Anselm burst through the door, cracking the wood finish and splintering the framing as he hit it for the eighth time with the chair in his hands. He tossed the makeshift ram away as he reached through the door and fumbled with the lock on the other side.
A manual deadbolt, locked solidly from the other side only.
It clicked open with a twist of his fingers, and he kicked the door the rest of the way open. Behind him he left the bodies of Jacob Kalindon and an unnamed terrorist, and the secured forms of two others, one slumbering and one tied tightly to his chair.
They’d be waiting for him when he got back.
For now, he had another quarry, and this one was too important to give up.
The Consulate portable was in his hand as he ran down the halls, one eye on the route, the other on the fan shaped screen that was currently linked to the American spy satellite currently aimed down at Tower City.
Turn left, he thought, racing around the corner, one heat source a hundred meters down the hall.
He didn’t break pace, his pistol in one hand, the portable in the other. His mind was racing too, trying to remember what was in the direction he was running, if it was something that Abdallah could use to escape. He couldn’t remember, but at the same time he could only assume that it was.
It didn’t matter though.
The terrorist was running to something, whether escape or something worse, he had to be stopped. He had to be stopped no matter what, because Anselm wasn’t letting him get away again. The last time he’d been this close had been the Embassy explosion in which Abdallah had been presumed dead.
The same explosion that had killed twenty eight UN delegates and their parties, and fourteen Interpol Inspectors. An explosion that had nearly claimed Anselm’s life, and had only spared him by the sheerest of dumb luck. A second earlier, or a second later, and he’d have died there along with his entire team.
Never again.
Anselm ran faster.
“They’re circling. Two groups, Major.”
“Roger. Pull back, and prepare to lay down suppressive fire. We don’t have the personnel to meet them head to head,” Malcolm responded softly, crawling backwards as he cradled his rifle in the crook of his arms.
“Roger that.”
The SAS men faded back, drawing their opponents with them into the vacuum they left in the water soaked hell they had made. The tangos came on, sensing the sudden drop in resistance and smelling blood in the falling water.
Slowly the men at the edge of Malcolm’s line reported that the groups were coming together again, and Malcolm called a halt to their retreat. When the scouts reported that the groups had almost met, he gave the order.
Fire and cordite filled the air and was washed away as quickly as it entered, leaving it’s clinging stink on their clothing as the SAS people ruthlessly poured out everything they had left. Malcolm’s rifle clicked on an empty chamber and he dropped the magazine to the ground automatically and reached back for another.
His hand froze in place as a form appeared out of the haze, assault rifle leveled. The man was grimly glaring at him as he lowered the barrel of the weapon to point dead even with Malcolm’s skull and he shook his head as Malcolm tensed to move.
Before that happened, however, a voice sounded out of the artificial rain.
“Ryan!”
The gunman turned, his eyes jerking to the speaker even as he kept the gun on Malcolm, and the SAS man saw them register surprise.
“Gwen!!.You’re supposed to be.”
“Dead I know.” Gwendolen Dougal said flatly, all emotion drained from her voice as she aimed her MP7 at the gunman. “How could you, Ryan”
Ryan Emmerson shrugged, recovering from his momentary surprise. “Jacob asked me to.”
Gwen blinked, not comprehending the apparent non-sequitur, and the gunman who used to be her boss swung his assault rifle in her direction.
The MP7 snarled once, letting loose a medium short burst of twenty rounds. The four point six millimeter rounds reached out across the distance that separated them, and stitched the former police chief from hip to sternum, then went on to perforate his body along the lateral midline as he twisted away from the pain in a paroxysm of pain.
He fell to the ground as Malcolm slapped a fresh magazine into his XM-90 and spared a glance over to where the Police Inspector was staring at the fallen man, steam sizzling from the barrel of her weapon as water fell on the heated surface and boiled instantly away.
“You ok”
She looked at him dully for a second, then just let out a breath she probably hadn’t know she was holding. “Fuck no. Doesn’t matter right now though.”
Amen, Malcolm thought grimly.
A-fuckin-men.
“Freeze! Abdallah, Freeze!!”
The terrorist skidded to a stop, lifting his hands easily into the air as the voice called out behind him. He slowly turned around, keeping his eyes in plain sight as he got a look at his pursuer. The Swede was approaching slowly now, that big pistol of his kept out in front as he came a little closer.
“This is the end of the line, Mr. Gorra,” Anselm said, for the first time using the terrorist’s birth name. “I’m taking you in.”
“Oh please,” Abdallah sneered, “Can’t you do better than that Some old movie cliche”
“I’m not interested in being original for the likes of you,” Anselm said quietly. “Turn around and put your hands behind your back, Gorra, thumbs up.”
“Oh no, I think not.” The terrorist growled, turning his hand so Anselm could see that there was a small device secreted in it. “You know me, Swede. I’ve had years to plant the explosives in this place, and you know I won’t hesitate to use them.”
Anselm grimaced, but his weapon didn’t waver. “You don’t walk out of this one, Gorra. Not again. If you blow this place, it’s coming down on top of you.You’re going to be here, not a mile away.”
Abdallah’s eyes flashed, “There are thousands of people above us, to say nothing of those who will die in the city when the tower collapses. You can’t bluff me.”
“Now who’s using the movie cliches” Anselm smiled suddenly, though it was a grim smile and didn’t reach his eye. “Now what’s my line Oh yes.Make your move, partner.”
Abdallah’s eyes flashed, a moment of what Anselm could only think of as true insanity passed through them, and he smiled suddenly, sending a chill through the Interpol Agent’s spine.
“So be it, Swede!” The terrorist screamed, “I’ve made many martyr’s in my career.so now I will become one!”
Anselm flinched involuntarily when Gorra pressed down on the button hard, then looked around when nothing happened. He wasn’t the only one, Abdallah was jerking around in all directions as he stared wildly about them.
“W.What!”
Anselm smiled slowly, more genuinely, and relaxed marginally though he kept the gun on his quarry. “You Americans.I’ll give you one thing, you are truly Master gadgeteers.”
The Terrorist looked at him, no comprehension in his eyes, and Anselm held up his other hand with the Consulate portable in it.
“You left a lot of information in your computers, Gorra,” He said, “Including a nice list of what frequencies you weren’t jamming. My new friends at the CIA found that with a very simple software patch, it was child’s play to open our frequencies.and kill yours. Knowing you, I knew that you’d have made sure that your explosives were on one of those clear frequencies.”
Gorra stared in shock, hand dropping as the remote clattered to the ground. Anselm flinched involuntarily as it rattled, even knowing that it was jammed, and almost missed what happened next.