Lopez must have gotten them out of that apartment by now. Right? The guy didn't delay at much of anything.
A bullet skimmed the ledge, barely slowed from its 3,400 feet feet-per-second speed, cutting a line right next to Davidson.
Time to stop testing the other sniper and move into cover position.
Another bullet skimmed along the other side of him.
So it was going to be like that, huh?
He flexed his fingers, warming them, tempting them out of their pained contraction. How he wished for Talli's rifle. It had longer range, better sights, and the trigger was ergonomically designed. Then he could have given the sniper a run for his money.
With this backup rifle though, he couldn't even scare his opponent. The guy knew that if Davidson could have fired far enough to be a threat, he would have done so already.
Nope. Time to get out while the getting was good.
Brandt struggled to keep the bike upright as his rear wheel swerved of its own accord in the wet, slick creek bed. A fucking traffic jam had forced him off the road and into the fucking creek. All the commotion at the apartment buildings had created an exodus.
Sirens sounded in the distance. The authorities would be here in a few minutes, and high up on the ridge the biochemical lab showed signs of stirring. The Russians had an entire unit stationed there after the theft of the Rinderpest.
Now it wasn't just a mission to extract Rebecca and his men. Now it was a mission to stay out of the Armed Forces of the Russian Federation's clutches. Or more likely the KGB's clutches...in Siberia. A Special Forces team caught on Russian soil? That was one interrogation he could skip.
Past the long line of cars, Brandt gunned the motorcycle and popped the bike back onto the road. Dodging a pedestrian, he floored it for the alley that ran between the apartment buildings. He zagged to the left and entered the deep shadows of the narrow passageway. Muffled gunfire sounded. He'd just have to take a sharp right at the corner and then- Broken glass showered down on him as his tires ground the shards.
What the hell?
He looked up in time to see a form leap overhead, jumping from building to building. Brandt slammed on the brakes, skidding the bike around as Harvish's red hair streaked across the gap about four stories up. Gunfire followed. A dark figure dressed in black followed.
Brandt reached for his gun, but before he could even pull it, the figure leaped, then plummeted to the ground. He landed with a thud right in front of the bike. Blood seeped from a chest wound.
Davidson. Their eyes in the sky.
Not bothering to think that another day not that long ago that bullet could have been aimed at him, Brandt hit the gas, traveling back the way he came. Hitting the road, he headed north. He caught the sight of Rebecca leaping across the gap. Brandt slowed, keeping pace with his team. At the next alley he watched Lopez make the distance, dropping another floor. By the time they got to the end of the block of apartments, they would be at ground level. Smart move.
He waited until Rebecca made it across and then headed to the next alley.
Within moments the glass shattered and Lopez led the group, diving through to the second-floor window. Rebecca launched out the window, but she must have slipped as her trajectory sloped downward.
Gravity pulled at her hard.
She wasn't going to make it.
Rebecca flailed even though she knew it would do no good. This wasn't water. This was air. Thin air. There was no gaining altitude, only losing it.
She hit the side of the building, hard. Her fingers found the edge of the windowsill. Rebecca searched for something, anything more stable to latch onto. However, the Russians, not exactly being heavy on safety, didn't have a fire escape or even a ladder for her to cling to. What she wouldn't give for a single water pipe.
Her feet dangled beneath her. Her shoes finding no purchase on the smooth gray surface.
Harvish, firing behind him, apparently didn't notice she was hanging on by a fingernail, literally, and made the leap across. She squeezed her eyes closed, not wanting to see the disaster, however the point man sailed through the window leaving her unscathed.
Lopez lashed a hand out, grabbing Rebecca's wrist. Harvish added his hand to the effort. The two men were trying to pull her into the window when shots rang out. Bullets chipped into the wall. One must have caught Harvish. With a scream he released her hand. Only Lopez's hand kept her from plummeting to the ground.
Her other hand flailed, trying to find the windowsill again when another hail of bullets sounded. Only this time it wasn't at her, but at the gunman across the way. The dark figure fell backward.
Rebecca looked down to find a motorcycle below her. The man looked up with those blue eyes.
Brandt.
"Let go!" he yelled, revving the motorcycle.
"I've got her!" Lopez yelled back, but struggled to grasp her other hand.
Rebecca looked to the corporal. "It's okay, Ricky."
With that, Lopez let go of her wrist.
Brandt braced himself but was nowhere near ready for the impact as Rebecca fell into his arms. The girl had gained some post-breakup weight, that was for sure. They almost tipped the bike over, but he ground his heels into the pavement and kept them upright.
"You alright?" he asked as he freed his gun arm and pointed up to the gunman's window in case any of them got any ideas.
Rebecca slipped from his arms to stand next to him. "Yeah. I'm bruised but good."
She used her arm to brush back the sweaty hair that had loosened over her face. His heart swelled at the sight. But he'd had her and lost her and there were like a dozen different groups after them.
"Hop on," he said.
As Rebecca swung her leg over the seat, snaking her arms around his midsection, Brandt sheathed his gun so he could steer. With Rebecca's body pressed against his, he sped them out of the alley.
Lopez and Harvish knew the rally point. And Talli, well hopefully he could remember a rally point better than he provided cover.
Brandt felt Rebecca lay her cheek against his back as her arms squeezed so tightly he almost asked her to let up a bit. Almost.
Now to slip through all the gunmen, snipers, cops, and troops to get to the north side of town without being followed.
A piece of cake.
Yeah, right.
CHAPTER 9.
Pushchino, Russia 2:28 p.m. GMT Aunush spotted a flap of clothing upon the roof. "Ten o'clock."
The sniper fired in quick succession at the point designated, but the other sniper had already disappeared behind a large air-conditioning unit. Their mystery sniper had found cover. How nice for him.
And the researcher had escaped the apartment as well. Which would have been a setback, however with Osip, dead by her hand, it became a crisis. She could do little though to turn back the clock. If only she could put all those police cars back into their regular patrol or stop the dozens of military jeeps sweeping down from the bioweapons laboratory.
While she might know many of the answers to man's most deeply held secrets, Aunush could not unfold time.
Her only option was to clean up the mess.
"Retreat!" Aunush commanded her men.
She craned her neck to find the sniper gazing down upon her. Neither of their finest hour. But they were survivors, he and she. Certainly survivors enough to weather an assassination of the master's father. After all, there was reason he lived out here in the dregs of Russia rather than the seat of power.
Hounded Dr. Monroe and company would hardly be informing the master of the nature of Osip's untimely death.
No. The problem was their own men. Those who might actually feel the need to spread word of the old man's stupid yet heroic actions.
Aunush nodded to her sniper. He went back to his scope, swinging it away from that distant rooftop and instead aiming toward their men's escape route. She had not sucked the heel of that boot to find herself crushed beneath it.
Rebecca clung to Brandt as they bobbed and wove through the stopped cars. Emergency vehicles blared their horns behind them, but where could the cars go to get out of the way? Unlike the motorcycle, the autos couldn't hop up onto the sidewalk just as Brandt was doing now, then suddenly turn in to a dry-cleaning shop. People dove out of the way, cursing in very loud Russian. Plastic whipped around them, sending sleeves and skirts into their faces.
Then they were through the store and out into another alley. Despite the rolling hillsides and thick forest, this town had been built as if someone wanted to figure out exactly how many buildings they could cram into the acreage. Stores were stacked side by side, and the alleyways were barely wide enough to get a truck through.
And Brandt had made the best of it. Darting into buildings and then coming out and slaloming through the back alleys. Each looking the same to her. Gray, dingy, faceless. Rebecca had no idea how he could tell them apart. They seemed to be heading south, though, instead of east to their rally point. Was he lost or trying to throw their pursuers off the scent of their ultimate destination?
Either way, they were running out of town to hide in. Pushchino wasn't exactly New York or even Wasilla.
She leaned with him as they made a fast right out into a road. Unfortunately, one of the green compact Russian Jeeps had the same idea and nearly bumped them off the road. Brandt swerved, barely missing a light post and then a beat-up Yugo. Armed men leaned out from the Jeep, waving their weapons and shouting what Rebecca could only imagine was for them to stop.
When they didn't, she didn't doubt they would use the guns.
Rebecca wanted to keep her face buried in Brandt's strong, wide back, but she just couldn't. She'd rather see the bullet coming.
And she was about to get her wish as one of the soldiers leveled his gun, ready to fire. Then the Jeep jerked to the left, spinning out of control. A tire blown. The vehicle crashed into a restaurant supply store, sending pots and pans everywhere.
Had that been luck or...
She looked up to find Davidson on an adjacent roof. Her guardian angel. Well, tarnished guardian angel, but an angel nonetheless right now. This must have been why Brandt had taken them on this odd path, to bring them within Davidson's line of sight, which meant that Brandt had given the kid a weapon.
How much things could change in such a short period of time.
Brandt let the motorcycle rip, hitting a left turn and then a fast right to get them heading east. The road ahead looked wide open. Beyond a few factory warehouses there really shouldn't be anything or anyone out here this way. No residences. No police stations.
They should have been home free, except two men stumbled out into the road. Decked out in black ops gear, Brandt had no doubt these were some of the men who had attacked Rebecca back at the apartment. They raised their guns.
He accelerated as he pulled his own weapon, knowing it wouldn't be in time. Then one of the men pitched forward. The other swiveled to face this new threat, just not quickly enough. He too fell to the ground.
Had Davidson repositioned that quickly? Or was Talli finally earning his keep?
Then a bullet pinged off the front wheel guard. Another off the handlebar.
Brandt didn't have time to ponder why the fuck the opposition's sniper had killed two of their own men, he just cut the gas, put his boot down, and turned the bike into a sharp ninety-degree turn, gunning the motorcycle so hard he popped it up onto its back wheel. Rebecca's grip was so tight that she didn't even slip back an inch.
The bike landed hard on its front tire as they rushed headlong back into the traffic jam. Their goddamned original exit strategy did not include a fucking sniper, police cars, and military patrols.
Speaking of which, a white car with a prominent blue stripe swerved around a corner. The police car must have spotted them as he turned on the flashing red and blue lights.
Brandt made another sharp right turn. He could only play a smart mouse in this tiny maze for so long. Not with three enemies creating a three-pronged noose. Rebecca's fear beat through his back. He could feel her panic but also her faith in him. She hadn't hesitated when he told her to fall two stories into his arms. She hadn't hesitated getting onto the back of this junker bike.
And how was he going to repay that faith? By getting them captured by the Russians. Over what? A stupid shipping label switch-up? Maybe he should drop her off and have her try to strike out on foot? Blend in with the fleeing pedestrians?
And he might have except for the fucking sniper. He couldn't leave her unprotected. He wouldn't leave her, period.
The sirens were closing in though. He only had so many offensive driving tricks up his sleeve when a meat delivery truck cut in front of them. Brandt had to brake to keep from running into its dented bumper. Looked like the truck did a lot of cutting off.
Brandt was about to pass the truck when the rolling door opened and a redhead waved them forward. Harvish? The truck sped up as the point man dropped the loading ramp. The steel sparked against the pavement.
He patted Rebecca's hands, encouraging her to hold on, although it was probably unnecessary. Squeezing down on the gas, Brandt gunned the bike up and onto the truck.
Rebecca stifled a scream as they plunged headlong into the refrigerated compartment. As they banged into the first carcass hanging from the ceiling Rebecca, to her horror, realized they were in a meat transport truck. A huge cow's lidless eye glared at her as they slowed to a stop.
Behind them, Harvish pulled the loading ramp up.
"Hurry," Brandt urged.
Cringing, Rebecca got off the motorcycle, trying desperately not to touch the huge red and white marbled slabs. She had to actively keep her stomach in line. How after everything she'd witnessed the sight of hunks of meat still got to her she didn't know, but with bile in the back of her throat, it still did.
Brandt and Harvish rolled the motorcycle to the door and then flung it out into an alley. After pulling the ramp up, they rolled the metal gate down, slamming it into place. Rebecca was relieved when the compartment was plunged into utter darkness, sparing her from the grotesque sight. Tentatively she stepped back one foot at a time, brushing up against one carcass after another. Finally she found a wall and pressed against the cold surface.
Then Harvish turned on his flashlight, illuminating their grisly surroundings. Rebecca gulped and closed her eyes. Her body was already starting to quake from the adrenaline letdown. This clammy horror was not helping.
"Are you injured?" Brandt asked.
"Just grossed out," she replied, worried that even admitting that much was going to bring up the sausage she'd eaten for breakfast. A strange look crossed Brandt's face. "What?"
His eyes flickered over to the nearest carcass.
"No," Rebecca said as she pressed herself into the wall. He couldn't be serious.