“Do not play chicken with this maniac!” the Yorkshireman cried.
Crouch swung the wheel right, followed by Kinimaka in the second vehicle. “I don’t intend to. I don’t have a death wish, Drake.” He jammed his foot to the floor, pouring on the speed.
Drake turned around, saw Kinimaka’s vehicle almost kissing their rear fender and then, storming around the sharp corner, both of Luther’s Hummers, bouncing off potholes and walls alike.
“He’s not holding back.”
“And neither will we.” Hayden was breaking out the rear window in the following car, preparing to shoot.
“Wait,” Dahl said. “This man, notwithstanding his reputation, is a government employee, sent by the Americans, carrying out a mission. Do we know his orders are to kill, or capture? Do we know who sent him? Certainly not President Coburn. Do we know if he wants to talk, or shoot?”
Drake tended to agree with the Swede. Luther was a soldier under orders, not a mercenary taking dollars for blood.
“Meatballs has a point,” he said. “Surprisingly.”
“Call me one more Swedish export and I’ll set Kenzie on you.”
“Ooh,” Drake cackled. “Promises, promises. Ow!”
Alicia removed her fist from his ribs. “Careful, boy.”
“Shit, I can’t even crack jokes anymore?”
“Listen,” Crouch cut across them. “Let’s have the verdict. What are we going to do?”
Dahl took a careful squint through the rear window. “I have an idea.”
Drake threw a hand up to either side of his face. “God, no.”
“Believe me,” Dahl smiled, “you’ll like it.”
With that he told Crouch and Kinimaka to stamp on the brake pedals. Both vehicles came to a quick stop, jarring the occupants. The chasing Hummers slammed on too, the closest impacting gently with Kinimaka’s rear trunk lid.
Dahl was out of the car, the others bemoaning the sanity of the plan but forced to follow. The Swede chose to climb up onto their Jeep’s hood, then climbed the windscreen and ran across the top of the car.
Jumped onto Kinimaka’s, still running.
Drake followed, and then Alicia. The others chose the low route, using the roadway. Dahl jumped onto the second Jeep’s roof and ran harder. Doors were opening further back, four men with weapons climbing out. By then Dahl was leaping through thin air, hitting the first Hummer’s hood with both boots and continuing his run. Drake was three steps behind. At floor level the rest of the team were keeping pace, weapons kept low but at the ready.
“Hold there!” a voice boomed out, augmented by some kind of tannoy system built into the Hummer.
Dahl, atop the vehicle, paused. Drake stopped outside the windshield, staring in at the speaker himself.
Luther.
Their eyeballs fused, unable to wrench one from the other. Drake saw a muscle-bound man in his early forties, a man with a head as big as a bear’s, with a millimeter of bristle for hair, with hard, purposeful black eyes and with a well-lined face set with formidable, granite-like determination. A terrible white scar ran from his lips to his temple.
“Hold right there,” Luther spoke into a radio. “Turn yourselves in. We’re taking you in, Drake. Dahl. All of you. Put down your arms and surrender.”
Drake had to try even though he guessed it would be hopeless. “You’re being manipulated, mate. We’re not the enemy they’re painting us to be. And this… this is a really bad time.”
“Not my call,” Luther boomed. “I gotta deliver every last one of you, dead or alive. Now… lay down your arms.”
Dahl glanced at Drake; they had their answer. Alicia jammed a finger into her right ear. “Wow, man, even your voice is loud.”
“Sorry, dude,” Drake said. “But we’re laying down nothing.”
Dahl leapt from the roof on top of a soldier, bringing a forearm across the bridge of the man’s nose. He went down, groaning. Dahl wrestled his weapon away and threw it up to Drake.
Drake threw it back to Hayden.
One more to the tally.
Alicia rushed to help Dahl. A shot sounded, loud in the narrow road, signaling Luther’s lack of knowledge or respect for all they had previously accomplished. Drake slammed a boot on the windshield right in front of Luther’s face.
“Get your old, moldy ass out here,” he said. “I got a beating for you.”
Luther unfolded his body from the car seat, slammed the door open, and jumped out. Drake met him head on, giving no mercy because he knew none would be given. Luther was a rock, a solid rack of beef. Drake’s knuckles jarred as punches landed. Up close, he put the gun away and tried to take Luther down.
The huge soldier was fast, as fast as Drake and stronger. He took the punches without flinching. As he fought he kept an eye on his men, on Drake’s team, and much of the terrain around. Drake found no weaknesses. The Hummers disgorged five figures in total, four men and one woman who all immediately fought nose to nose against Drake’s team.
Hayden came over the top, dropped down and implored Luther with a gaze. “We’re the good guys. You gotta listen to us!”
Luther simply turned his back on the fight, even took a punch to the kidneys, and shouted at his own team.
“Turn it up a level.”
All hell broke loose.
A soldier slammed a door into Smyth’s face, forcing him away, reached inside the Hummer and took out a fully prepped rocket launcher. On the far side of the car another man did the same, using Crouch as a punch bag. Two RPGs lined up on opposite high walls that bordered the street.
“No!” Alicia’s cry was in vain.
Grenades flew from the small barrels, streaking across the small space. A loud explosion filled the street and concrete debris showered down on top of the Jeeps. A large chunk buckled the hood of one and a persistent cascade shattered the windshield of another. Blocks bounced off onto the floor. Debris blocked the road.
“Light ’em up,” Luther yelled.
Drake leapt hard at him, striking the bull-like neck and pushing him face-first into the very wall he’d just ordered bombed, drawing forth a grunt. Drake pushed in hard but Luther used his own forehead to lever away from the wall. He slammed an elbow around, first to the left and then the right, catching Drake, then again and again. Hayden stepped in, but Luther leaned to the side and kicked out, smashing a boot into her chest and stopping her in her tracks, gasping for breath.
From his pocket he produced a Glock.
Drake jabbed at the hand, raining punches down until Luther dropped the gun, flexing bruised fingers and revealing that the gun had been a ruse. A knife appeared in his other hand and jabbed hard at Drake, completely fooling his defenses. The six-inch blade struck without any obstruction, hitting hard.
Drake grunted and fell back. Hayden saw it and jumped in, her own Glock leveled at Luther’s face.
“Drop—”
The man moved faster than she could see; her Glock there one minute and falling to the floor the next. Blood trickled down between her fingers.
Drake, on his knees, somehow managed to collect both fallen weapons then scramble back. The knife had struck his stab vest, saving his life, but jarring and throbbing so much he was seeing double. A bullet hammered into the wall above Luther’s head, another close to Hayden. Dahl threw a man at the wall, and was shocked to see him bounce right back with a flying front kick. Mai tripped her female opponent and turned for the knockout blow, only to find a backhand slamming her across the face. Kinimaka’s face was bloody. Smyth tried to pick himself up off the floor. Only Kenzie looked in control, and that was because she fought with wild abandon, shaking the blood off in a stream of droplets and diving, snarling, right back for more.