“Psst.” Zara motioned them over to the crack in the curtains. She held up two fingers.
A burly man with a crewcut slipped a key in the door of the shop directly across from them. He carried a brown case. A second sniper opened another shop two doors down. She carried the same style case.
“Looks like we’ll have to split up after all. You take the lady marksman and I’ll take the guy. I’m not being sexist here, but remember, women are always the worst. A lot of antiterrorist squads have standing orders to shoot the women first.” Summer drew his gun from its holster and pushed up the safety. “Faith, you might have to cover us. Stay low and don’t shoot us.”
“That’s some vote of confidence,” Faith said.
“You have the Czech gun. Don’t forget the safety and remember to cock the trigger before the first shot like I showed you,” Summer said. He kissed Faith on the cheek. “Luck, everyone.”
Faith clutched the clunky wood butt of the gun as she watched them dart across the bridge. Zara stopped with Summer at the first door. He placed his hand over the handle and shook his head. He pulled out the Leatherman, stuck a blade between the door and the frame and opened it. He handed the tool to Zara. Faith couldn’t read lips, but knew he again wished her luck. Faith wished them both luck-good luck.
Summer crept into the shop, gun drawn. He swept the gun back and forth, although he was confident the sniper was in the back room, assembling his weapon. Praying he didn’t step on a creaky board, he inched across the floor toward the long counter. A curtain hung in the doorway between the storefront and the back room. He pushed it aside with the barrel of the gun just enough to get a peek. Six tall windows covered the wall. For the first time he saw the domes of St. Basil’s, the red bricks of the Kremlin fortress and the latest Scalpel missiles parading across Red Square, but his focus was on the man opening one of the windows. The assembled sniper rifle sat beside him. Summer didn’t want to take him out now because a gunshot might compromise Zara before she was in place. She needed a couple extra minutes to get to the other store and open the lock. He watched as the man picked up the rifle. Summer pointed the Makarov at the sniper’s head and waited for the resound of Zara’s shot.
Zara wedged the blade between the frame and the door and popped it open, wondering why the stores even bothered with such poor locks. A safety on the tool prevented her from snapping the blade closed. Rather than waste precious seconds, she stuck it in her shoulder holster, still open. She slinked to the curtain separating the sales space from the storage room, wishing she had a god to whom she could pray for success. If they were too late, not only would Gorbachev die; they would be put to death. A fresh breeze alerted her that the sniper had already opened the window.
Faith watched the plate-glass windows of the shops for signs it was all over. Then she saw them. Two men were crossing the bridge toward the stores where the assassins were positioned. They didn’t have any guns visible-yet. A cleanup crew. Assassins to eliminate the assassins. They’ll kill Zara and Summer.
Summer saw the sniper look at his watch and then raise the rifle to his shoulder. He heard gunshots, pulled the trigger and fired two shots into the sniper’s brainstem. He hoped Zara had had similar success.
Zara pushed back the divider and saw the sniper in position, the barrel of the rifle barely sticking out the window. Dust sparkled in the ruby-red of the laser sight. The assassin’s finger squeezed the trigger and Zara fired into her head, but at that moment she heard the spit of the silenced rifle. Smoke curled from the barrel and the spent case dropped to the floor. The woman had gotten off a shot. Zara prayed it wasn’t a clean one as she hurried out the door.
As Faith rushed to the door, she flipped off the safety and pushed back the hammer. She cracked open the door, aimed the gun and pulled the trigger. Again. And again. The cleanup crew fired back, shattering the plate-glass window. Faith dived behind the doorframe and lowered herself to the floor.
Summer watched the assassin’s body slump to the floor. Another gun discharged, but it wasn’t from Zara’s direction.
Oh, my God, Faith.
The sound of gunfire echoed from the arcade. Summer bolted to the door, kicked it and took aim at one of the gunmen. He emptied his weapon, drawing their fire away from Faith, and hit the ground. Bullets whizzed over him. He reached for the second magazine. It wasn’t there. He glanced around for cover, but found none. He inched backwards to the shop. Just then gunfire rang out from down the promenade.
Faith crawled toward the storefront to look out to the promenade, clasping the gun as hard as she could. Broken glass slit her right palm. Blood dripped down her wrist. She peeked through the smelly curtain. Summer and Zara lay on the floor, bullets ricocheting around them. The gunmen crouched on the bridge, firing as they inched their way toward them.
Zara shot as she took cover, crouching behind a wide post in the promenade railing. Her gun was empty. She pulled the extra magazine from her pocket. A glass window behind her shattered.
Zara pushed the magazine release back until the empty magazine dropped. She held the loaded one in her left hand. Before she could shove it into the gun, pain seared her forearm and her hand released its grip on the magazine. It plummeted over the edge of the promenade, down three stories and splashed into the fountain below. Zara pointed her empty gun in the direction of the killers, all the while cursing the weakness of her left hand. She glanced at Summer. He signaled that he, too, had spent his ammo. Bullets pinged around them. They both had to cross at least five exposed meters before any hope of cover. She knew they couldn’t make it. Then across the arcade she saw the velvet drapes of the dress shop move and the barrel of the CZ-52 poke through.
That instant, Faith leaped through the drapes of the shattered storefront. She spotted a head through the railing. She aimed the way Summer had taught her so long ago. She fired. Blood spattered on the dingy white rail. A bullet flew by her. She saw another clean shot and took it. Then silence.
Faith approached the bodies, her gun poised to fire at the slightest motion. Blood drizzled from a round dark hole in a man’s neck. Fixed eyes stared toward the skylights. One hand touched his neck, while the other remained loosely wrapped around the gun.
“Clear!” Faith said as she kicked away their firearms.
Summer and Zara ran to her. Summer searched the bodies for weapons and felt for vital signs. He shook his head, looking up at Faith. “I’ll be damned.”
Zara picked up a gun with her left hand, her right hand applying pressure to her left forearm. “KGB issue. Why am I not surprised?”
Faith pulled Summer to his feet and squeezed him tightly. She kissed him as if the years hadn’t come between them. She still held the gun at her side. Blood was smeared on the Bakelite handle.
“There’s no time for celebration right now. We’ve got another problem.” Zara took the gun and flipped on the safety. “And always assume a gun’s loaded.”
Summer pulled away from Faith.
“My sniper got off a shot the same time I hit her. I pray to whatever god will listen that I ruined her aim. Any moment now, some trigger-happy bodyguards will burst in and we definitely do not want to be standing here as easy targets. I think you know how these teams work. I suggest we get back into the dress shop and do our best to surrender.”
They sprinted toward the store.
Summer turned on the lights and set his guns on the counter. “We don’t want any shadows.”
“If we succeed in surrendering, they’ll be rough and split us up for questioning,” Zara said.
“What do you mean, if we succeed?” Faith jerked her head around toward Zara.