He said, ‘Let’s say until you leave.’
‘I’m starting to like you,’ Krausse said back. ‘And I really mean that. But you know as well as I do that I can’t let that happen.’
Victor thought quickly. He couldn’t stay where he was for long. The more time he took to act, the more time they would have to surround him. He slipped off his suit jacket.
‘What about our deal?’
‘Our deal?’ Krausse laughed again. ‘You mean the deal we made while you had a gun pointing at my face? If that’s the one you mean, your bargaining position has been severely weakened since then.’
Before the shooting had started, Krausse was at Victor’s one o’clock, Shotgun at his two, and the two other men at ten and nine. Victor figured that if he moved fast and Krausse and Shotgun hadn’t strayed too far, he could drop them both before they could return fire. The problem was the guys at nine and ten o’clock, and the fact that if Victor killed Krausse and Shotgun he would get bullets in the ribs from the other two in return. Alternatively, if he killed those two, shotgun pellets would shred him instead.
Victor heard whispering but couldn’t decipher the words. He could guess the topic of conversation well enough however. Him, or more specifically, how best to kill him. They were unlikely to be students of military tactics, but it wasn’t difficult to pull off a pincer movement when outnumbering the enemy four to one. And even Sun Tzu would find it hard to come up with a workable defence against such an attack. Think, Victor told himself.
Overhead, a strip light flickered.
He heard footsteps approaching from either flank. In moments they would attack from both sides at once. He’d be dead in seconds. No time left to formulate a plan.
He fired.
CHAPTER 7
The first strip light exploded in a shower of sparks and glass. Victor took out another three lights with his next three bullets, needing an extra shot to destroy the fifth. The last to go was the strip light directly above him and he used his left arm as a shield against the raining shards of glass that followed its destruction.
The floor plunged into darkness.
Victor threw himself to the floor on his right, head and arms now out of the cover of the crates. He couldn’t see anyone but fired at where Shotgun had been standing a few seconds before. Two shots, a double tap, torso height.
The yelp and sound of stumbling told him he’d scored a hit but not a fatal one. The Glock’s muzzle flash gave away his position and he immediately rolled clear before the returning fire blew holes through the wooden floor.
Victor was on his feet and moving fast, not caring about the noise he made, only concerned about putting some distance between him and his enemies. He knew there was a corridor of clear space through the stacks of crates and he blindly headed down it. He heard bullets strike crates behind him. Sparks flew as one struck a metal pillar.
He stopped moving after a few seconds, crouched, paused, evaluated. He was somewhere on the other side of the elevator. Though he couldn’t see exactly where, he referred to the image of the layout in his head to get some bearings, reaching out a hand to guide himself into cover.
Victor could hear Shotgun grunting and cursing, Krausse trying to get him to shut up. The other two weren’t speaking. Their careful footsteps were quiet but still audible. Glass crunched under shoes. Maybe thirty feet away.
Victor did a quick ammo count. The Glock held seventeen rounds in a full magazine. He’d used six bullets to take out the lights and two on Shotgun. Nine left. Krausse’s men had all fired a few rounds and so far no one had reloaded. He expected they would only after they’d depleted their magazines. Most people did. When that happened Victor might gain a window of opportunity, but he knew it could be a long wait until that opportunity presented itself.
Shotgun’s grunting ceased. Either he had taken control of his pain or someone had clasped a hand over his mouth. Victor had heard no sound of him collapsing to the ground so he was still on his feet, and if he was on his feet he was still dangerous. He didn’t have to have a good shot to hit Victor with a spread of buckshot.
He looked around. The central area of the warehouse was in complete darkness. Visibility was so limited that Victor could barely make out the Glock in his hand. The tall windows on each wall allowed some artificial light from the streetlights outside into the area, but not enough to see by unless someone strayed close to the walls. The light penetrated no more than a couple of yards and Krausse and his men weren’t so stupid as to go near those areas.
Victor untied his laces and slipped off his shoes. He took one into his left hand. With just socks on his feet, he made no sound when he moved. The glass from the exploded strip lights lay along the centre of the space, and Victor planned to go nowhere near there. He stayed low, his left hand outstretched to guard against any collisions, and crept over to the wall on his right. He was careful to move along the exact centre between the two areas of light shining through the windows.
He pressed his back against the wall and peered into the dark. If he couldn’t see his enemies then at least he couldn’t be seen either. It would take maybe fifteen minutes until his eyes adjusted to the lack of light, but he doubted he could remain hidden from four men for that length of time or sightlessly find his way to an exit undiscovered. His only option was to kill them before they killed him.
He concentrated on listening. He could hear tentative footsteps and the creaking of floorboards in several places. No more glass crunched, so Victor knew they were staying away from the centre space. He estimated the origins of the noise but he didn’t have enough bullets to trust to sound only. That was why he had the shoe.
As soon as he had a good idea of the location of the closest gunmen, he threw the shoe lightly towards where he’d been previously crouching near to the elevator. When it landed, it didn’t sound much like a person moving, but to guys high on adrenalin it was close enough.
Muzzle flashes broke the darkness.
Twin bullseyes.
Victor put two rounds in close proximity to where the nearest flash had appeared, switched his aim, fired another two at the second, and dropped to the floor.
A shotgun blast took a chunk from the wall a couple of feet to the right of his head and sprayed brick dust into his face. Before he could shoot back, the shotgun fired again, and again, blowing holes in the masonry above him. Small pieces of brickwork dropped down over him.
He kept low until the shooting had stopped. Brick dust and grit covered his head and shoulders, and was in his eyes and mouth. Apart from the pain and irritation, he wasn’t concerned about his eyes. He couldn’t see anyway. But he was fighting back coughing from the dust in his throat. He spat it out as quietly as he could.
Someone started wailing and thrashing about, agony overriding the need for stealth. Krausse wasn’t trying to shut his man up this time. He didn’t want to give himself away and end up in a similar situation. Victor didn’t know if the other guy he’d shot at was dead or if he’d missed. He had to assume he was combat-ready. Shotgun had shown he could still shoot and Victor imagined Krausse now had a gun in his hands too. That made three enemies. The Glock had five rounds left. Not even enough for two shots at each. A slim margin for error, considering he was virtually blind.
Victor kept low and moved away from the wall, found some more cover. His eyes streamed water. He kept his left hand out before him to feel his way around obstacles so he could blink rapidly to try to flush the dirt from his eyes.
He changed position, proceeding slowly, conscious he was heading towards the line of broken glass. With the shot guy’s screams masking every other sound, Victor needed to be careful not to collide with one of Krausse’s men. He didn’t know if they were stationary or moving about. If the stairs were on Victor’s side of the floor, he would have made a break for them, but the only exits were the far side of his enemies.