By the time he reached his teammates there was a lull in the gunfire.
“What’s happened?”
“Regrouping, I think.” Molokai was peering out through a gap in the barricade, his robes shedding a pool of water around his kneeling figure.
“Crying more like,” Cam said. “We killed more than a dozen of them.”
Drake checked the scene outside, seeing a parking lot empty of everything except battered cars and dead bodies, and sidled over to the young man.
“Thanks,” he said. “For sticking with us. For jumping feet-first into this craziness.”
Cam shrugged. “I’ve nowhere else to go.”
Drake doubted that. “Still, it takes a special caliber of man to voluntarily remain at the center of all this shit. A soldier doesn’t call a friend a friend and mean it until he’s shed blood and faced death with that man. When all this is done . . . you’ll be my friend.”
“If I live.” Cam nodded a little shyly.
“Yes, mate. If you live.” Drake crawled away from Cam and made a beeline for Hayden.
“Any news?”
“Coburn’s advisor says to stay put. We have time. We’re primed and ready to go on his command.”
Drake didn’t like it. He preferred trusting his own instincts and those of his team. “We rely on a suit sat in an office over 200 miles away? Not on my worst day, darling.”
Hayden restrained him with a hand. “Just a few minutes. Let’s see what he comes up with.”
Drake nodded, mostly because they couldn’t move yet anyway. He was waiting for a report from Alicia.
“Hey,” Luther said. “You’d best decide soon. They’re massing again with their entire force and they look pissed as all hell.”
Suddenly, Alicia sprinted into the room. “Come on!” she shouted, “I have an idea!”
CHAPTER THIRTY TWO
Before they could move, a stream of gunfire blasted the waystation. Drake dove low, almost colliding with Alicia. Cam and Shaw dragged the Blood King down onto his belly. Luther and Molokai flinched away from the barricade as splinters exploded from it. Shards took a chunk from Dahl’s ear and from Hayden’s cheek.
“Fuck me,” Kenzie said under the roar of gunfire. “That’s some serious goddamn people out there.”
Drake, still prone, eyed Kovalenko. “All gunning for that wanker right there.”
And still, they were forced to keep him alive. Drake maneuvered his body so that he could return fire and slow their enemies down. There was nothing more he’d like to do than to gift Kovalenko to the old Russians.
Maybe later.
Dahl skidded up next to him and grabbed his arm. “You seeing this? It’s mayhem out there.”
Drake’s gap in the barricade was so small he had only the option of shooting through it or looking through it. He pulled his HK aside for a second to reload and put his eye to the tiny void. The parking lot was overrun—mobbed up shooters rushing through parked cars to attack the waystation; other forces that could only be Kovalenko’s men trying to strike at them from their right side and, worst of all, cops firing on cops.
Drake shook his head to clear the image but when he looked again it remained.
Dahl joined him. “You seeing all that, mate?”
He was, but he didn’t believe it. “I don’t know what I’m seeing.”
“Clearly, somebody has outed Hodge. Coburn, maybe someone else, has sent in the good cops.”
“But there aren’t enough of them.”
Drake was seeing thirty or so new cops assaulting the ones who’d been creeping around the back of the station. The newcomers were under fire, stalled in their advance, but were steadily winning. The trouble was—Kovalenko’s and the mob’s forces outnumbered them ten to one.
“Talk about a war zone,” Dahl muttered.
Then Alicia fell on top of them, one arm draped around each of them. “You boys cozy down here? Want some company?”
“Some other time, love,” Drake said. “We’re busy.”
“Aww. Did you hear me say that I have an idea?”
Drake nodded, just thankful the words hadn’t come from Dahl’s mouth. “What is it?”
“There’s an underground garage here. They must use it to transport special prisoners or move to and fro without being seen.”
Dahl twisted so that he could look at her. “An underground garage? Why the hell didn’t you say?”
He was rolling away and approaching Hayden before Alicia could open her mouth. A whispered conversation later and Hayden spoke over the comms.
“Moving out,” she said. “Follow Alicia.”
The Englishwoman grinned and, head down, ran for the rear. Drake gave their attackers a hail of gunfire to think about before turning and running. Alicia had already barricaded the waystation’s back door. She turned now, a sharp left, and barged through a swing door toward a set of echoey concrete stairs. Drake was hit by a rush of cold air, chilling the water droplets that still clung to his hair and face. He took a moment to change magazines and hefted the newly replenished backpack that hung heavy around his shoulders.
Enough ammo to make it four blocks? It had to be.
They were truly out of time. The minute count was hovering below forty. Kovalenko had shown no signs of caving as the explosion grew closer. Maybe he wanted to be remembered as the man that incinerated part of New York.
They descended once more below street level, traveling down instead of north. Drake imagined they’d probably run twenty blocks in the wrong direction today. It was a small underground parking area, comprising only eight spaces, but it had an exit ramp at the far end, guarded by a metal cage.
“You know the code to get out?” Luther asked Alicia.
“Do I fuck! Just grab the biggest thing in here and smash it.”
Dahl was up for that, sprinting off toward a meaty SUV in gleaming black with red stripes. It was a good choice, Drake thought, because it was older too, making it easy to hotwire on the hoof.
Dahl did the honors but not everyone could climb in. Those who did were cramped, with four squeezing into the trunk space, but it only had to get them a short distance. The others commandeered an old brown Plymouth sedan.
The SUV roared into life a few seconds before the Plymouth. Dahl goosed the gas before reversing fast and then threw it into gear. He hadn’t used stick shift for a while but, once learned, it was a skill you never forgot, although he did manage half a dozen kangaroo jumps when setting off.
“You want me to drive?” Luther asked him.
“Sorry,” Dahl murmured.
“You’re gonna have to pick up some speed,” Alicia warned. “Otherwise we’re gonna get grated by that gate.”
“I’m aware.” Dahl didn’t let up, didn’t get fazed. He floored the gas pedal and aimed them straight at the obstacle. It flew toward them alarmingly fast, the parking garage becoming a blur.
Drake held on to the headrest in front of him, bracing his arms.
The big SUV smashed into the wide steel gate, buckling it at the sides. The gate itself grated up over the front end of the car and landed hard on the roof, pushing down. The SUV squeezed through, its bodywork scratched inches deep. It raced to the top of the ramp and out into the rear alley, bouncing off the slope and onto level ground, all four tires leaving the ground at separate times. The SUV barely fit. Inside, they were shaken and jolted. Dahl kept a grim grip on the steering wheel.
To their right, a battle still raged down the far end of the alley—the new cops beating the corrupt ones back and either killing or imprisoning them. Dahl pointed the vehicle north.
“Are we going for it?”
“Put your fucking foot down!” Alicia cried. “We have less than thirty minutes before that explosion!”
“Why the hell won’t you stop it?” Drake turned to Kovalenko, genuinely confused and outraged. “Do you want to die in a nuclear explosion?”
The Blood King only smiled. “Perhaps,” he said. “Jus
t perhaps . . . I’m right where I want to be.”
Drake wanted to slap him, but knew it was unprofessional and turned away. The sound of Alicia slapping the Russian anyway, two seconds later, came as no surprise.
“Dickhead,” she said.
Dahl drove the SUV as fast as it would go, reached the end of the alley, and then bounced it onto the nearest road. There was no immediate way north, so he headed west, seeking out the nearest junction.
The minutes ticked down.
“Four fucking blocks.” Luther muttered. “Just four blocks to go.”
All sounds of battle faded behind them. The SUV roared. Its tires slewed on the wet surface, its windshield covered in rain. The wipers cleared it rapidly, on full. Drivers got in their way, giving Dahl the finger when he leaned on the horn and then deliberately cut him off. A major set of traffic lights shone out of the drizzling gloom ahead.
“Turn right there,” Mai said.
“I know!” Dahl shouted, leaning forward in concentration.
Still, they were speeding at right angles to the direction they needed. They were nearing their destination as the minutes ticked down. Drake got a glimpse of the stormy sky—roiling black and gray clouds and erratic bursts of sunlight that only served to highlight the sheeting rain. It pounded on the roof. It hindered their vision.
In the back Luka Kovalenko groaned. “Are we there yet?”
Alicia slapped him once more. At least she was happy. Drake concentrated on Dahl’s driving, which was probably a mistake.
“Junction!” he cried.
It came up fast. Dahl nudged a Toyota out of the way and spun them to the right, slewing around the corner. The big car drifted in a wide arc, front passenger tire leaving the ground, but then gripped on the asphalt and started to power north, directly toward rows and rows of red brake lights.
“Perfect!” Hayden cried. “Now, speed up!”
CHAPTER THIRTY THREE
Before they reached the tail-end of the traffic jam, a blur shot from the right, smashed into the side of the SUV and sent it spinning across to the other side of the road.
Drake hung on, jolted and bruised. When the car came to a stop, it cut out. Drake unbuckled his seat belt, grabbed the door handle and pushed hard. It flew open. Rain slanted into the car. He jumped out onto the sodden street. The vehicle that had struck them was idling about ten feet away, its front end caved in, one headlight dangling free. Drake saw movement in the front. Cam and Mai were still trying to force one of the SUV’s doors open. Drake didn’t shoot, unsure if the accident had been deliberate or not.
Men fell out of the crashed vehicle, falling to the floor, guns aimed at him. Drake fired first but then heard the sound of an approaching engine. He glanced to his right and saw an oncoming transit van speeding directly toward him at high speed. The van must have been directly behind them at the last intersection.
“Move!”
Cam had just exited the spun SUV. Drake grabbed him and hurled him back at their broken vehicle. Mai was already in motion. Drake threw himself after Cam, heels narrowly missed by the speeding van’s black fender.
It screeched to a halt ten feet further down the road, almost colliding with the back ends of gridlocked vehicles.
Drake exchanged fire with the man in the car before darting around to the other side of their crashed SUV. He found the others there, focusing on the van that had almost run him down.
In the darkening streets of New York, in the rain, faced by countless guns and enemies, the Strike Force team took stock.
“Classic one-two formation,” Hayden said. “All the way to the nuke.”
“Nothing beats classic,” Drake said meaningfully.
It was their last chance. Drake fired another volley at the men hiding under the crashed car. Three were dead or dying now. The van hadn’t moved. Drake had expected its back doors to fly open, disgorging a horde of enemies, but nothing happened.
The reason soon became clear.
Another van was coming at speed, first along the sidewalk and then finding a gap to aim straight for them, its engine sounding tortured as the driver pushed it beyond its limit. Mai yelled a warning and the entire team took off running. Behind them, the new van collided with the SUV in spectacular fashion, front end dipping, rear end rising so that it flipped up in the air and over, landing on its roof. The sound of the impact tore the day to shreds.
Hayden led the way with Kinimaka. They ran together, up the center of the road, following the white lines; Kinimaka watching the right flank and behind, Hayden watching the left and in front. In this formation the others followed. Kovalenko and Shawnasee were at their center, the Native American carrying a Glock and a large knife. Drake ran with Alicia; Dahl ran with Kenzie.
Behind, the vehicles burned.
In formation, they ran, scrutinizing all sides, ignoring the stares and screams of passersby. If the people of New York didn’t know something major was happening by now, they were far too self-absorbed. And indeed, not all of the locals were acting sensibly. Drake had already seen several cabbies screaming at the occupants of the vans. One had even gotten into the face of an attacker, shouting at the man, and received a blow across the temple for his trouble. Drake continued to run past severe-faced men and women who didn’t appear to be fazed by the sight of armed men in the streets.
But, in reality, there were fewer pedestrians on the streets now than there had been earlier.
Drake swayed right and ahead, searching for enemies, his HK leveled. The rain fell and the puddles splashed beneath his boots. Drones skimmed overhead, some keeping track, some veering away to other parts of the city. Drake knew Coburn and his advisors would be watching them and advising on everything from their own journey to the placement of police and ambulance services.
The minutes ticked by. Drake could see police herding civilians out of the way behind and to the sides. Elsewhere behind them and far ahead, police cars blocked the side streets. Their actions had helped to make 50th less gridlocked than most of the other streets. Drake assumed, though he couldn’t see, that the police were watching the Strike Force team’s backs as well as helping the locals and was grateful for it.
They ran one block without impediment in just sixty seconds. They started on the next block. Behind them, figures were giving chase. Drake didn’t shoot at them. It would only slow him down and they were too far back to worry about for now.
“That’s another block,” Hayden breathed through the comms. “Not far to go.”
It was working. They were making the final sprint with time to spare. Kovalenko wasn’t slowing them down—in Shaw’s custody he knew he was only a hair’s breadth from death at any given moment. Drake felt incredibly sorry for the girl, but this wasn’t the right time to engage her in conversation.
Behind them, gunfire rang out.
Drake whirled to see cops descending on what he assumed were the old Russian forces, slowing them, taking them out of the game. It was an uplifting sight. What wasn’t so uplifting was the sight of the van that had recently tried to kill him accelerating in their direction once more and picking up speed.
“At our backs!” he cried.
Half the team turned, hunched over and took aim. The van sped right at them, its driver’s feral face clear at the windshield. It didn’t veer aside; its engine screamed. Drake waited for another few seconds.
“Fire!”
Five automatic weapons delivered volleys of lead to the approaching van, blasting apart the windshield and the face that stared through it. The vehicle skidded to the left and ran into a parked truck, the impact sending the dead body flying out of its seat and into the side of the truck.
Drake took a moment to review the chasers, who were being overwhelmed by cops.
“That’s the best sight I’ve seen all day,” he said.
“Police are all over them.” Dahl agreed, then turned without another word.
Hayden’s voice came through the comms. “We’re almost t
here.”
Drake turned and ran hard to catch up with the other group. Once more, they sprinted down the center of the road.
“Almost there,” Drake said to Alicia.
“It has been a rough day,” the blonde admitted. “Be glad when it’s over.”
Drake nodded, still running hard. “I don’t see what Kovalenko gets out of all this.”
“It’s a worry. At first, I thought—notoriety. But he still has more nukes out there. More targets. This is just one. And he wants to kill Coburn and us. How does all this accomplish that?”
“It doesn’t.”
“What’s the bastard up to then?”
As if he knew they were talking about him, Kovalenko turned for a moment and caught Drake’s eye. The sly, malevolent grin he offered told Drake that the closer they got to the nuke the happier their enemy became. The knowledge didn’t sit well. Drake watched Shaw pull Kovalenko back into line and speed him up.
Hayden slowed at the front.
What now?
“I’m talking to the President and his advisors on my cell,” she told them. “They’re saying there’s no sign of enemies at our backs. The cops got a hold of the panic and a mob situation at least back there, giving us a short window.”
Drake wondered if that included Kovalenko’s men, and Spartak, his right-hand man, who seemed to prefer hiding in pockets all along the route. He decided there was no reason to think otherwise.
“We’re at the end of this,” Hayden said, before turning to the Blood King. “Now, where exactly are we going?”
But before Kovalenko could answer, they suffered the worst attack of the day so far.
CHAPTER THIRTY FOUR
Drake gawped in disbelief as two black delivery trucks roared toward them and wondered briefly if anything else could go wrong along twenty blocks in New York City.
“Not my men!” Kovalenko cried.
The Blood King Takedown Page 17