Читать книгу Dorian Gray - John Garavaglia - Страница 67

cigarette butts, syringes, crack vials, and other debris crunched beneath the heels of the shooters.

Armed troopers converged on the murky passage, massing on both corners, just out of the line of fire. They exchanged hand signals and counted down silently before rounding the corner, their rifles aimed high and low. Dorian sprinted after them.

He kept his gun drawn and his eyes probed the darkness. His ears strained to hear which way his quarry had gone. For a few, frustrating moments, he was afraid that the fiery terrorists had given him the slip, but then he thought he heard some furtive footsteps ahead, just around a corner.

He signaled the men behind him to be on their guard. Adrenaline rushed through his veins, keeping him sharp. Dorian welcomed the extra edge.

Sure enough, the minute they rounded the corner, they were met with a furious hail of gunfire. Muzzles flared in the shadows. Bullets sparked off the walls, chipping away at the stonework. Dorian and his men pulled back, seeking shelter while returning fire.

“KEEP FIRING!” The enemy leader screamed.

Dorian heard him and, on top of a car, saw his enemy’s figure rise, holding a machine pistol. A spray of automatic fire was coming right at him.

Little did Dorian know a commando had slithered through the defenses, and had a bead on him.

JOHN GRAVAGLIA

• 67 •