Olga risked everything, roaring up fast toward the Challenger’s trunk.
Drake saw the left turn coming fast, and prepared to fling the car around.
At the back of his mind, this whole way, had been the nagging worry that the last remaining Swede was out there — somewhere. But he hadn’t shown.
Until now.
The soldier burst out of a shop front, wicked-looking machine-pistol leveled, face bloodied and set in a rictus of pain. He was hurting, but he remained on mission. Another non-sanctioned attack. Another third-party using Special Ops men.
Drake reacted instantly. What were the options? It seemed that swerving dangerously into the tight left, trying to fit the Challenger perfectly into the new narrow street, he might be able to flip the backend into the onrushing Swede. It was the only play, and didn’t account for the man’s deadly weapon.
Hayden and Yorgi were sitting on that side of the car. The Swede looked like he was going to spray the entire vehicle as it slid past sideways. His finger tightened. Drake fought the wheel, keeping it tight, his right foot feathering the throttle at just the right rate.
The Swede opened fire almost point blank — seconds before the car’s tail would swipe at him.
And then the whole world went crazy, upside down, as Olga smashed full force into the drifting Challenger. She hadn’t slowed down one bit. She plowed her vehicle into the side of the Dodge, sending it spinning, crushing the Swede and flinging his body halfway across the road. Drake held onto the wheel, unable to see straight as the car spun; two rotations, then it hit the high curb and flipped.
It came down on its roof, still skidding, grating against concrete, until it hit the shopfront. Glass shattered and rained down. Drake fought for equilibrium. Alicia was stunned, Yorgi dazed.
Olga jammed the brakes on, and managed somehow to bring the F-150 to a sudden standstill.
Drake saw her in the upside-down side mirror. Windows were smashed on all sides but the gaps were too small to fit through easily. He heard Mai fighting her seatbelt, shrugging it off. He knew she was agile, but didn’t believe she’d fit through the rear window. They couldn’t defend themselves.
Olga stomped toward them, huge arms and legs working, face set with so much anger it might set fire to the entire world. Blood coated her features and ran down from her neck to her fingers, dripping onto the floor. She carried a machine gun in one hand and a rocket launcher in the other. Drake saw a spare magazine gripped between her teeth and a military blade at her side.
Closing the gap, she was inexorable. Death oncoming. Her eyes never blinked. Steam and now fire broke out of the car behind her, licking around her shape. Drake then saw a flash of blue and knew the Mustang had arrived. He saw Olga sneer. He saw the team jump from the other car in an explosion of action.
Olga fell to one knee, leveled the rocket launcher across one enormous shoulder, and zeroed in on the upended Challenger.
Would she destroy the bio-weapon then?
She’s lost it. There’s no rational thought behind that demonic face.
They were helpless. In the back seat the women were now animated, freeing themselves and trying to find some wriggle room. They didn’t see what was coming, and Drake didn’t tell them. No way could they do anything about it.
Olga squeezed the trigger and the rocket ignited.
Friends, family, this is how we go…
Torsten Dahl smashed his way through like a terrible battering ram; running at full force, with all his might, he crashed into Olga from behind. The rocket launcher slipped, its payload shooting askew and firing off on another trajectory. Dahl himself, whilst saving the day, must have experienced the utter shock of his life, for Olga did not move.
The Swede had just run headlong into the world’s toughest brick wall.
Dahl fell back, nose broken, out cold.
Olga shrugged the Mad Swede off, barely noticing the great attack. She rose like a new mountain, threw the rocket launcher to the ground, and lifted the machine gun in one hand, blood still dripping underneath, spattering the floor.
Drake saw it all, turned to push Yorgi out, then Hayden. His head still spun, but he managed to catch Alicia’s eye.
“We good?” She knew something wasn’t right.
“I just saw Dahl hit Olga at full pelt, bounce off unconscious, and she barely noticed.”
Alicia could barely find the breath. “Fuck. Me.”
“And now she has a machine gun.”
Hayden crawled free. Mai jumped after her, squirming through the small gap. Drake turned back, watching the mirror even as he attempted to squeeze through his own small windows of space. Olga steadied the gun, sneered once more, raised her free hand, and pulled free a tooth from her mouth, flinging it to the ground. At this point the rest of Dahl’s teammates arrived.
And one of them was Mano Kinimaka.
The Hawaiian, in true fashion, launched himself at full speed, feet leaving the ground, arms outstretched, a human missile, a wrecking ball of muscle and bone. He struck Olga around the shoulders, a better aim than Dahl, and gripped hard. Olga staggered forward six feet, and that in itself was a miracle.
Kinimaka swung around her front, facing the Russian.
The machine gun fell to the floor.
Drake read her lips.
“You should be kneeling, little man.”
Kinimaka swung a haymaker, which Olga deftly dodged, faster than Drake would have realized. Her own fist then buried itself deep into Mano’s kidneys, sending the Hawaiian instantly to his knees and gasping for breath.
Kenzie and Smyth reached the battle. Drake couldn’t shake the feeling that it wouldn’t be enough.
He squirmed until the flesh tore off his stomach, until his hip bone shrieked. He wrenched himself out of the car and ignored the fresh blood. Signaling all but Hayden, he started to limp toward the battle as the sirens sounded around them, flashing blue lights filled his sight, and the roaring of people and cops and soldiers filled the air.
He shambled up the street, coming close to Olga. The Russian ignored Smyth as he shot her through the stomach; she grabbed Kenzie by the hair and flung her aside. Tufts of brown stayed gripped in the Russian’s hands and Kenzie, shocked, flipped and tumbled along the gutter, scraping her flesh. Olga then smashed a hand down onto Smyth’s wrist, sending the gun to the ground and making the soldier scream.
“You shoot me? I will tear your arm off and choke you with bloody end.”
Drake gathered his strength and hit her from behind, a three strike blow to the kidneys and ribcage. He’d have used his gun, but had lost it in the crash. Olga didn’t even notice the attack. It was like hitting a tree trunk. He looked around for a weapon, something to use.
He saw it.
Mai ran up, followed by Alicia and then Yorgi, white as a sheet. Drake hefted the rocket launcher, held it above his head, and brought it crashing down with all his might onto the Russian’s back.
This time, she moved.
Kinimaka scrambled aside as the huge mountain crashed down to one knee. Her spare magazine fell from between her teeth. An RPG toppled from her belt. Drake dropped the weapon, panting hard.
Olga rose, turned, smiled. “I will trample you until you are but offal on concrete.”
Drake staggered away. Olga’s kick nicked his thigh and sent an explosion of pain from one end of his body to the other. Alicia waded in, only to be manhandled high into the air and flung on top of Kenzie. Kinimaka rose to a head-butt that sent him straight on his ass. Smyth dove in with countless body strikes, and then three to the throat and nose that made Olga break out into laughter.
“Oh, thank you, little one, that helped break down the phlegm. Please, one more.”
She held her face out for Smyth to strike.