“He stopped and entered an apartment building about two miles away.”
“What about the gendarmes?”
“They’ve crossed the footbridge to the west, and the dogs are looking for your scent. You don’t have more than a minute before they’re back on your trail.”
Gil reached the end of the row and dashed across the open rail yard toward the warehouses.
“Step on it,” the voice urged. “You’re entirely exposed.”
“I’m worried I’ll blow out this damn implant.”
“If you don’t make it to cover within the next the thirty seconds, you’ll be spotted by the gendarmes. They’ve got night vision.”
Gil stepped up the pace and made it to cover behind a line of six lone tanker cars parked on a sidetrack, ducking behind another wheel.
“Hold there a minute,” the overwatch said. “They’re scanning up and down the rail yard.”
“What are their orders?” Gil knew that his overwatch spoke fluent French. “Are you listening to their traffic in real time?”
“Their orders are to not let you escape.”
“Okay, so dicey at best,” Gil muttered. “I could use a smoke.” He sat on his haunches with his head tilted back against the wheel, sucking air deep into his lungs. “I can’t run like this much longer. You have to find me a ride.”
“The dogs will pick up your scent any second now,” said the overwatch. “Get up and move out exactly perpendicular to the tracks. You need to keep the wheels between you and the men on the far side. If you can make it to the warehouses without being spotted, you’ve got a chance.”
Gil ran and made it to the nearest warehouse, running down the far side to get out of sight.
“Oh, Christ,” said the overwatch. “Do you hear any shooting down there?”
Gil froze. “No — why?”
“Someone’s shooting the gendarmes. Two of them are down on the tracks, and the rest are falling back under cover. They just set the dogs loose again.”
Gil broke a window and climbed into the warehouse. “I’m inside now.” He made his way toward the back of the building, winding among the crates and quickly getting disoriented in the darkness. He came to a dead end and had to turn around. “Who stacked these fucking things?”
“What things?”
“Crates,” Gil said. “Who’s shooting at the gendarmes? Is it that damn sniper?”
“I don’t know. Gil, you have to find a way out of there right now. The dogs are jumping in through the window — they’re inside!”
Seconds later, Gil heard the dogs’ claws on the concrete as they scurried unerringly through the inky dark, following his exact path through the maze of crates. He came to a steel staircase and ran two stories to the top, where he stood overlooking the warehouse floor. He ran to the end of the catwalk and came to a locked steel door.
Both German shepherds scampered to the top of the stairs, and he saw their faint silhouettes at the far end of the catwalk, moving toward him shoulder to shoulder, each growling low in the throat.
Gil’s own dog came to mind, a Chesapeake Bay retriever, as he took the Beretta from his pants, preparing to shoot them. The German shepherds snarled and charged. In the glow of a vapor light mounted outside the window, he saw a series of conduit pipes running down the wall, leading to a door at the bottom. On the spur of the moment, he dropped the pistol, swung his legs over the railing, and stretched to grab on to the conduit, bracing his feet against the wall. The dogs snarled furiously as he clung to the wall less than a foot beyond their reach. Glimpsing their white fangs, he shinnied down the conduit to the floor two stories below. The dogs backtracked to the stairs.
Gil made it to the floor only to find that this door, too, was locked. “Can I get a fuckin’ break?”
“What’s the matter now?” asked the overwatch.
“Dogs are the matter!”
He ran along the wall toward what he hoped was the back of the warehouse as the shepherds scrambled down the stairs. Gil broke into a locked office and quickly jammed a desk up against the door, snatching a pack of French cigarettes from the desk and stuffing them into his pocket. Within seconds, the dogs were scratching around outside, whining in frustration. He forced open another door at the back of the office and ran down a blind hallway toward a dim glow at the far end.
“You still up there?”
“Yeah, I’ve been making some calls,” the voice said. “Trying to find you a place to hide. How close are you to finding your way out of there?”
“Let you know in a second.” Gil put his hand against a pane of grime-covered glass. “I think this leads out.”
He groped about in the darkness for a chair or a trash can to break out the window.
Without warning, a German shepherd slammed into him at full tilt, sinking its teeth into his left forearm.
“Holy shit!” he shouted, completely unprepared for the suddenness of the impact. He struggled to keep his feet with the dog whipping him from side to side, not quite like a rag doll but close.
“What’s happening?” the overwatch asked anxiously.
The animal was unbelievably strong and took Gil down in seconds. He sensed more than heard the second dog’s arrival, and so he kicked out in the dark to ward it off. The animal latched onto his boot, savagely ripping it back and forth, its fangs easily penetrating both the leather upper and the instep of Gil’s already damaged right foot.
Fortunately, the narrow hall limited the dogs’ room to maneuver enough that Gil was able to pin the first one in the corner, bracing his free foot against a wall and using his forearm to jam the dog’s head against the floor, transitioning to the top position. The second dog still had hold of his foot, and though painful, it posed no immediate threat to life or limb.
Gil was about to jam his thumb into the dog’s eye socket when he smacked his head against a fire extinguisher sitting on the floor against the wall. He grabbed it with his free hand and thrust the plastic nozzle into the dog’s mouth, squeezing the lever to emit a large blast of CO2. The dog howled, immediately releasing Gil’s arm, flailing insanely to get back on its feet. Gil rolled off and gave the second dog a blast in the face, causing it to let go of his foot. He sprang into a crouch and used the extinguisher to haze both animals back down the hall. Then he wheeled around and hurled the extinguisher through the window. The glass fell away, and he leapt out into the night, landing in a steel dumpster half full of garbage.
One of the German shepherds landed beside him a second later, sinking its teeth into his thigh with a snarl. “You motherfucker!” Gil busted the dog in the side of the head with his fist hard enough to make let it go. He kicked the animal away and threw a leg over the side of the dumpster as the second shepherd was leaping down from the window. Gil turned to slam the steel lid down on one of the dogs with such force that it was knocked out cold. The other dog continued barking inside the steel box as Gil trotted off down the alley.
“Christ Almighty.” He leaned against a wall, flexing his fingers to check the extent of the damage to his left arm. Gil looked up into the sky again. “How do I get outta here?”
“Keep an easterly heading,” the voice said quietly. “If you move fast, I’m pretty sure you’ll have time to hail a cab half a mile from there.”
“What about the cops?”
“Three more got shot down while you were having it out with the dogs. They’re under cover now and calling for medevac.”
“Did you see which way the shooter went?”
“No, but whoever he is, he sure as hell put the bloody finger on you.”
Gil took a second to light up a smoke, tossing the match to the ground. “Make sure you find out who ghosted this operation. I’m gonna cut his fuckin’ heart out.”