Hawkei with the mercenary’s fleeing form. He hoped the women in the back seat were still buried somewhere in the footwell. They would do good not to see what came next.
He felt the crunch as fifteen-thousand pounds smashed into the guy, mid-leap. There was the unmistakeable jolt of metal-against-flesh contact, and then he disappeared underneath the vehicle amidst a tangle of broken limbs.
He would not be a problem any longer.
As soon as the armed mercenary had been dealt with King slammed on the brakes. The Hawkei skidded to a halt directly in front of the canvassed truck, slowing hard enough to throw him against the seatbelt once more. In one fluid motion, he unbuckled his seatbelt and stepped out of the vehicle before it had even come to a halt, M&P already pointed directly at Lars’ head.
As far as he could see, both men were unarmed.
Yet Lars’ demeanour did not match the predicament.
The man seemed as comfortable as ever, blissfully unperturbed by the handgun aimed at his face. He stood with his hands by his side, smiling at King, as if all was right in the world.
‘If you’re here that means there’s ten dead men back at the dropzone,’ Lars said. ‘You’ve still got it, that’s for sure.’
‘Eleven,’ King said, nodding behind him at the mangled corpse of the second-last mercenary. He didn’t dare take a look. He kept his eyes locked on the two men in front of him, searching for any sudden movements. ‘Where were you taking the anthrax?’
‘To another location,’ Lars said. ‘What do you care? You won, didn’t you?’
‘Why another location?’
‘Well, it’s not quite ready yet.’
‘Not ready to use?’
‘Almost there. I know a guy upstate who will turn the spores I have into aerosol form.’
‘A guy?’
‘Quite a high-level scientist, actually. Bioterrorism defence expert. Ironic, isn’t it?’
‘And he’s helping you?’
‘Everyone has a price. Except you, apparently.’
‘Well, I hate to crash the party, but you really should have killed me back in the concrete plant. Then everything would have gone off without a hitch.’
Lars cocked his head. ‘What do you mean? Party’s still going.’
‘You’re going to jail for the rest of your life.’
‘Oh, am I?’
King felt a slight tremor in his throat, like a small parcel of nerves kicking in. Lars knew something he didn’t. No-one was this confident with a weapon aimed at their head.
‘Got any weapons on you?’ he said.
‘No,’ Lars said. ‘And now neither do you.’
From behind, a pair of hands wrapped around his wrists and tugged hard. The altercation took him completely by surprise. He hadn’t heard anyone come up behind him. His heart leapt in shock, loosening his grip slightly, enough for the hands to wrench the M&P out of his grasp. He found himself unarmed for a split second.
Then the assailant fired a single round into his foot. The 9mm round penetrated his all-weather boot and tore through skin and tendons near his toes. The shock caused his legs to buckle and his weight to drop. Before he knew it he lay on the cold surface of the runway, staring up at the barrel of his own weapon, panting from the instant agony that came from such a wound.
It was the person on the other end that startled him most.
Officer Kitchener of the Jameson Police Department.
CHAPTER 40
The expression on her face had King confused. Reeling at the sudden change of fortune, it took him a moment to process such a look. It was a mixed bag of relief, angst and fear.