I crouch, rest the hammer on its head, and use my T-shirt to wipe more blood off my face and away from my eyes.
That’s helped a little.
I retrieve the hammer and make my way around the corner, jogging under the archway and into the main building site.
Dude, this is fucking nuts… You know that, right?
I do, which is why you’re going to help me, old friend. ‘Fucking nuts’ is your specialty.
As I duck to the left and press myself against one of the wide pillars, lyrics from an old song run through my head, which seem fitting, under the circumstances.
“Don’t you ever… tame your demons. But always keep ’em on a leash…”
My Inner Satan is definitely not tamed. We’ve just come to an understanding. And right now, it’s time to let him have some fun.
I go to move along the low wall to the pillar on the opposite side, but the crunching of boots on gravel freezes me to the spot. There’s a guy heading right for me, just around the corner over my left shoulder. I glance to the ground to make sure I’m hidden from his line of sight. I rest my head back against the wall. The warmth of the new concrete is pleasant on the back of my head. I tighten my grip on the hammer, turning it in my hand so the flat surface is facing out.
I look left and right, but I can’t see any signs of anyone else immediately near him.
I need to time this just right, and hit hard and fast to minimize any exposure so early on.
I close my eyes and bring the hammer up to my chest, counting the steps, picturing where the guy is in my head.
Three…
Two…
One…
I lean left and whip the hammer out as hard as I can. The flat, circular metal head smashes into the kneecap of the guy as he draws level with me. The impact sends his leg flying out from under him and he drops heavily to the ground beside me, his face ricocheting off the dirt. He’s dressed in a lightweight black outfit, with a thin Kevlar vest over the top. He’s wearing an earpiece linked to a comms unit sitting in his back pocket.
Any hesitation now will get me killed. Time and luck are running out, in terms of how long I have before Horizon, or someone else, decides I’m not worth the hassle and just blows my head off.
I’d like to avoid that, if at all possible…
So I don’t pause for a second. I smash the hammer down onto the side of the guy’s head. Once… twice… three times in quick succession. Momentum making each blow heavier than the last. His body jerked after the first. I heard bone crack after the second. The third one was like splitting a watermelon. Thick blood erupts in a fountain from the gaping hole I’ve created in his head, just above the ear, level with his temple.
I put the hammer down beside me and shuffle to my feet. Using only my left hand, I drag the guy’s body around the corner and rest it against where I was just sitting. I unhook the assault rifle from around his neck. It looks like a modified AK-12, with an ACOG scope and a long, thin suppressor over the barrel.
Nice.
I hook the strap over my right shoulder and let it hang loose at my side. I stay in a low crouch and pick up the hammer again. It’s good that I have a weapon, but the hammer’s quieter. No sense in announcing I’m here until I need to.
Right, seven left…
I take some deep breaths, trying to keep my heart rate down. I’m listening for any more footsteps.
I think I heard something to my left.
I turn and make my way along the low wall, all the way to the opposite end. I peek around the corner, but I don’t see anyone. I quickly use the back of my hand to wipe some excess blood from around my eyes.
Across the walkway is a ramp that leads up to another level, which starts a little farther forward from where I am. The additional height would be an advantage…
I scurry across the gap and step slowly and carefully up the ramp, desperate to keep any noise to a minimum. The floor above drops level with my eye line as I climb. I hear some more footsteps—sounds like they’re away to my right…
I glance around, taking in the details of my new surroundings. There’s a large group of crates sitting on a wooden pallet in the middle of the floor. There’s a high concrete ledge ahead of me, and some makeshift barriers made from metal poles running along the left edge.
I make it over to the crates and drop down behind them. I can hear another guy approaching from the far side. There must be another ramp over there that leads down to the other side of the site. I peek between the crates, and after a moment, the guy walks into view. He’s dressed the same as his recently-deceased colleague.
Which way’s he going…?
He’s walking straight toward me. I need to know which way he’s going to move around these crates.
Come on… come on… make a move, asshole…
…
His footsteps are getting louder.
…
He’s literally four feet from me, on the other side of these boxes. I hear him adjusting his grip on his AK-12.
…
He steps to his right.
Got you!
I move right myself, counterclockwise around the crates. I come up behind him, stand up straight, and bring my arm up—the hammer turned around so the curved hook is exposed.
I strike him with brutal accuracy, burying the claws in the base of his skull. The squelch as they pierce his flesh sounds loud in the ghostly silence of the construction site. He drops with a thud, pulling the hammer from my grip as he goes down. I crouch beside him to retrieve it from his—
“Hey!”
Oh, shit…
I snap my head right to see another guy standing at the top of the ramp, frozen for a split-second, staring at me.
I spin my body round to face him. The momentum swings the rifle forward, and I move my left hand to catch it. Instinctively, I grab the handle and squeeze the trigger, letting out a short burst of suppressed fire. He’s close enough that I don’t need to worry about aiming, even with my weaker hand. The bullets punch into his stomach and chest. He flails backward and slumps against the low wall behind him.
Two more down… five left.
“He’s over here!”
Uh-oh.
Gun still in hand, I move over the wall in front of me, which runs almost the full width of this floor, separating both ramps. I peer over and see the five remaining guys regrouping just below me.
If they have any sense—which I’m assuming they do—they’ll split up and approach up both ramps. I can’t shoot in both directions at the same time, so that’s the logical approach, if they intend trying to kill me.
They’ll either split into a three and a two, or they’ll split into two teams of two and leave the last guy in the middle on his own, to give them an additional level of cover. I know what I’d tell them to do, and I’m conscious of giving them either too little, or too much, credit here…
My gut says a three and a two.
I peer over the edge again. Two men are just disappearing out of sight, running for the ramp behind me. The other three are heading to the one nearest to me.
Damn, I’m good!
Now, which group am I most likely to beat to their respective ramp?
I jump up and sprint to the ramp on the right. I stand next to the dead guy and use my foot to push him down. He hits the bottom at the exact moment the three guys appear.
I drop to one knee and empty the mag at them. My field of vision is narrow and focused. Their dead colleague dropping on them took them by surprise—they’re standing like rabbits in the headlights as I shoot them like fish in a barrel.
Not that I condone animal cruelty in any way…
The strain on my left arm is intense, holding the rifle steady and absorbing the recoil while trying to remain even remotely accurate. I hear the wet impact over the staccato scream as bullets tear into them. They never stood a chance.
I wait for the last body to hit the ground before turning to look over at the other ramp.
&nb
sp; “Oh, fuck!”
The remaining two men are already standing by the crates, their rifles leveled at me. Gunfire sounds out as they—
Ah!
Uh!
Ah!
Ow!
Shit!
I fell sideways and rolled down the ramp! Those bullets must’ve missed me by a hair’s breadth.
Jesus Christ, that was close!
The blood on my face is stinging my eyes, and I’m running out of clean T-shirt to wipe it with. This head wound is pissing me off.
I landed heavily, but the dead bodies cushioned my fall. My cast is definitely durable, although my right hand is hurting like hell. I look back up the ramp. I’m squinting in an effort to stop the blood flowing into my eyes. It looks like…
Yeah, both guys are standing at the top, looking down at me, their rifles aimed at me, and their stance relaxed, confident. They’ve got me dead to rights. I’m lying flat on my back, my gun’s God-knows-where, I’m really starting to feel dizzy from all the blood coming out of my head, although, right now, that’s probably the least of my problems…
Time stops as a hail of bullets sounds out without warning. I screw my eyes tightly shut and grit my teeth, bracing for the inevitable onslaught I have no chance to prepare for. This is it. I’m about to—
…
…
…
…
…
Huh?
What happened?
The shooting’s stopped, but I’m still breathing. I’m not that lucky, and it’s unlikely they’re that bad at shooting…
I use my left hand to wipe the blood from my face and slowly open my eyes. I raise my head slightly and stare up at the top of the ramp. The two men aren’t there anymore. Instead, I see Kaitlyn, breathing heavily, holding an assault rifle.
What the…?
“Oh my God, Adrian! Are you alright?”
I relax my head again and let out a heavy sigh. Then I smile. Then I start laughing.
Sonofabitch!
I hold my left arm up long enough to make the universal OK signal with my thumb and trigger finger. Then I close my eyes.
It’s been a long fucking day.
25
20:36 AST
The sounds of the city drift in through the open windows on a lazy breeze as we navigate our way through the bustling metropolis of Abu Dhabi. The burnt-orange sun is a beacon in the evening sky, dominating the landscape as it begins its descent.
After Kaitlyn saved my ass in Qatar, we found the first aid station on the construction site. It was fully stocked, and there was even a change of clothes in one of the lockers. I grabbed a new T-shirt, given how torn and crimson-colored my old one was.
She patched me up pretty good, but I still look like shit. I have a bandage wrapped around my head, stained dark with blood from the cut I sustained in the crash. She’s right—I’m going to need stitches in that bastard. My right hand is pulsing with agony, too. It’s taken a real beating, despite the sturdy plastic cast protecting it. I’ve taken some painkillers, which helped for a while, but now it’s at the stage where only a few beers will do.
Not much chance of respite and refreshment though.
We requisitioned one of the spare Suburbans, left behind by the corpses we created. It’s packed full of weapons and tech, so we’re well armed now. We headed straight here, keeping to the speed limit to avoid attracting any unwanted attention. There’s no hiding from The Order—not yet, anyway… but there’s no sense in putting ourselves on anyone else’s radar unless we have to.
Kaitlyn’s been managing really well, all things considered. Her clothes are filthy, her hair’s all out of sorts, and I think our crash broke her glasses, but given she killed two people with an assault rifle this afternoon, she looks surprisingly composed. I don’t know how much of that composure is genuine, and how much of it is the result of a very strong, focused mind, trained to remain neutral when faced with extraordinary emotional trauma. Either way, right now it’s working for her, so I’m not about to question it.
I’ve said the best thing to do is stop in a public place and call her neighbor, explain as much as we can without going into too much detail, and ask him to meet us. Given The Order can see where I am at all times, I don’t want to lead them straight to Kaitlyn’s house and endanger the lives of the people around her. The more public I stay, the less chance there is of them blowing my head off. I’m putting a lot of faith in this kid being able to help us.
And God help Horizon if he can.
We’ve not spoken much on the ride here. She insisted on driving, and we haven’t stopped once. I think I fell asleep for a little while, which I felt bad about. The way I see it, the driver can’t rest, so out of respect, neither should the passengers. I felt the same way when it was just Josh and me, back in the day. She didn’t seem to mind though, and to be fair, given I woke up from surgery a little over eight hours ago, I reckon a bit of sleep was probably long overdue.
We stop at a red light.
“Any ideas where you want to go?” asks Kaitlyn.
I think for a moment. “We need somewhere busy… Maybe not too far from your house.”
The lights change and we set off again. She takes the first left. “I know the perfect place.”
We drive for another ten minutes or so before she pulls over outside a plaza, spitting distance from the coast. It’s a circular park with a fountain in the middle, illuminated for the evening by multi-colored lights underneath the water. There are sizeable areas of grass around the edges, with a café and a restaurant covering the area, both with seating outside. There are steps leading up from the sidewalk at regular intervals around the park. Across the street is Abu Dhabi beach. The lapping of the waves is audible over the traffic. The area is busy, but not overcrowded. It looks nice.
I turn to her. “This is perfect. I’m going to stretch my legs. You wanna make the call?”
She nods. “Yeah.” She takes the cell phone from the center console and types in a number. “My house is maybe fifteen minutes from here, so it won’t take him long.”
“What are you gonna say to him?”
She sighs. “I’ll need to give him enough information about what’s really happening, so he brings everything he needs, but I’ll skim over the finer details.”
I nod. “What if he’s reluctant?”
She shrugs. “Then I guess I’ll take Lily’s advice and use what God gave me…”
She gestures casually to her chest and smiles. I look, which is unavoidable, and then smile. We both laugh, but after a moment, we fall silent.
She puts a hand on my arm. “Are you alright?”
“Yeah… What about you? This is a lot for a normal person to take in.”
“It is, but I’m doing okay. I feel better knowing you’re here.”
I smile, but only for a moment. “Listen, I know you’re the expert on the mind and everything, but I’m the expert when it comes to this special kind of shit that we’re in. I know what you’re probably going through, whether you know yourself yet or not. What you did for me, back on that construction site… You saved my life, Kaitlyn. I’m grateful beyond words, but I know what you did isn’t normal to people like you. Killing someone shouldn’t be normal to anybody… What I’m trying to say is, at some point, the gravity of what you did is going to hit you, okay? I just want you to know, when it does…” I return the gesture and put my hand on hers. “…you can talk to me.”
She holds my gaze. I can see tears forming in her eyes, but she holds them back. “I’m fine, honestly. Besides, it’s normal for you, isn’t it? You manage okay, and I know how much of an emotional train wreck you are!”
She smiles at me.
I shake my head. “Are these insults included in the service I pay three hundred dollars an hour for?”
She laughs. “No, they’re actually extra. I’m going to invoice you when all this is over.”
“I can’t wait… But to answer your que
stion, Kaitlyn—no, it’s not normal for me. It’s just all I know. It’s all I’m good at. It’s the only thing I was ever going to do with my life. But that doesn’t make it normal.”
We look at each other silently for a moment. She nods. “Thank you. Now go on, let me make the call.”
I reach inside the glove box and take the handgun I stashed there. It’s a GlobaTech weapon, and kind of looks like the old SIG Sauer P226 from the mid-nineties. The grip is a little longer than most semi-automatics, to accommodate the twenty-four round mag. It’s dark gray with a matte finish. There’s a small laser pointer built into the underside of the barrel, in front of the trigger guard. As always with GlobaTech’s creations, it’s a really nice piece.
I tuck it behind me and pull my T-shirt down over it. I climb out of the car, stand up straight, and push my shoulders back gently. I take in a deep breath of humid air and look around. I assess the customers outside the restaurant and café ahead of me, and the groups of people milling around the plaza. I don’t see anything that sets my spider sense off. If anyone from The Order has tracked us here, they’re very good at hiding in plain sight.
I walk up the steps to the left of me and stroll over to the fountain. I keep my pace intentionally slow and idle. I sit down on the edge and look back at the car. I can see Kaitlyn talking on the phone.
Man, I hope this works. If it doesn’t, the only other option is Josh, and I really don’t want to involve him in this shit. He’s probably the only person alive actually mourning me. I can’t put his life on the line. I don’t have the right.
Kaitlyn gets out of the car and walks over to me. I stand to meet her. “Everything okay?”
She nods. “Yes, he’s on his way.”
“Amazing. What did you tell him?”
“I said I think one of my clients has bugged my laptop, and I was wondering if he’d be able to check for me. He was skeptical at first, but I told him this client was a bad person, and that I’m scared and feel safer in a public place. He said he’d be here as soon as he could.”
“That’s good work, Kaitlyn.”
She glances around. “Nice, isn’t it?”
“Yeah, I’ve never been here.”
Good Intentions - Adrian Hell #6 (Adrian Hell Series) Page 24