The exchange gave Hayden the chance she needed. Removing her gun she guessed what the legionnaire would do — spin back and throw the knife underhand — so she sidestepped as she squeezed the trigger.
Three bullets took the man’s chest apart as the knife bounced off a car door and clattered harmlessly to the floor.
“Grab his Walther,” Hayden told Kinimaka. “We’re gonna need every bullet.”
Rising up, she saw the unmistakable group of armed men hustling along the street, several hundred yards distant. It was getting harder now — knots of people had emerged and were wandering along, heading home or checking out the damage or even standing exposed and flicking at their android devices — but the sight of Ramses’ head popping up every few feet was instantly recognizable.
“Now move,” she said, forcing aching, bruised limbs to work beyond their limits.
The cell vanished.
“What the—”
Kinimaka skirted a car as she vaulted over the hood.
“A large sports store,” the Hawaiian panted. “They ducked inside.”
“End of the line, Prince Ramses,” Hayden spat the last two words with disdain. “Hurry it up, Mano. Like I said — we have to keep the bastard busy and his attention away from that nuke. Every minute, every second, counts.”
CHAPTER THIRTY
Together, they passed through the still swinging front doors of the sports shop and into its vast, silent interior. Displays, shelving and clothes racks stood everywhere, along every aisle. Lighted tiles provided illumination, set up in the open-framework ceiling. Hayden stared at the reflective white floor and saw dust-smeared footprints leading into the heart of the store. Hurrying along she checked her mag and righted her vest. A face peeking out from under a clothes fixture made her flinch, but the fear etched into the features urged her to soften.
“Don’t worry,” she said. “Stay low and keep quiet.”
She didn’t have to ask for directions. Though they could follow the dirty footprints the noises ahead betrayed the positions of their targets. Price’s constant groans were an added boon. Hayden brushed under a metal arm full of leggings and squeezed around a bald dummy wearing a Nike running outfit into an area reserved for gym equipment. Barbell stands, weight trays, trampolines and treadmills lined up in uniform rows. Just passing into another section were the terrorist group.
One man saw her, raised a warning, and opened fire. Hayden ran hard and at an angle, hearing a bullet zing off the metal arm of a rower only inches to her left. Kinimaka jumped aside, landing heavily on the conveyor section of a treadmill and rolling through the gap. Hayden returned the legionnaire’s compliment, perforating a shelf of trainers above his head.
The man inched back as his colleagues spread out. Hayden threw a pink sports bag into the air to test their numbers, making a face when four separate shots took it down hard.
“Could be covering Ramses’ escape,” Kinimaka breathed.
“If ever we needed Torsten Dahl,” Hayden exhaled.
“You want me to try crazy mode?”
Hayden was unable to suppress a laugh. “I think it’s more of a lifestyle choice than a change of gear,” she said.
“Whatever it is,” Kinimaka said. “Let’s be quick.”
Hayden beat him to it, charging out of hiding and firing rapidly. One of the figures grunted and fell sideways, the others ducked down. Hayden stormed them, keeping obstacles in their way, but closing the gap as fast as she could. The legionnaires backed off, shooting high, and disappeared around the ceiling-height rack that sold every make and color of trainers available. Hayden and Kinimaka crouched down around the other side, pausing for a second.
“Ready?” Hayden breathed, relieving the fallen cell member of his weapon.
“Go,” Kinimaka said.
As they rose, automatic machine gun fire minced the trainer rack a fraction over their heads. Bits of metal and cardboard, canvas and plastic showered them. Hayden scrambled toward the edge even as the entire structure teetered.
“Oh…” Kinimaka began.
“Fuck!” Hayden finished and leapt.
The entire top half of the wide rack collapsed, torn apart, and fell toward them. A huge looming wall of shelves, it discarded metal struts, cardboard boxes and heaps of new canvas shoes as it came. Kinimaka held a hand up as if to ward off the edifice and continued to move steadily, but his bulk left him lagging behind the scuttling Hayden. As she rolled clear of the descending mass, her trailing foot clipped by a metal support, Kinimaka buried his head beneath his arms and braced as it fell on top of him.
Hayden finished her roll, gun in hand, and looked back. “Mano!”
But her troubles were only just beginning.
Four legionnaires descended upon her, kicking the gun away and slamming her body with their rifle butts. Hayden covered up and then rolled some more. A rack of basketballs tipped over and sent the orange spheres spilling in all directions. Hayden glanced over her shoulder, saw moving shadows and cast around for her Glock.
A shot rang out. She heard the bullet strike something close to her head.
“Stop right there,” a voice said.
Hayden froze and looked up as the shadows of Ramses’ men descended upon her.
“You are with us now.”
CHAPTER THIRTY ONE
Drake rushed into the ravaged precinct, Alicia at his side. The first movement they saw was from Moore as he whirled at the balcony above and drew a gun on them. Half a moment later his face flooded with relief.
“At last,” he breathed. “I guess you guys got here first.”
“We had a little advanced warning,” Drake said. “Some clown called Gator?”
Moore looked blank and beckoned them up. “I never heard of him. Is he the leader of the fifth cell?”
“We think so, yes. He’s a fucked up wazzock with a gob full’a shite, but he’s in charge of that nuke now.”
Moore stared open mouthed.
Alicia translated. “Gator sounds madder than Julian Marsh after ten gallons of coffee, and I’d have said that was impossible before I heard what he had to say. Now, where’s Hayden and what has happened here?”
Moore laid it all out for them, commenting on the fight between Ramses and Price and then the escape. Drake shook his head at the condition of the station and the inadequate scattering of agents.
“Could he have planned this? All the way from that bloody castle in Peru? Even whilst we were scouting the bazaar?”
Mai looked skeptical. “Sounds a little farfetched even for one of your theories.”
“And it doesn’t matter,” Alicia said. “Does it? I mean, who cares? We should stop gassing and start looking.”
“For once,” Mai said. “I agree with Taz. Perhaps her latest lover has actually pounded some sense into her.” She flicked a nifty glance at Beau.
Drake cringed as Moore looked on, now even more wide-eyed. The Homeland agent stared at the four of them.
“Sounds like some party, guys.”
Drake shrugged it aside. “Where did they go? Hayden and Kinimaka?”
Moore pointed. “51st. Followed Ramses, eleven of his followers and that prick, Price, into the smoke. I lost sight of them after only a few minutes.”
Alicia gestured at the bank of screens. “Can you find them?”
“Most of the feeds are down. Screens destroyed. We’d be hard pressed finding Battery Park right now.”
Drake walked up to the broken balcony rail and surveyed the station and the street outside. It was an odd world that lay before him, in conflict with the city he envisaged, rocked back on its heels at least for today. He knew only one way to help these people recover.