The entire structure came down.
Dahl scrambled away. Kinimaka took hold of Hayden and flung her to a corner. A mercenary plummeted first, smashing hard into the ground beside Kinimaka’s feet, splattering his trousers with blood. The Hawaiian turned away, eyes fixed on Dahl and the far office.
The Swede was already up, dodging collapsing rafters and falling gantries. One metal walkway tumbled, end first, its spear-like edge impaling a merc who was lying injured. A metal box hit the floor and exploded, shards and sparks bursting like the Fourth of July. Dahl ducked and darted among it all, brushing sparks off a shoulder here, extracting a metal splinter there, and concentrated on the office with its emerging military force. The grenade he’d thrown earlier had sent them into disarray and they were even now still trying to reassemble.
Around the side of the building came Hayden and Kinimaka. A piece of framework swung against the wall behind them, shattering the plaster and block work. Kinimaka dealt with an errant merc, assessing that the injured man was mostly faking it and finishing the job Dahl had started.
The three soldiers came at the force of mercenaries hard, and from different directions. Dahl’s new MPX was on full-auto, his patience well and truly worn. Still firing he waded among the enemy, forcing Hayden and Kinimaka to switch to their Glocks for more accurate shots. Dahl fired with one hand and punched with the other. A man rebounded off his solid arm, nose bloody. Another fell underfoot and received a face full of Swedish boot. Reacting far faster than any of his opponents, the Swede cut a swathe through them.
On the other side he paused, sending a fast glance into the office itself. Men wearing backpacks and sidearms were bending over computer consoles, tapping away, and even as Dahl watched they straightened and signaled that they were done.
“I really don’t think so.”
At that moment a blow staggered him, making his ears ring. Dahl turned to see a fleshy mountain at his side, slobbering and sweating profusely with the effort of wearing weapons and body armor. The stench of body odor was almost as deadly as a lead projectile.
Dahl smashed the barrel of his gun across the man’s nose, drawing blood, breaking cartilage, but gaining only a slack grin for his effort. His opponent’s arms opened wide, hoping for a hug. Dahl jammed the business end of his rifle into the enormous belly and fired, seeing no other way out. Even then the beast barely flinched, lumbering on. It was only when Dahl squeezed off the fourth shot that he started to falter.
Dahl skipped aside. Jelly-man descended to the floor with a flop and a crash that put the gantry collapse to shame.
But the distraction had allowed the office mercs to exit and start moving toward the back of the vast room. For once, the rest of their team acted in unison and shielded their retreat. Hayden and Kinimaka ducked behind fallen machinery, suddenly under heavier fire, and Dahl barely made it to the open office door before bullets started rattling around his heels. Hayden saw him duck inside even as the glass all around him shattered.
“Only friggin’ thing these guys’re good at is laying down covering fire,” Kinimaka growled.
“But how are they planning to escape?” Hayden said.
“They’re not,” Dahl’s voice came over the comms. “At least not all of them. It’s much easier for one or two men to escape whilst the main force remains.”
“But why would they even consider that? I mean, jail?”
“Far as we know they haven’t killed anyone. Ten years or less and they’ll be out and millions of dollars richer, I bet.”
“You’re saying the payoff is worth the stretch?”
“Most career criminals consider those odds first.”
Hayden flinched as a burst of gunfire rattled all around her. Dahl was keeping an eye on the mercs from inside the office.
“Some are leaving by the fire exit at the back. Radio it in.”
Hayden thumbed the mic, changing channel and informed Crews.
Kinimaka thrust his gun out blindly and let loose a salvo. Grunts attested to the foolishness of the mercenaries yet again, having grown complacent in the last few minutes. Hayden saw the facility’s locker room door crack open and waved furiously at the emerging man to get back inside.
“They’ve taken big losses,” Dahl said. “But they still won. That’s the second grid facility they have infiltrated. Hayden, America is under attack. We’re at war.”
Hayden stayed low, nodding to herself as she came to a similar conclusion. “I have to call Robert Price.” She fished out another cellphone.
Kinimaka stared. “Is it even worth it? The new Secretary of Defense hasn’t exactly been a constant ally so far.”
“I have to, Mano. It’s protocol. And he hasn’t hindered us either.”
The Secretary answered on the third ring. “Hello?”
Hayden explained the situation as succinctly as she could, ignoring the occasional volley of gunfire designed to keep her pinned down. “It’s a major attack, sir. The grid is under increasing danger. Z-boxes are in play. We need military help.”
As Price asked questions she couldn’t help but flick her mind back to when the traitor General Stone had practically accused Price of being in bed with the enemy. A while back now, and nothing further had happened, but Hayden would never forget it. Price ended up stating he would “come back to her”.
Jonathan Gates would have taken her at her word.
“I’ll be here, sir,” she said, signing off a little sarcastically because she knew he couldn’t possibly understand the irony. Kinimaka fired blindly again and Dahl discharged several rounds from the office.
The mercs were all clustered around the fire exit door. As Hayden chanced a look she realized most of them had now vanished.
“They’re aiding somebody’s escape,” she said, moving fast and firing hard. “Come on!”
But Dahl’s frustrated voice put it all into perspective. “They’ve already gone.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Drake sat in the dirt and with his back to a wall at the rear of a safe house in the center of Yuma, and stared through the holes in the rear chain-link fence at the drifting, broiled, barren folds of desert land that stretched endlessly beyond.
There was only one thing he could think of to do.
Her name was Alicia Myles.
And, despite their dire situation, coming to that conclusion gave him a sudden jolt of happiness. If only she would answer her bloody phone.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah?” he repeated. “Whaddya mean ‘yeah’? You bloody know it’s me.”
“And what? I’m supposed to squeal? My loud noises are reserved only for exceptional bedroom antics as you may remember.”
“Balls, I haven’t interrupted have I?”
“Nah. Haven’t seen the appendage in a while.”
Drake shook his head. “Does Beauregard know you call him that?”
“Who cares? Really though, dude, there isn’t much more to him. Honestly, he’s about 90 percent appendage.”
Drake definitely didn’t want to go there. “Where are you?”
“Sat outside a nice little café in Knightsbridge. Watching the world go by.” Alicia sounded almost wistful for a moment. “But judging by the sudden warning twitch in my loins I’m guessing you need me. Got yourselves in trouble again?”
“It’s an odd mission,” Drake admitted. “Entirely different to what we’re used to.”