by Will Jordan
Sure enough, a pair of vans had pulled up and at least a dozen armed operatives were converging on the warehouse, kitted out in full body armour and clutching submachine guns. Somehow the Pakistani intelligence service had found them, despite Alex’s best efforts.
‘Wipe everything. Now,’ she instructed, hurrying to retrieve the assault rifle she’d left beside the van. ‘Get to the emergency exit as soon as it’s done!’
Qalat, seeing the urgency of her situation, smiled despite the pain. ‘Time to fly, little bird,’ he taunted. ‘I told you they would find me.’
Snatching up the assault rifle, Anya turned towards the prisoner. Clearly there was more to learn from him, but she couldn’t do it here. Qalat would have to come with them.
She’d just taken a step towards him when the sudden tinkle of broken glass caught her attention. She looked up in time to see a couple of small metal objects fly in through the ventilation windows high above.
Instinctively she turned away and squeezed her eyes shut just as a pair of thunderous bangs shook the building. The assault team wouldn’t risk using fragmentation grenades with a friendly in here, forcing them to employ stun grenades instead.
Her ears were ringing when she opened her eyes and glanced towards the main doors. They were heavy steel units, mounted on rollers and secured with a heavy padlocked chain from the inside. A formidable barrier.
But the sudden roar of a vehicle engine told her they had found their own solution. A second later, the doors crashed open, peeling inwards and collapsing as one of the vans burst through, venting steam from behind the crumpled front grille.
Even before it had come to a halt, the side door slid open and black-clad assault operatives began to pile out, with more surging in through the breached doors.
Turning away, Anya leapt for cover behind her own parked vehicle just as one of the attackers raised his weapon and snapped off a burst.
‘Contact!’
The warehouse echoed with the rattle of automatic fire as a stream of 9mm rounds zipped past, screaming off the concrete floor just metres away. Anya backed up against the van as more gunfire peppered the sides and rear, bursting the tyres and punching holes in the thin metal skin.
Rolling over and flattening herself against the ground, she peered beneath the van, spotting a pair of booted feet advancing towards her. Hefting the M4 into position, she let loose a prolonged burst of fire. The weapon kicked and bucked against her shoulder, spent shell casings rattling against the underside of the vehicle to land smoking on the ground beside her. Zipping along beneath the van, the 5.56mm projectiles tore into the feet and shins of the unfortunate operative, shattering bones and blowing flesh apart.
She saw him stumble and fall, heard his agonised scream, then rolled aside to avoid an answering hail of gunfire. A couple of rounds even ricocheted off the ground and the underside of the van to howl past her, missing by less than a foot.
Nearby, Riley smiled as she let loose another volley, relishing the satisfying kick of the MP5 against her shoulder. She had been dispatched here to this hot, stinking country on the far side of the world with one mission – to find and kill Anya.
Now her goal was within sight.
‘Move up,’ she commanded. ‘Take her out.’
They had her pinned down, Anya knew. It would only be a matter of seconds before they outflanked her, or flushed her out with grenades. Either way, she’d be cut down by automatic gunfire.
Reaching for her comms unit, she hit the transmit key. ‘Alex, come in.’
‘Anya! Where are—’
‘I’m pinned down!’ she interrupted. ‘I need cover. Fire in the hole!’
‘Are you sure?’
Another round ricocheted off the paintwork beside her, tiny flecks of semi-molten metal spalling off and peppering the side of her face.
‘Fire in the hole!’ she repeated. ‘Now!’
Nearby, the three operatives on point were closing in on the now-ruined van, weapons up and ready. At a signal from Riley, one man peeled off left while the other moved right, outflanking their target. Dangerous and well trained she might have been, but she was alone and cut off. They had the advantage of numbers and firepower, and Riley was determined to make use of both.
Gripping the MP5 submachine gun tight, she spoke into her comms unit.
‘In position?’
‘Roger.’
‘Standing by.’
Both men were standing by with stun grenades. Either Anya would be forced to break cover, in which case Riley would drop her, or they’d rush her while she was blinded and deafened. Either way, she wasn’t getting out of this.
She took a breath, readying herself, before giving the word.
‘Go!’
But just as she issued her command, her voice was drowned out by a high-pitched, shrieking whine from somewhere up above. Glancing up in alarm, Riley was just in time to see a bright red projectile screaming towards her, trailing smoke and sparks.
‘RPG!’ she cried out, throwing herself aside.
The strange missile hissed over her head before detonating with a flash and a shower of sparks. It was followed almost immediately by another, and another. Within seconds, the warehouse was alive with pyrotechnics surging down from both sides, flashing and shrieking and bursting apart around the assault team in a loud, blinding, disorienting display.
‘Fuck!’ Riley shouted in anger, ignoring the barrage now that she understood its origins. ‘It’s just goddamn fireworks. Move in now!’
The improvised explosive devices raining projectiles down on them might have been loud and alarming, but they posed little threat to a fully armoured assault team. Leaping to their feet, the operatives surged through the drifting sparks and brightly coloured smoke towards their target, weapons up and ready.
Anya, however, had used the brief distraction to abandon her position, and was now sprinting towards the metal stairwell at the far side of the warehouse, ducking and doing her best to avoid the flying projectiles. The armoured assault team might have been able to shrug it off, but she had no such protection.
She also knew the surprise and disorientation wouldn’t last long. She had mere seconds to rendezvous with Alex and make her escape. She could only hope the young man was smart enough to pull out.
No sooner had this thought crossed her mind than a figure emerged from the smoke right in front of her, coalescing into solid reality before her eyes. She saw him just as he saw her, and raised his submachine gun to fire.
Her first instinct was pull away, but in one of those split-second decisions that often mean the difference between life and death, Anya instead rushed forward, angling slightly to the right, then shifting her weight, allowing herself to fall back. Her momentum carried her on so that she skidded along the ground past him.
She saw him adjust his aim, saw him twist the weapon downward and heard the rattling crack as it spat out a burst that chewed into the ground behind her, but it was too late.
As she skidded past, she angled the M4 towards him and returned fire. Unable to aim with any degree of accuracy, she simply held the trigger down and emptied the entire magazine into him. Many of her rounds missed altogether, others flattened themselves against his armour or ricocheted away, but enough found their mark to knock him off balance.
Sliding to a halt, Anya discarded the empty, smoking weapon and leapt to her feet. Ignoring the pain in her bruised body, she drew the M1911 automatic and kicked the stricken operative to the ground before he could fire again. Jamming the barrel beneath his chin, she fired a single round upward. There was a dull crunch and a metallic whang as the .45 calibre projectile tore up through his skull before impacting the inside of his helmet.
He was down, but others would be here soon enough, alerted by the sound of gunfire. She had to get out—
Her thoughts were cut short when something struck her hard across the back of the head, jerking her forward. White light exploded across her eyes as she went down, th
e pistol falling from her grip.
Anya landed in a heap beside the man she’d just killed, stars dancing across her vision and pain blazing from the back of her head. She’d been hit. How bad, she couldn’t say. But she was alive. She had to get up.
Struggling to rise, she saw the bleary shape of the dead trooper’s submachine gun just a few feet away, and groggily stretched out her hand for it. A sudden kick to the ribs put an end to such a meagre effort, knocking her over onto her back.
‘Not this time, you little bitch,’ a voice said, muffled by a face mask.
Looking up, Anya could see the man who had struck her with the butt of his weapon. The man who loomed huge and menacing, silhouetted against the flash and smoke of the fireworks as he raised his gun to fire.
A shot rang out, followed by another, and another. Anya flinched with each sharp crack, not understanding how she was still alive.
The operative in front of her jerked and staggered under the impacts, before a final round blasted straight through his face mask. He toppled backward, triggering a wild uncontrolled burst in his death throes that tore into the ceiling overhead, before collapsing in a twitching heap.
A moment later, a second figure leapt into view. A young man, his face etched with fear and concern, a smoking automatic clutched in his hand.
‘Anya, are you okay?’ Alex asked, his voice shaking. ‘Can you walk?’
She stared back at him, dazed, struggling to understand. ‘Alex…?’
‘Get up!’ he hissed. ‘We have to go now!’
Hooking a hand beneath her arm, Alex managed to haul the injured woman to her feet and half-dragged her towards the metal stairwell. The blood pounded in her ears and her vision swam, yet she retained enough awareness to realise the urgency of the situation, and somehow found the strength to put one foot in front of the other, stumbling and lurching up the stairs.
‘Hurry!’ Alex urged her, coughing as he inhaled the thick cordite smoke all around.
The barrage was sputtering out now as the last of the pyrotechnics were expended, leaving a thick, choking cloud of acrid smoke hanging over the warehouse, but they both knew it wouldn’t last long.
Anya managed to reach the top of the stairs, leading to a catwalk that ran just beneath the roof, and together they staggered along to the far corner, where a ladder led up to a rooftop access hatch.
Leaving his injured friend, Alex ascended the ladder, unlocked the hatch cover and heaved it open. Smoke poured through the gap, providing glimpses of a dark sky beyond.
‘Come on!’ the young man hissed. ‘Let’s go.’
The world was spinning around Anya, but through some great exertion of will she clutched at the metal rungs, hauling herself up one at a time.
Her vision was growing blurry again, the pain and disorientation assailing her. She felt like lead weights had been anchored to her body; every rung was like climbing a mountain, but still she forced herself upward.
Almost there.
Then she slipped, her hand missing the final rung above. She felt herself tumble backwards, already bracing herself for the bruising impact with the grate below. She knew even as she fell that she wouldn’t have the strength to make the climb again.
Suddenly she felt something close around her wrist, felt herself jerked to a stop, and looked up to see Alex in the open hatch above her. His arm was shaking, his face contorted with the effort of holding her, but his grip was unfailing.
And with some titanic effort born out of desperation and sheer stubborn refusal to give in, he hauled her upward until she managed to grasp the edge of the hatch. Hooking her feet into the rungs below, Anya was at last able to lend her own meagre strength to his efforts, and with an exhausted gasp, she heaved herself out of the opening.
Drained by the exertion, they collapsed together on the rooftop.
* * *
Down below, Vizur Qalat crouched in a corner of the smoke-filled space. The sudden and unexpected barrage had bought him the time he needed to free himself, tipping his chair over so that it broke on impact.
Thus able to move, he’d limped away from the desperate gun battle and taken refuge at the rear of the building, where he waited for the assault team to take care of Maras and her accomplice. Now he sat slumped against the wall, silent and wary, teeth gritted against the pain of the gunshot wounds. True to her word, she’d made sure to administer flesh wounds only, though it scarcely lessened his animosity towards her.
He fervently hoped the team was able to capture her alive. He wanted to repay today’s little interrogation session personally. Not to mention the security operative who had abandoned his post and fled to save his own sorry life. Qalat would ensure he made good on his threat to kill the man and his family for such cowardice.
The sound of footsteps approaching drew his attention back to more immediate matters, and he looked up as a pair of men in full assault gear approached him with their weapons up and ready.
‘You took long enough,’ he snapped in Pashto, his authority as director quickly reasserting itself. ‘Get me a medic.’
Neither man responded, nor did they lower their weapons.
‘Are you deaf?’ Qalat demanded. ‘Can’t you see I’ve been shot?’
Reaching up slowly, one of the operatives pressed the transmit button on his comms unit. ‘Alpha team. Principal is secure, requesting orders.’
Qalat blanched. The operative had spoken English, and it was a woman. This assault team was American.
‘Copy that,’ a voice replied. ‘What’s the status on the target?’
‘They were expecting us. We’ve got men down.’
‘I don’t care about casualties. I want her dead.’
‘Marcus Cain sent you, didn’t he?’ Qalat said, his heart beating fast and urgent now. ‘He knew Maras was coming for me. You tell him I can help find her. I know what she’s looking for.’
‘You hearing this?’ Riley asked, keeping her radio link open so that Hawkins could listen in.
The few seconds of silence that followed seemed to stretch out into hours.
‘I’ve heard enough from him,’ Hawkins decided. ‘Kill him, and find Anya.’
‘Wait!’ Qalat pleaded as the woman trained her weapon on him. For the first time in his long career of careful planning and manoeuvring, of calculated risks and negotiation, of betraying and sacrificing others to further his own interests, at last he knew true fear.
‘Cain needs me. There are things he doesn’t know. We… we have a deal!’
‘Had a deal, asshole,’ Riley said calmly before putting three rounds through his chest. As the dead man slumped to the floor, his blood painting the wall behind, Riley turned to her second in command. ‘Spread out. Find her!’
* * *
For the next few seconds, neither Anya nor Alex could say a word as they lay gasping for air, hearts pounding, muscles aching. They were each exhausted and hurting, but they weren’t out of danger yet.
Rolling over, Alex grasped the hatch cover and swung it closed. Lacking anything to bolt it with, he hastily unbuckled his belt and looped it through the internal bolts, tightening the leather strap as far as it would go.
‘That won’t hold them long,’ he warned, turning towards his companion. ‘We have to move.’
Rousing herself, Anya gestured to the far end of the rooftop.
‘The line,’ she mumbled. ‘Get it ready.’
‘You be right behind me,’ Alex said as he hurried away.
Their warehouse sat amid a heavily industrialised area, one of nearly a dozen identical units arrayed in rows along a main access road, with a stretch of brush-covered dead ground behind. Between each warehouse stood a gap of at least thirty feet – too far for any human to jump.
Fortunately, they had a different escape route in mind. Anticipating a possible attack, Anya had run a length of cable down from the roof of their warehouse and across the open ground behind, securing it to a support post for the chain link fence that encirc
led the site. The line had deliberately been left slack, even buried in places to avoid drawing attention.
Rushing over to the edge of the roof where this line had been coiled around the perimeter rail, Alex spotted the stack of cinderblocks attached to the end, grasped them and heaved them over the edge. The heavy counterweight plummeted away into the darkness below, drawing the cable with it until the line snapped taut, the old rail straining visibly.
‘It’s ready!’ he called out. ‘Hurry!’
Struggling to her feet, Anya limped over to him. Alex meanwhile snatched up the simple pair of leather straps that would serve as an improvised descent harness, wrapping one end around his wrist.
‘Go,’ she instructed him. ‘I’ll follow behind.’
Alex glanced uncertainly at the line stretching off into the darkness, then back at Anya. ‘Maybe you should go first.’
A loud thump caused them both to turn as the hatch cover jump upward an inch or so before Alex’s improvised binding held it back.
‘No time to argue,’ Anya decided. ‘Go now, Alex!’
Swearing under his breath, Alex looped his descent harness over the cable and gripped it tight, testing the weight. A whole lot of things could go wrong in the next few seconds. The cable could snap, the harness could give way, or he could lose his grip and fall. Not to mention the prospect of getting shot while hanging suspended and helpless.
‘Fuck it,’ he muttered, pushing himself away from the edge.
The line jerked and flexed under his weight, swinging him from side to side and threatening to tear the harness right out of his grip, but he clung doggedly on as he began to slide down the cable, rapidly picking up speed. The wind whipped past his face and the ground rushed beneath him as the rooftop, and Anya, receded into the distance.
Alex tensed up, bracing himself as the perimeter fence hurtled towards him, bringing up his feet to cushion the impact as he slammed into the barrier.
Behind him, Anya watched as the young man disappeared into the darkness, the metal rail threatening to buckle under his weight.
The rattle of automatic fire drew her attention back to the access hatch, where a burst of gunfire had punched through the metal sheeting, tearing apart Alex’s belt. As the hatch cover swung open from inside, Anya knew she was out of time. There was no choice but to risk it.