Читать книгу Mystic Warrior - Alex Archer - Страница 13

6

“Fox Leader, this is Fox Six.”

Moving quickly through the dim college hallways, Ligier de Cerceau carried his machine pistol in both hands. Adrenaline surged through him as he waited for his companion to unlock the classroom door they stood in front of.

“You have Fox Leader.”

“I have the packages in sight.”

De Cerceau stepped into the empty classroom, flicked on the bright light attached to the machine pistol and surveyed the space. Only tables and chairs occupied the space other than a lectern at the front of the room.

“Are the packages in good shape?” De Cerceau pulled back out into the hallway and took his smartphone from inside his jacket. The Kevlar body armor made the task more difficult, but he managed. He pressed the friend app and watched as the red pins popped up onto the screen to mark the locations of his men.

Twelve of his men roamed through the college of history, and all of them were dangerous, hard men. He’d handpicked each man for his core unit.

“The packages are in excellent shape,” Georges Dipre answered.

“Keep them that way.” De Cerceau gestured to the man beside him to proceed. “I’m on my way to your location now.”

He followed the other man, both of them as quiet as shadows as they drifted through the silent halls.

* * *

STANDING BESIDE ORTA, Annja watched the two men who were holding them prisoner. Their movements were precise and methodical. Professional soldiers, she realized.

“What do they want?” Krauzer whispered.

“The crystal,” Orta answered. Either he spoke French, too, or his native language was close enough that he had no problem following the rapid-fire conversations between the men and the person they were talking to at the other end of their communication units.

Annja had already discerned their interest and hated her helplessness.

“You can’t have the crystal!” Krauzer took a step toward the men. “I need that in my movie.”

“Stay back,” the older man commanded. He squeezed a quick burst from his machine pistol and, while the thick suppressor on the end of the weapon kept the noise quieted, the bullets ripped into the wall at the other end of the room, tearing divots and smashing through framed pictures.

“Okay, okay!” Krauzer dropped to his knees on the floor and held his hands up in surrender.

“Deal with that idiot,” the older man said in French.

The younger man put a knee in Krauzer’s back, pushing the movie director forward as he pulled a zip tie from a thigh pocket.

For a moment, the older man’s attention was diverted as he watched his companion and talked to other members of his group. Partially blocked from the man’s sight and standing to the right of the man handling Krauzer, Annja reached for the thick ceramic plates Orta had brought for their dinner. She wrapped her fingers around the edge of the top plate and hurled it in a discus throw, spinning and getting her weight into the effort.

The older gunman brought his weapon to bear and fired a short burst that sliced through the air above Annja’s head as she ducked. Spinning, the heavy plate struck the gunman in the throat and knocked him backward.

Shifting his attention from Krauzer to Annja, the second gunman tried to spin to cover her. Balanced on both hands and one foot, Annja shot her other foot out and caught the gunman in the chest and arm, driving him back toward the table. His head struck the table’s edge with a hollow thump and his eyes slid up so that only the whites showed as he toppled to the floor.

Still in motion, aware that the older gunman had been only momentarily put off, Annja stood and reached for the second plate. She held the plate at the end of her arm like a tennis racket and swung it into the surviving gunman’s face in a backhand swing as she spun.

The plate shattered across the man’s grizzled features and shards exploded in all directions. Blood streamed from the man’s broken nose and a deep cut on one of his cheeks. Unconscious, certainly concussed, the man sank to the floor.

Annja knelt over the man and quickly went through his pockets but found nothing that identified him. A demanding voice spoke over the walkie-talkie the man wore over his shoulder.

She looked at Krauzer and Orta, both of whom stared at her in shock. “There are more coming,” she told them.

“For my crystal?” Krauzer sounded amazed.

“Get it and get moving,” Annja ordered as she took the man’s machine pistol and recognized it as one she was familiar with. She dumped the partially expended magazine and shoved in a fresh one taken from the man’s tactical gear.

Krauzer stood slowly, moving as if he was in a daze. He started at the blood pooling around the gunman’s head. “Is he dead?”

“No.” Annja stood and slung the machine pistol over her shoulder. She listened for footsteps out in the corridor. She didn’t hear anything, but she’d noticed the thick soles on the gunmen’s boots. The team would be moving quietly.

“This is stupid crazy,” Krauzer announced. He wiped his face.

Annja shoved him into motion. “Grab the crystal. Let’s go.” She was happy to see that Orta was already putting the manuscript sheets back in their protective case. Grabbing her backpack, Annja quickly packed her gear into it and pulled it on. She tried to think of how much time had passed and knew that she had no clue.

Orta looked at her. “There are more of these men?”

“Yes.” Annja pulled the ear-throat mic into place and clipped the walkie-talkie to the ammo belt. A deep, controlled voice spoke at the other end, demanding that Fox Six reply. She ignored the command and nodded to Orta. “You know the campus layout. Which way is the quickest way out?”

“Follow me.” Orta headed to the back door.

Krauzer had the crystal wrapped in one arm like an oversize football and was reaching for the other machine pistol lying on the floor.

Taking a quick step, Annja kicked the weapon under the table and out of Krauzer’s reach.

He whirled on her, his features taut with rage and fear. “What are you doing?”

“Trying to keep us alive,” Annja said. “You’re a director, not a commando.”

“And you think you’re some kind of action hero?”

Annja glanced at the two unconscious attackers. “I’ve got experience with this sort of thing.”

“I can shoot! Two guns are better than one.”

“Are you coming?” Annja asked as she jogged toward Orta at the back door.

Krauzer started to go around the table, but another gunman slid into place out in the hallway.

The radio came to life in Annja’s ear. “Fox Leader, Fox Six is down. The woman has a weapon.”

“Kill them,” the deep voice ordered. “Do not harm the crystal.”

Annja lifted the machine pistol and aimed. Then she fired off three short bursts. Bullets hammered the door frame, throwing splinters out into the hallway, and they struck the gunman, knocking him down. Annja didn’t know where the man was hit and knew she didn’t have time to confirm his condition.

After fumbling with the back door, Orta opened it and stuck his head outside. Then he yelped and pulled back inside the room just ahead of a salvo of bullets that ripped into the doorway and outside wall.

Grabbing the man’s arm, Annja pulled him back from the door, squatted and snaked around the door frame. Two men held the hallway, one positioned on either side, with their machine pistols at the ready. As Annja leaned out, one of the gunmen broke cover and rushed toward them.

Annja brought up the machine pistol and fired at almost point-blank range. The gunman managed to get off another burst that burned the air beside her. Her bullets stitched the man from his chest to his face.

She forced herself not to think about what she’d just done. She didn’t have time. She stepped into the guy and gripped his bloodstained tactical vest with her free hand.

Leaning into him, guiding his slow fall by partially supporting his weight as he went down, Annja aimed at the other gunman in the hallway and fired a burst that scored the wall above his head. She corrected her aim as the dead man sagged on her, careful not to let his weight trap her.

The other gunman fired his weapon, either knowing his partner was dead from the blood pooling on the floor or not caring if the other man survived. Bullets thudded into the corpse, some of them burrowing into the tactical armor and some biting into flesh.

Ignoring the vibration of the bullets’ impacts and the grisly weight of the dead man, Annja fired again, emptying her weapon in two short bursts. Tossing the weapon away, she scrambled from beneath the falling dead man, slipped in his blood and recovered as she stripped his weapon from his hand.

Landing on her knees, Annja brought up the new weapon and hoped that the dead gunman hadn’t emptied it during his charge. As she centered the machine pistol on the surviving attacker, the gunman collapsed to the floor. She was on her feet immediately.

When she paused over the second man, Annja dumped the magazine in her weapon and grabbed a fresh one from his gear. She glanced back at Orta and waved him on.

“Fox Nine,” the deep voice called over the radio. “Report. Report!”

The tinny echoes of tactical gear jangling in the hallway reached Annja’s ears and her pulse accelerated. Orta reached her, looking pale.

“Where?” Annja asked as she stood.

Behind the professor, Krauzer spoke rapidly on a cell phone.

“Two corridors ahead, there’s a door that will let us out of the building,” Orta said.

“We can’t leave the building,” Annja replied. “Not yet. Whoever’s after us, you can bet they have someone watching the exterior of the building.” From the professionalism of the gunmen, she suspected there would be snipers.

What was it about the crystal that had drawn attention like this? She had no clue. Yet.

“We need somewhere we can hide,” Annja said, focusing on Orta. “Somewhere safe.”

“Sure, sure.” Orta nodded. He glanced at the elevator farther down the hallway. “The elevator’s there.” He pointed.

“Stairs,” Annja said.

“Next to the elevator.”

Annja took the lead, sprinting down the hallway and reaching the doorway. She paused long enough to peer through the safety glass and saw no one in the dark stairwell. As soon as she stepped through, the lights came on. She pulled the machine pistol into position and stared up the steps.

“It’s automatic,” Orta said. “They’re on timers to conserve electricity.”

The lack of lighting until now also meant that no one was in the stairwell. Annja felt a little safer because of that and led the way up the stairs. At the landing, pausing to make certain the way was clear, she checked on her charges and saw Krauzer putting away his phone.

“Did you get hold of the police?” Annja asked.

“Better than that,” the director said. “I’ve got a package plan with Sabre Race.”

“What’s that?”

“Not what. Who. He’s the best protection guy there is in Hollywood. And I’ve got him on speed dial. He’ll be here in minutes.”

Anger rushed through Annja. Calling in an outsider was only going to complicate things.

The doorway on the floor below was just starting to open. Setting aside her feelings, she leveled the machine pistol and waited as she waved Orta and Krauzer forward.