Alicia dived the other way, clearing the steps and putting the Equestrian Statue of Theodore Roosevelt between her and her attackers. Still, they fired, bullets hammering into the bronze molding. Alicia drew her weapon and sneaked around the other side. Two men were now on top of cars, making nice targets. Civilians ran every which way, clearing the area. She took a bead on a terrorist who dropped to his knees but the constant thread of his fire swung towards her, forcing her to take cover.
Mai and Beau pressed themselves into a small indented arch near the museum’s front entrance, squeezing tight to escape the flow of bullets that stitched their way across the stonework. Beau was facing the wall, unable to move, but Mai was looking out, her back to the Frenchman’s.
“This is… awkward,” Beauregard complained.
“And very fortunate that you are reed thin,” Mai returned. She popped her head out and let loose a salvo. “You know, back when we first encountered you it seemed like you often fitted between the cracks in the walls.”
“That would be useful right now.”
“Like smoke.” Mai leaned out again, returning fire. Bullets tacked a route above her head.
“Can we move?”
“Not unless you want to become perforated.”
Drake gauged he didn’t have time to bring his own weapon to bear, so tried to grab his adversary’s. Too late he realized he couldn’t quite reach it — the guy was too high up — and then he saw the yawning barrel turning his way.
Nowhere to go.
Instinct slammed through him like a projectile. Stepping back he kicked at the car window, smashing the glass and then dived through just as the terrorist opened fire. Behind him, the sidewalk churned. Drake squeezed through the gap and into the driver’s seat, leather squeaking, the shape of the seats hampering his passage. He knew what was coming. A bullet smacked through the roof, the seat and the floor of the car. Drake shuffled faster. The central well was composed of a glove compartment and two large cup-holders, which gave him something to grip as he launched his bulk into the passenger seat. More bullets thunked mercilessly down through the roof. Drake cried out, playing for time. The flow stopped momentarily, but then as Drake leaned back and booted the window out it started again at an even faster rate.
Drake scrambled into the back seat, a bullet burning a graze down the center of his back. He ended up in an untidy heap, panting and out of ideas. His moment of delay must have made the shooter pause too, and then the man came under fire from Alicia. Drake unlocked the rear door from inside and slithered out, face-palming the concrete and seeing nowhere to go.
Except…
Under the car. He rolled, barely fitting under the vehicle. Now his vision was a black undercarriage, pipes and exhaust system. Another bullet fired down from above, slamming the gap between the open V of his legs. Drake exhaled, whistling in silence.
Two can play at this game.
One leg at a time, he forced his body along the ground and down to the front of the car, wrestling his Glock free as he went. Then, sighting up through previous bullet holes he approximated where the man would be. He fired six shots in succession, repositioning a little every time, and then quickly dragged himself out from under the car.
The terrorist fell down beside him, clutching his stomach. The rifle clattered down alongside him. As he reached desperately for it and also into his waistband, Drake shot him point blank. The risks were too great to gamble, the population too vulnerable. Aching muscles wracked him as he then struggled upright, peering over the hood of the car.
Alicia darted from around the Roosevelt statue, discharging several rounds before disappearing again. Her target was positioned on the front end of another car. Two more terrorists were trying to get an angle on Mai and Beau, who appeared to have somehow forced themselves into the wall, but Mai’s accurate shooting was holding the terrorists back.
Drake checked his watch.
Two minutes.
They were well and truly fucked.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Drake took the battle to the terrorists. Unleashing his HK, he concentrated on the two who were worrying Beau and Mai. One fell instantly, his life spilled all over the concrete, a hard death for a hard-bitten heart. The other swiveled at the last moment, taking a bullet, but still able to return fire. Drake followed the man’s roll with bullets, filling his wake with death. In the end the man had nowhere to go and stopped, then sat up and fired a final round toward Mai as Drake’s gun ended his threat.
Mai saw it coming and pulled Beau to the floor. The Frenchman protested, landing in an ungainly heap, but Mai kept her elbows on top of him, preventing movement. Chunks burst from the wall right where their heads had been.
Beau stared upward. “Merci, Mai.”
“Ki ni shinaide.”
Drake by now had drawn the attention of the last remaining terrorist, but none of that mattered. Only the terrible fear in his soul mattered. Only the despairing pounding of his heart mattered.
They had missed the deadline.
His mood rose a little as he saw Mai and Beau race into the museum, and then Alicia stepped out of concealment to send the final terrorist to the raging hell he deserved. One more man bleeding on the sidewalk. One more soul lost and sacrificed.
They were endless, these people. They were the raging sea.
Drake then saw the last, supposedly dead, terrorist rise and stagger away. Drake figured he must have been wearing a vest. He sighted on the bobbing shoulders and fired, but the shot skimmed just millimeters above its target. Exhaling slowly he sighted in a second shot. Now the man fell to his knees and then rose again, and in the next instant he was barging into a crowd of people, looky loos, locals and kids with cameras all trying to grab their one minute of fame on Facebook or Instagram.
Drake staggered over to Alicia. “So that was one of Ramses’ cells?”
“Four men. Just as Dahl described. This would be the third cell we’ve encountered as a team.”
“And we still don’t know Marsh’s terms.”
Alicia scanned the streets all around, the road and the stalled, abandoned cars. Then she whirled as Mai’s shout caught their attention.
“We have the guard!”
Drake charged up the steps, head down, not even attempting to put his guns away. This was everything, this was their whole world. If Marsh rang they could—
Jose Gonzales held a cellphone out. “Are you the Englishman?”
Drake closed his eyes and put the device to his ear. “Marsh. You utter c—”
The Pythian’s laughter cut him short. “Now, now, do not resort to banal profanities. Cursing is for the uneducated or so I am told. Or is it the other way around? But congratulations, my new friend, you are alive!”
“It’ll take more than a few knobjobs to take us down.”
“Oh, I’m sure. Would a nuke do it?”
Drake felt he could continue the infuriated rejoinders indefinitely but made a conscious effort to sew his mouth shut. Alicia, Mai and Beau crowded around the phone, and Jose Gonzales watched on with foreboding.
“Cat got your tongue? Oh and hey, why on earth didn’t you answer Gonzales’s phone?”
Drake bit his upper lip until the blood flowed. “I’m right here.”
“Yes, yes, I can see that. But where were you… umm… four minutes ago?”
Drake remained silent.
“Poor old Jose was forced to answer his own phone. Didn’t have a clue what I was babbling on about.”