FireWall ns-3 Page 3

  Jamming the 88 into my left hand, I punched forward and raised the weapon up, in between my focus on his head, waiting for that nanosecond before the 88 came into view and I acquired the sight picture.

  Real life burst into my eardrums once again. It was Nightmare, shouting into his Motorola at the 4x4s to move in on the Meres as he gripped Carpenter's arm, dragging him toward the foyer.

  I was now no more than two steps from Val. He was still looking at the bodies on the floor, taking in what he had just seen over the last ten seconds.

  He went into survival mode, spinning round and looking back toward the restaurant, thinking that he could make his escape. We had eye-to-eye.

  He knew I was coming for him, and he knew it was too late to do much about it.

  Everything went into slow motion as I focused completely on his neck.

  It was pointless paying attention to anything else around me. There was fuck-all I could do about it.

  I was now only one step away. He was expecting to get shot and stood there waiting, accepting. There was nothing he could do. He must have known this would happen one day. I put the crook of my left arm around his neck, still moving forward so it jammed tight against his throat.

  He staggered backward as I took another step, forcing his face upward.

  I heard him gag. He was only five foot seven, so quite easy to get a grip of. If it had been his companion, I might have had to get on the balls of my feet. The woman in the mink didn't react at all. I expected her to scream, but she just stood off to one side, back to the wall, and watched.

  With the pistol in my right hand and still moving, I pushed my right arm behind his neck to complete the head lock, like a wrestler trying to get a better hold of his opponent. At once he started fighting for oxygen; there was no way he wasn't coming with me. There was no need to check him for weapons. He didn't need one tonight; he was a businessman on his way to the theater.

  I continued on toward the foyer. Val didn't like what I was doing to him, his back arched to try to take the weight of his body off his neck.

  I was in a semi crouched position, so I could carry his weight. I could feel the body armor he was wearing, disguised as an undershirt.

  I concentrated on looking where we were going, toward the Russians shouting in the foyer and the suddenly silent Japanese. Nothing else mattered.

  Four or five more seconds had elapsed and the people inside the hotel could not only see what had happened, but had had time for it to sink in. It takes a while for a brain not used to processing this sort of information to say, Yep, that's right, there are two dead men on the floor and others with submachine guns shouting and running around the foyer. Then, once one person starts becoming hysterical, they all do.

  I turned into the foyer, heading for the exit. Nightmare came into view by the main doors, doing his stuff to one of the BGs, shouting and screaming in Russian and kicking his hands away from his body.

  I was sixty-odd feet away from them.

  The Japanese followed everyone else's example, running for cover and hiding behind the sofas, dragging their loved ones with them. That was great: The more they panicked the less they saw.

  A two-tone alarm started to drown out the screams and I moved as fast as I could.

  Nightmare was there, checking my back as he covered the BG. Gripping tight, I pulled Val along. He snorted like a horse, fighting for breath.

  Through the windows, the blaze of headlights from the three Meres lit Sergei's 4x4, which had the tailgate open, waiting for me and Val.

  Beyond the Meres' roofs, I could see Jesse and Frank, AK butts unfolded and in the shoulder, muzzles pointing at the ground. Val's three drivers had already been dragged out of their seats and were face down on the pavement.

  Carpenter was to the left of the convoy. He, too, had his weapon pointing down. He must have been covering the other BG. All three were blowing out steam like kettles.

  Sergei would be in the wagon, waiting for me to get out of this lunatic asylum.

  With thirty feet to go, World War Three broke out. I heard a series of short bursts from a 9mm, the muzzle flashes bouncing off the windows like flashbulbs. It was Carpenter, giving the BG the best part of a mag. Then the shots were drowned out by the screaming in the foyer. It was like the sinking of the Titanic.

  I couldn't believe it. More muzzle flashes lit up the darkness outside, the heavier 7.62 reports from Jesse and Frank echoing through the building. The drivers must have gone for their weapons, thinking they were next. Nightmare was frozen to the spot, shaking with fear as he stood over the last BG. He stared at me, waiting for direction.

  I flicked a look at the BG. His eyes were switched on and waiting for a chance to get away from this gang fuck There was nothing I could do for Nightmare, who was starting to stress big time. He would have to sort it out himself.

  There was no way I was going out the front door with a firefight in progress, especially as I didn't know the result. Turning back toward the hallway, I moved Val as quickly as I could, nearly falling over the doorman and a bellboy, who were down on the floor in the open, too paralyzed with fear to move.

  I got back to the corner of the hallway. The man was still sobbing over his wife in the elevator. Her legs, in flesh-colored stockings and sensible shoes, protruded into the hallway as the doors opened and closed against them.

  The woman was still there, well in control of herself. She just stood, watching, not even bothering to wipe the dropped BG's blood and membrane off her face.

  There was more hysteria as rounds starred the safety glass around the entrance. The BG had obviously seized his chance and got to his feet, firing as he went for freedom. Nightmare took the burst into his unprotected trunk and crumpled on top of two Japanese tourists, who stayed where they were, too shocked to move.

  The BG started toward me, mini-Uzi in his right hand, its strap over his shoulder.

  What was he going to do? He couldn't open up on me without hitting his boss.

  Turning Val round to face his BG and protect me, I lifted my 88. I wasn't going to do much against his body armor, even if I could hit a moving target at fifty feet one-handed with a pistol. I had to wait until he was nearer.

  I fired at him from about thirty feet, and kept on firing, aiming below center mass. It was pointless aiming at his head at that range.

  I'd emptied at least half of the twenty-round mag, not knowing whether it was going to drop him or not, when I heard him scream and he went down, his legs buckling. I didn't care where I'd hit him, just that I had.

  Dragging Val, I passed the reception, trying to avoid the video camera, and headed toward the store. I was going it alone now, leaving the contact outside to sort itself out.

  The Money was wrapped in my arms and I wasn't about to give it up. I turned right down a wide hallway, heading for the rear parking lot door. I knew where I needed to go; time in reconnaissance is seldom wasted.

  Passing the conference rooms and business center, I pulled Val along the thick pile carpet, both of us finding it difficult to breathe. Me from fear and physical exertion, him from strangulation.

  It wasn't worth checking behind me. I'd soon know if there was a drama: I'd get shot at.

  People cowered in doorways as they saw us coming. That suited me fine.

  Reaching the end of the hall, I climbed four steps, then turned left and climbed ten more. The inner parking lot door was held open by a fire extinguisher. I hit the crossbar of the second and burst out onto the red asphalt at the rear of the building. The cold took my breath away.

  I could hear the odd shout from one or two locals crazy enough to come out of their apartments to see what all the fuss was about.

  My breath was like a racehorse's on a winter gallop. I could hear Val moan. His nostrils were working overtime.

  There was a stretch of fifty feet or so to the road. All around me steam escaped from pipes and ventilation shafts, and generators hummed like ships' engines. If I got one of the s
ervice vehicles, I'd turn left, downhill to the main street, where the drone of traffic was coming from.

  After about thirty feet I could see the parking lot and loading bays. The only vehicle in sight was a small Hilux van. Fuck it, that would have to do.

  With the security lights exposing me to the spectators at their windows in the apartments across the street, I tried the door. It was locked.

  There were no passing vehicles to lift; the construction just up the hill had seen to that. There was no choice but to drag Val up the concrete stairs and onto the loading bay.

  Inside was what looked like a rental car office, with a desk, phone, and paperwork in piles. A woman in her mid-twenties was standing talking hysterically in Finnish on the phone, her left hand waving in the air as if beating off a swarm of wasps. At first she didn't recognize what was in front of her, until I shouted and pointed the 88.

  "The keys! Give me the vehicle keys. Now!"

  She knew what I was saying. She dropped the phone, the other end still talking, and pointed at the desk. I grabbed them and ran back down the stairs to the van, Val clenching his teeth as he took the pain in his neck.

  I still didn't bother checking around me. I knew I was being watched, and worrying about it wasn't going to make it stop. By now the woman in the rental car office would be back on the phone telling the world anyway.

  I ripped off the cardboard that was keeping the windshield ice-free and opened the passenger door using my left hand. My right was on the weapon, and I needed to keep the exposed trigger finger from making any contact. I might need to move my ass, but not at the expense of leaving prints.

  "Get in, get in!"

  He might not speak English, but with my pistol stuck into his neck, Val got the drift.

  Once I'd finished kicking him in, I climbed over on top of him, keeping the barrel of the pistol into his neck as I moved into the driver's seat and put the key in the ignition. Firing the engine, I threw it into gear.

  The tires pounded the cobblestones as I drove downhill to the main street, the defroster on full.

  I could see the streetlights ahead, with the traffic cutting across from both directions. I got level with the hotel drive. The Nissan was missing. Maybe Sergei had got away. All the other vehicles were still there.

  Christmas lights had fallen off the trees and lay across the pavement, among the scattering of empty brass cases. Bodies were strewn all over the ground. I couldn't tell who was who from this distance, though one of them had to be Jesse or Frank because the whole area was covered by a thin blanket of mist: one of their CS canisters must have got hit and was still spewing its contents into the wind.

  One of the drivers had nearly got away. His suited body was slumped by one of the small decorative trees just before the exit. Steam rose from the blood oozing from his gunshot wounds. It looked as if their armor wasn't designed to take AP rounds either.

  I passed by, suddenly thinking about the couple in the elevator. Then, stopping at the junction with the main drag, I focused on what to do next. I turned right and merged with the traffic.

  3

  Flashing blue lights raced toward me as I headed in the direction of the city center, nearly blinding me as they screamed past.

  At the second option I turned right, up the road where Sergei and I had waited in the Nissan. The 88 was in my right hand, still rammed into Val's neck, forcing me to change gear with my left and hold the wheel in position with my knees.

  The target was amazingly compliant; in fact, unless I was reading it wrong, his body language seemed to be saying, No sweat, I'll just wait and see what happens next.

  The DOP was about ten minutes away and should have marked the end of Phase One and the beginning of Phase Two-the change of vehicles and move to the truck service station, from where we would all RV before moving over the border into Russia.

  Plan B was in action now. In the event of a gang fuck we'd each make our own way back to the lakeside house where we'd been based for the last two weeks, and wait for twenty-four hours.

  I was feeling very vulnerable and exposed without Sergei. I might have the Money curled up in the foot well but without help there was no way I was going to get it over the border. Sergei was the only one squared away with the world's most corrupt border guards, and he had been too switched on to tell anyone else how it was organized. I just knew that we were going in a truck adapted to conceal us all under the floor like Us (illegal immigrants), which Sergei would drive. That was his insurance policy, and the reason I'd given him the least dangerous job on the operation.

  The road started to bend right, heading out of the city. I had traveled this route to the DOP, both physically and in my head, dozens of times. It went through residential areas with snow piled neatly at the sides of the wet roads, street lighting and Christmas decorations reflecting off the gleaming cobblestones. From all around me came the sound of sirens, jolting me out of my pissed off-with-all-Russians mode. Blue lights flashed across a junction ahead of me. I took the next right; anything to get off the road and out of sight.

  I'd turned into a driveway leading to the rear of an apartment block.

  There was no lighting back there as I drove over to the far side and stopped under a covered parking space. Keeping the engine running, I sat with the weapon stuck in Val's neck as sirens screamed from all sides. Now what? No way was I going on foot. If spotted, the only way to escape would be to leave him. That wasn't an option; the Money stayed with me.

  Fuck it, there was nothing I could do but tough it out. The longer I stayed there the more police would be in the area looking for the van.

  What was more, they'd have time to cordon off the city before we got out.

  I needed to get to the DOP as soon as possible and detach myself from the hotel road show. Back on the road I put my foot down. It was risky, but sometimes it's best not to think too much.

  Four more minutes and I was level with the chain-link fence of the parking lot. Over to my right, toward the hotel, a low-flying helicopter lit up the sky with its Nightsun. The beam bounced around, searching the park and frozen lake on the other side of the main drag from the Intercontinental. Their reaction time had been excellent, which pissed me off even more. If it wasn't for them being on heightened alert because of the EU conference, they'd have taken a lot longer to get their act together.

  I moved toward the parking lot entrance. The streetlights illuminated the edge of the compound, so I could peer through the fence into the semidarkness beyond, looking for anything unusual. Parking lots are always the best place to lose a car; the downsides are that they're often monitored by video cameras and there's a strong chance of finding some attendent at the gate to take your cash. This one was free-no cameras, no staff, and not lit up-which was why Sergei and I had decided to use it. The other four were using a park firewall 25 and ride about seven minutes away. At the moment, however, the slightest suspicious sign, like cars with no lights but engines running, would be enough to keep me driving past.

  Carrying on to the intersection, I turned left, crossing streetcar lines, and drove toward the entrance. People had stopped on the street and store owners were standing in their doorways, looking up at the heli with its light and noise, talking excitedly to each other.

  I kept my eyes on the parking lot. It looked less than half full; shoppers would have quit for the day, any vehicles that were left were probably there to stay.

  I indicated left, relieving Val's neck of my 88 as I needed both hands to maneuver the Hilux across the road and into a parking space. I felt exposed, waiting for a gap in the traffic, yet resisted the temptation to jump across and risk hitting an oncoming car.

  A gap appeared, after a while, and as I drove under a height bar it was as if I'd entered a new world, dark and safe.

  Driving a circuit to check the area, I ensured that the passenger side of the Hilux would face the row of vehicles where the Volvo sedan was parked. Valentin had all but disappeared into the shadow of th
e foot well The heli was quartering the night sky, raking the ground with its Nightsun.

  The dark-blue Volvo sedan was parked with the trunk sticking out. I stopped, making a T of the car and the Hilux. The only sounds were the van's engine ticking over and the heater on full blast. Val's shoes scraped across the ribbing of the rubber matting as he shifted position. It was almost peaceful until more sirens erupted.

  Way over on the other side of the parking lot, an interior light came on as somebody got into his car. The engine didn't start up; he was probably sitting in the driver's seat, watching the heli. I waited.

  Now that my ears had adjusted to the new, safer environment, I could make out the metallic rumble of a streetcar fading toward the city center. Police sirens wailed in the distance as the Nightsun continued to scour the lake and park.

  The sirens got nearer. I sat, waited, and watched, trying to work out where they were. Three or four police cars were following the streetcar lines along the fence, their flashing lights throwing bursts of color across the roofs of the parked cars.

  Seconds later, two more appeared.

  I looked down at Val. I could make out his face in the glow of the dashboard. His eyes showed no fear. He was switched on enough to accept that overreaction at this stage could result in him being killed, or perhaps worse, seriously injured. He couldn't take that chance. From the moment he'd realized he wasn't going to die and that capture was inevitable, he hadn't panicked. He had to assume that I would be stressing, and that any unexpected move on his part might provoke a reaction from me, and the chances were it would be a bad one.

  The less he resisted, the less punishment he was going to get, and the more time he'd have to watch and wait for an opportunity to escape.

  I pressed the release catch on the pistol grip with my right thumb and caught the magazine in my left hand as it slid from the grip. Inserting a full twenty-round mag in its place, I heard the click as it locked home, and pulled on the bottom to check it was going to stay put. I put the half-empty mag in my right pocket, along with the taped outlets. I didn't want to risk slapping a half-empty one back in if I was in the shit and had to change mags in a hurry.