“Another Yukon just pulled up,” Scarlet said. “And the problem is, there are hundreds of visitors all over the place, Joe. We start a shooting match in here and innocent people are going to get killed.”
Jazmin gasped. “We must call the police at once!”
“It’s too late for that,” Lea said. “We need to get back to the cars.”
The Hungarian ran a panicked hand through her hair and tried to calm herself. “Just how dangerous are these people?” she asked.
They heard the sound of people screaming at the end of the staff corridor, and then what sounded like a stampede. Then they saw shadows streaking along the corridor as their pursuers drew closer. When they turned the corner, Kashala and Mukendi were at the vanguard, Kalashnikovs slung over their shoulder.
“About that dangerous,” Ryan said.
Scarlet drew her gun. “Guess that explains the screaming.”
“Not here, Cairo,” Hawke said. “We need to draw them away from the museum.”
Padding along the corridor, Kashala pulled the weapon from his shoulder and pointed it at them. “ECHO! Return what you stole and I will let you live!”
“Is he for real?” Kamala asked.
Lea started to walk backwards to the fire exit. “As real as any other nightmare.”
They watched the men striding down the corridor and reaching for their weapons. “Channelling the Reservoir Dogs aesthetic,” said Scarlet. “If only they could pull it off it would be so much more impressive.”
“Come on,” Ryan said. “We still have a chance to get out of here without any shooting.”
Scarlet snorted. “Aww, you’re so cute.”
Hawke drew his gun but kept the safety catch on. Still walking together, they made their way along the corridor when Lexi jogged over to them from the other end. “Another car has just pulled up around back in the staff parking lot.”
Lea squeezed her gun’s grip and feared the worst. “Then we’re surrounded.”
“Hawke!” The Congolese mercenary spat the word out like it was curse. “Hand it over. I know who you are.”
“And we know who you are,” Hawke called back.
“Then you should be terrified.”
Behind him, Crombez gave Reaper a look, but the Frenchman ignored it. Then the Congolese general opened fire, raking automatic bullets along the floor and blasting the tiles to pieces.
When Hawke brought up his Glock and returned fire, Jazmin Benedek screamed and clamped her hands over her ears. Her world of quiet academic enquiry had been savagely blasted away and replaced by gun smoke and nine mil jackets spitting out of an ejector port inches from her head.
Realizing they were dangerously exposed, Hawke grabbed Jazmin by the arm, located the fire door she had described and dragged her over to it. “We’re out of here.”
And then all hell was unleashed.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
With bullets ripping into the fire door and licking up the smooth plaster wall behind it, they sprinted down the utility corridor as if the devil himself was on their tails.
“This way!” Jazmin screamed. “This leads to a loading bay used to deliver some of the heavier pieces.”
They burst out into the stark light of day, slammed shut the fire door and got their bearings. “We’re parked around here,” Lea said. “Hurry!”
A heavy thump as Mukendi booted open the external fire door and screamed insanely at the sky. “I see them, King!”
As Kamala reluctantly pulled her weapon and put her body between Jazmin and the mercs at their backs, Hawke saw their SUVs through a hedge. Zeke was in the driver’s seat of one and Camacho was at the wheel of the other, arm hanging out of the window. When the Blood Crew started firing on them across the loading bay the former CIA agent snapped to alert and fired up the engine. Hitting the gas hard, he powered his SUV across the parking lot, smashed through the hedge and swerved to a halt in between the rest of ECHO and the Blood Crew.
Zeke immediately followed suit, ramming his Escalade through the hedge and screeching to a stop beside Camacho.
“Get in!” the Texan yelled.
Camacho leaped out of the driving seat and opened his side door. “Let’s get out of here!”
Hawke swung open the side door on the other Escalade. “Everyone in the cars!”
Lea ducked to avoid a bullet. It traced over her head, and punched a crude hole in the rear panel of the idling vehicle. Another bullet ricocheted off the Escalade’s driver’s wing mirror and tore through Zeke’s upper arm.
“Holy shit!” he cried out in pain. “Fucker bit me!”
“You okay?”
“Sure. It’s just a flesh wound!”
Hawke swung open his door, turned and raised his Glock. Using the door for cover he emptied his mag all over Kashala and the rest of the Blood Crew. “Move over, Zeke!”
The Texan gripped his bloody arm and clambered over the console between the two front seats. “She’s all yours, Hawke!”
Hawke moved to climb into the Escalade. A scream in Hungarian echoed off the high brick walls of the museum’s loading bay — when he scanned the area to locate it, he saw Chumbu and Demotte dragging Jazmin Benedek away toward the other parking lot.
“What the hell happened?”
And then he saw it.
Kamala Banks was lying unconscious on the asphalt behind Camacho’s Escalade.
“Everyone into the cars, now!” Hawke sprinted around behind the two SUVs until he had reached Kamala. Picking her up in one powerful lift, he hefted her over his shoulder and carried her back to the cars, bullets nipping at his heels with every pace.
Lea stared through the windshield, now pock-marked and punctured with bullets and saw the horror unfolding across the loading bay. The young Hungarian woman was kicking and screaming until Chumbu delivered a chunky backhand slap and knocked her out cold.
“They’ve got Jazmin!” Lea called out. “We have the lyre but they’ve got Jazmin!”
Hawke revved the Escalade and signaled to Camacho through the window to get going. “We can’t let them take her. We all know what they’ll do to her to find out what she knows about the lyre. They’re going to take her around to the Yukons so we have to head them off!”
With Hawke in the lead, they raced around to the main parking lot. The sound of squealing tires alerted them to the arrival of another Yukon which now swerved to a halt beside the Blood Crew’s other vehicles.
Seeing Kashala and the rest of his team piling out of the museum and heading across the lot toward their getaway cars, Hawke leaned his arm out of the window and fired on them, instantly striking Kashala in the upper arm.
“Was that for me?” Zeke said with a smile. “You guys!”
Hawke said nothing, firing again on the Congolese mercs as their general spun around and dropped to the floor like a sack of potatoes.
“Did you kill him?” Lea asked.
“No such luck — just winged him.”
Now, several heavily armed mercenaries wearing tactical vests and multiple weapons holsters emerged from the vehicles and took up defensive positions until a horseshoe perimeter had been formed around Kashala.
Chumbu and Demotte pulled Jazmin into one of the Yukons while two of the other men sprinted over to their wounded leader. Around them, the Blood Crew opened a savage fusillade of cover fire over their heads. From what he could see from the multi-position adjustable stock and dioptric sights, Hawke thought they looked like the latest Kalashnikov AK-308s.
In an impressive display of speed and bravery, two mercs dragged Kashala to his feet and hooked each of his arms over their shoulders. Under an umbrella of relentless cover fire, the two men carried their leader over to the back of a Yukon and bundled him inside. With the boss safe, one slammed the rear door down while the other spun around and fired again. Sweeping the muzzle of his rifle back and front, his face was illuminated in red and white lighting from the muzzle flash.