In the middle stood the elder, his blade wet with blood.
Once glance was all it took.
Sarah simply snapped.
Their numbers should have given them an advantage, but her Glock more than evened the odds. Before the men could react, she raised her pistol and fired at the elder. In her rage, the shot missed its mark, yet it still accomplished her goal. Rather than striking his body, the bullet shattered the clay lamp that dangled at the elder’s side, spraying his tunic with oil. In a flash, the burning wick ignited the fuel, engulfing the elder in a wave of fire.
As the others lunged forward to extinguish the flames, Sarah unleashed hell. Bones broke and lamps exploded as she emptied her clip in a vengeful fury. When Dade reached her side, she tore her backup pistol from his grasp and emptied that as well.
The onslaught crippled the men and set the entire room ablaze. Pools of burning oil crept across the floor, hungrily consuming the fallen priests. They writhed in agony as their bodies were roasted like meat on a spit. Without guns to fire back or the ability to stand, all they could do was burn as Sarah tried to make sense of the scene.
She stood there, dazed, unable to look away.
How could this happen?
Why did you kill her?
What did she do to you?
Sarah had been taught to never leave a colleague behind — even those who had been killed in action — but she had to face facts: there was nothing she could do with a burning body. Her stomach churned in revulsion as she realized that she couldn’t take Jasmine with her. As much as it pained her, she had to worry about the living.
At least those who fought on her side.
Just then, one of the guards tried to crawl toward the safety of the hall-way, but she slammed the door in his face, sealing him and the others inside. There were no screams of pain, no cries for help inside the chamber. The priests endured in silence. The only sounds were the crackling of the flames and the sizzling of their flesh.
In the corridor, Sarah fell back against the opposite wall, nearly overcome with grief. Reeling from the tragedy, it took a moment to find her voice. ‘Jasmine…’
‘I know…’ Garcia sobbed. ‘She’s dead.’
Cobb’s stomach rolled as the news sank in. Despite all that they had done and learned, their efforts had come up short. Regardless of their initial mission in Florida, this had been a rescue operation since the moment they had lost Jasmine in the tunnel beneath Alexandria. She had become the focus, not the tomb.
And now, she was gone.
His years of service had made him resistant to pain, but not immune. Losing a fellow soldier was bad enough, but Jasmine was a civilian, the lone member of their team without government training. Hell, even Garcia had worked for the FBI.
But not Jasmine.
In his heart, Cobb knew that he should have persuaded her to walk away after their first adventure. He should have forced her to take the money and run, but somehow he had convinced himself that he could protect her from danger.
Obviously, he had failed.
‘Chief,’ McNutt said somberly, ‘did I hear Hector right?’
The voice in Cobb’s ear snapped him out of his daze. He swallowed hard, forcing the anguish from his mind. He could grieve later. For now, he needed to quell his emotions and rescue the people who could still be saved.
Though their mission had failed, it was far from over.
They still needed to make it out alive.
‘Sarah, get out of there. There’s nothing else you can do.’
Despite her respect for Cobb, she completely disagreed with his order.
There was something else she could do.
She could kill everyone in the compound.
Without saying a word, she turned and sprinted back toward the armory. Dade could barely keep pace as she charged down the long corridor. Fueled by rage, she burst through the door and scanned the room for something to help her cause.
She had plenty of options.
Though she lacked McNutt’s expertise, she had received extensive weapons training in the CIA. After grabbing a crowbar from a rack of tools, she pried open the nearest crate. Hoping that the relics had been well maintained, she instead found a collection of corroded firepower that hadn’t been touched in more than fifty years.
She cursed her luck as she reached for another lid. She knew they were wasting time. She needed to find something useful, and she needed to find it fast. Unfortunately, the second crate was no better than the first.
‘This is junk!’ Sarah shouted as she continued to search.
‘What do you mean?’ Dade replied. ‘A gun is a gun is a gun. This isn’t the time to be picky!’
Sarah glared at him. ‘This stuff hasn’t been fired since World War Two. That means more than five decades of neglect. You pull the trigger on one of those, and it’s liable to blow up in your face.’
Dade grimaced. ‘No wonder they’re fighting with swords.’
‘Still,’ she said with determination, ‘there has to be something here that we can use. I don’t care if it’s old, as long as it isn’t rusted.’
Sarah tore open a third crate and nodded. ‘Jackpot.’
She tossed the lid aside, revealing a dozen Benelli M4 shotguns. The modern, Italian-made weapon was sturdy and reliable, with a shot pattern that didn’t require pinpoint accuracy. The M4 could hold seven shells in its magazine and one in the chamber, and its twelve-gauge rounds could blow a hole clean through someone’s chest.
It was more than ideal for what Sarah had in mind.
It was perfect.
‘Take this,’ she demanded as she handed one of the guns to Dade. She dug deeper into the crate, reaching for the ammunition that had been stored with the guns. She tossed a box of shells to Dade. ‘Fill the gun, then fill your pockets.’
He had never seen Sarah like this.
The person he knew tried to save lives, not take them.
Still, he wasn’t about to interfere.
Sarah watched as Dade fumbled his way through loading the weapon. ‘Do you know what you’re doing?’
Dade stared at her, not knowing if she was referring to his clumsy attempt to load the shotgun or to his role in her plan — assuming she had a plan.
He simply shrugged in confusion.
Sarah ripped the Benelli from his hands and quickly filled the magazine, holding it out so that he could understand the process. When she was done, she pulled the shotgun to her shoulder and took aim at the video equipment mounted above the door. She pulled the trigger, and the camera disintegrated, along with a large chunk of the wall.
She tossed the gun back to Dade. ‘Got it?’
He nodded slowly. ‘Yes.’
‘Good,’ she growled as she motioned toward the door. ‘Shoot anything that tries to come through. If it keeps moving, shoot it again.’
Garcia chimed in. ‘Sarah, where are you? I don’t have eyes on you anymore.’
‘And neither do they,’ she snapped at him. ‘Don’t worry about what’s going on in here. Just let me know if someone’s headed our way. Got it?’
‘Yeah, sure,’ Garcia said. ‘Whatever you need.’
She glanced at Dade. ‘Does your comm still work?’
‘My what?’
‘Your comm. Can you hear Hector?’
‘Yeah,’ he mumbled, worried about his friend. He anxiously watched as she turned away from him and searched through the chemical compounds that lined the wall. ‘What are you doing?’
‘I’m thinning the herd.’
As she inspected the shelves, cartons, and bins that lined the wall, she was shocked and amazed at the variety of explosives that they had hoarded. She knew that compounds like Semtex and C-4 were great for jobs like the one in Alexandria — the explosives were stable enough that they wouldn’t explode en route, and they could be molded into a variety of shapes and sizes for maximum effect — but they also had their drawbacks. Namely, each package of explosive required its own blasting cap.