Slingshot

by Matthew Dunn

  Alfie ran, his back screaming in pain from his exertions, toward the bend while Will continued firing long bursts toward their assailants from his exposed position.

  Another boom from across the valley. Then two more.

  Three men fell to the ground with holes the size of fists in their chests.

  Alfie zigzagged toward Will. Just like he’d been taught to do by the regiment, though then he’d been able to move four times quicker. He reached the MI6 officer, who spun around, grabbed his jacket, and pulled them both to the cover of the bend’s escarpment. Bullets slammed into chunks of rock and sent debris flying through the air two feet from their position.

  Will swapped magazines, waited a few seconds, then swung out of the bend and fired five-round bursts at the four men, one hundred yards away. One of them flipped backward with a line of machine gun rounds across his upper body. Will sidestepped back into cover as the men returned fire, and glanced at Alfie. “Hundred and fifty yards to the house, three men left out there, let’s wait.”

  Kronos inserted a new magazine, breathed in, exhaled half a lungful, held his breath, and squeezed the trigger. One mile away, his bullet ripped through a hostile’s shoulder and exited through his face. He moved the rifle as the last two men started sprinting back toward the house, kept his sight’s crosshairs two feet in front of one of the men, and fired. The round smashed the man’s hipbone and ripped out half of his gut. His colleague was frantically trying to reach the house, moving erratically, keeping low. Kronos pulled the trigger. The .50-caliber projectile removed the lower half of one leg. The man fell prone, his screams audible from this distance, amplified by the valley and echoing over its contours. Kronos watched the man vainly trying to crawl over the remaining fifty yards of road in front of Schreiber’s residence. He ignored him for the moment, focused on the front door, fired twice, and saw his antimateriel rounds knock the entrance partially off its hinges. After putting in a fresh clip, he returned his attention to the injured man, took aim, and turned his brain into pulp.

  Will and Alfie stepped away from the bend. One hundred and fifty yards ahead of them was the imposing grand entrance to Schreiber’s mountain residence. For the first few yards, they walked, their guns trained on the broken door, waiting for more men to spew out onto the road. Despite the icy mountain air, Will’s body was covered in sweat. He could barely imagine what state Alfie’s body was in.

  “Gotta hope the German’s got that door covered, ’cos we’re screwed if he ain’t.”

  Will’s eyes were narrow as he kept the foresight of his MP5 trained on the entrance. Another .50-caliber bullet knocked the broken door flat onto the ground. Will moved his gun. “That’s his answer. Watch the windows. Go, now!”

  They jogged forward, gun sights searching for anyone who might fire at them from one of the ten windows on this side of the house.

  Fifty yards.

  No movement

  Hundred yards.

  Silence.

  One hundred and twenty yards.

  The top left window smashed. A man. Rifle. Will and Alfie fired. The hostile tumbled out of the window and thudded onto the ground.

  They reached the entrance, Will moved flush against the wall to one side of it, Alfie the other.

  Alfie slammed in a new magazine. “There’ll be as many inside. Wish we ’ad them flash bangs, sunshine.”

  “Me too. If he wasn’t using it before, Kronos will be switching to thermal now. We’ve got to keep some distance between us and the hostiles so he knows who we are. Take it slow.”

  Will spun into the doorway, his MP5 held at eye level. Alfie moved behind him. They entered Schreiber’s residence.

  Mr. Schreiber! They’ve reached the house. Get to the back of the living room. I’ve got men outside the room. But for God’s sake, stay down. Somewhere out there is a sniper. He’s clearing a path for Cochrane and Mayne so that they can get here and kill you.”

  Schreiber smiled. “Make sure your men stay on the north side of the house, out of sight of the sniper. That way, it should be impossible for my two visitors to reach this room. But if they do, I’ll talk to them and watch them walk away after leaving me untouched.”

  Will and Alfie kept low as they moved along the corridor, taking long strides and placing their feet flat on the red-carpeted floor in order not to bounce and move their weapons from their steady horizontal level. The house had been tastefully decorated, with paintings and oil lamps covering the oak-paneled walls, and it was big—the corridor ran for seventy yards. Closed doors lined both sides. As they reached the first door, Alfie rotated and walked backward, ready to shoot anyone who burst out of the rooms. All was silent, though they knew that somewhere in the house would be armed men.

  They reached the end of the corridor. Will lay on his front and quickly glanced around the corner. Getting to his feet, he cupped a hand around Alfie’s ear. “Another corridor. Forty yards long. Two closed doors on the left. Big staircase halfway along on the right. No sight of any hostiles.”

  They turned the corner. Immediately, the door to the closest room opened and they caught a brief sight of an arm. It threw something toward them—a small object that was now rolling along the carpet.

  Grenade.

  Will sprinted forward, dropped low, scooped up the grenade, and tossed it back toward the open door. The explosive detonated as it reached the doorway, and shrapnel and blood smashed against the opposite wall.

  Will moved forward, checked the room, saw two men’s smashed bodies, and gestured for Alfie to follow him onward. They reached the second door. Will pointed at it and his weapon. Alfie understood the meaning of the gesture. Will raised three fingers, then two, then one. Both men stepped in front of the door and fired a sustained burst of machine gun fire through the wooden entrance. Will kicked the door open. One man was lying over a table with bullet holes in his throat and an eye socket. Another was slumped against a wall, his handgun discarded to one side, clutching his shoulder, his face screwed up in agony. Without hesitating, Will shot him in the chest and head.

  They exited the room. Search the rest of this floor or move upstairs? Will took a step forward a split second before a shot rang out and grazed his shoulder. It had come from somewhere up the staircase. Though it could have killed him had he not moved, the shot had given him his answer. More armed men were upstairs to protect Schreiber. Momentarily wincing from the injury, Will raised his weapon and took slow steps toward the base of the stairwell. Alfie moved to his left and aimed his weapon to one side of the stairs. Will focused on the other side. They took another step. Three men appeared at the top of the stairs.

  Will shot one of them.

  Alfie another.

  The third was knocked off his feet and slammed against a wall by a high-velocity sniper round.

  Keeping their guns trained on the top of the stairs, they took one step at a time, paused, then another step.

  Kronos watched Will and Alfie move cautiously up the stairs. His thermal imagery showed them as white figures; if they got too close to other men, he’d have difficulty distinguishing them. He scanned the top two floors. Previously, he’d seen momentary flashes of white on both floors—men moving quickly—but now there was nothing. Schreiber’s guards had retreated to the rear of the building, putting too many walls between him and them to be spotted. His only hope was for Will and the older man to stay this side of the house and lure out the guards. He trained the crosshairs ahead of their steps and focused.

  Halfway up the staircase, a corridor ran off down the center of the second floor. It was narrower than the first-floor corridor, though similarly contained closed rooms on either side. At the far end was a tall window giving a view of the Alps. Alfie got to his knee, aiming his weapon down the corridor. Will kept his gun pointing toward the top floor. They stayed like this for two minutes and saw no one.

  Will whispered, “Think they’re all on the third floor, rear of the house, out of sight of Kronos.”

  Al
fie got to his feet. “Best we go and say hello, then.”

  There were twelve steps up to the third floor, covered by a luxurious carpet. At the top of the stairs, they could see a ceiling and the entrance to another corridor. They took two steps, waited in case armed men appeared or grenades were tossed down, and continued. Two more steps. Stop. Keep the guns trained ahead. Listen for any noise. Be ready to spin around in case they attack from below. Fingers on triggers at all times. Three steps. Keep breathing calmly even though hearts are pounding. Step, step, stop. The landing now fully visible and a few feet of the corridor. Step. Remember, they’ll have the element of surprise. Step. And we don’t know a fucking thing about the layout of the top floor. Step, step.

  The corridor.

  Different design from the others.

  Wider.

  Double oak doors seventy yards away at the other end.

  Only two doors on the left of the corridor, both big, and one on the right.

  To avoid detection by Kronos, the armed guards would either be behind the door at the end or in the room on the right.

  Or they’d be in both of those places.

  Alfie moved forward a few paces, keeping low, his MP5 at eye level, then stopped.

  Will moved past him and stopped after a few paces.

  They both got to their knees.

  And waited.

  Sweat dripped down Will’s face as he kept his gun pointing at the door on the right. Alfie would have the end door covered.

  Nothing happened.

  Will frowned. Had they killed all the guards? Perhaps there was no longer any danger.

  Chunks of brick and plasterboard raced across the corridor as hundreds of bullets ripped through the end of the right hand wall. Will and Alfie dived to the ground as bullets came closer to their position. Within three seconds, the entire length of the corridor was being shot up by guards on the other side of the wall. Alfie crawled to Will, squinting to shield his eyes from dust. The noise was incredible, causing their ears to ring. As bullets raced inches above their prone bodies, both men were braced for death.

  The firing stopped.

  A second later, the door on the right swung open.

  Stun grenades.

  Shit, no!

  Will and Alfie pulled their triggers as white light and deafening noise engulfed them.

  Disorientation.

  Can’t see anything.

  No idea what our bullets are hitting.

  Kronos shot the first man who appeared in the entrance to the room. Two more tried to step over the body. He shot them both. Quickly, he changed magazines. The flashes of light he’d seen had almost certainly come from stun grenades, and that meant Cochrane and Alfie were blind for at least ten seconds. A shotgun-carrying guard forward-rolled into the corridor, expertly got to his knee, and took aim. Kronos fired, and the man’s neck snapped. The assassin moved his crosshairs back over the entrance. Only one thought was in his mind.

  You know I’m here, and I’ll kill anyone who shows himself to me.

  Will breathed deeply, nearly collapsed as he got to his knees, shook his head wildly, and grabbed Alfie. “Can you move? Think?”

  “I . . .” Alfie blinked fast. His breathing was shallow. “Been . . . been a while since that’s happened to me.”

  Will stood and helped his colleague to his feet. “Cover the end of the corridor. I’ve got to clear the room containing the hostiles.”

  Alfie shook his head. “Two-man job.”

  “No, Alfie. I . . .”

  “Two-man job, and you know it!”

  Will was about to respond, but Alfie walked ahead, his gun aiming at the first doorway.

  Damn it, Alfie, don’t!

  He silently cursed as he moved quickly alongside Alfie. They stopped next to the entrance. Will thumped his chest and sliced a hand through the air to indicate that he’d be covering the center and right side of the room, that Alfie should cover the left and center of the room. They inserted fresh clips, Will looked at Alfie, both nodded, and they ran into the room.

  Big room. Furniture. Target ahead. Fire. He’s down. Change angles. Three more targets. They’re firing. Stand still. One burst. Move. Two bursts. Targets down. Sector clear. Spin around. Alfie’s sector. Two tangos left upright. Alfie drops one of them. Fire. Will drops the other. Move. Sweep room. Check behind cover. Tables, chairs, sofa, desks. Nothing.

  Room clear.

  Smoke and the smell of cordite hung in the air. Will ran to Alfie. “You okay?”

  The retiree smiled. Close to his feet were four men, three of them killed by Alfie. Behind him were the bodies of the other three men killed by Will. “Told you. Two-man job.”

  Will was about to walk out of the room, then froze. How would Kronos know they weren’t hostiles who’d killed their assailants? They could be shot the moment they stepped into the doorway. He looked at Alfie, who was motionless, staring at the entrance. Clearly he’d had exactly the same thought.

  “This is a big call, son.”

  “A bloody big call.” Will desperately tried to decide what to do.

  Kronos tensed as he saw one man walk out of the room holding his gun with two hands high over his head. A shorter man followed him, also holding his weapon above his head. Clearly, both knew he was watching them through his rifle’s sight. Their size matched that of Will and the old man, but he had no way of discerning their features. They could be Schreiber’s men, trying to trick him.

  He moved his finger over the trigger.

  What to do?

  If only he’d been able to keep Cochrane and his colleague in his sights.

  Though only they could have killed the men in the room.

  If he pulled the trigger, would he be rewarding them with death?

  Or would he be avenging their deaths in the room?

  What to do?

  He kept the crosshairs in the center of the taller man, moving his rifle as the men walked slowly down the hallway. If the men in his sights were Cochrane and the older man, they now stood a good chance of killing Schreiber. But if the men were Schreiber’s guards, they would protect their boss while summoning reinforcements. Almost certainly, they’d try to locate and assault Kronos while others got Schreiber to a car. Kronos would kill the guards, but by then Schreiber would be long gone. If that happened, and given today’s assault on his life, Schreiber would almost certainly eschew all of his European safe houses in favor of relocating to a place that even Kronos didn’t know about. He’d disappear for good.

  The solution was clear.

  As uncomfortable as it made him.

  He had to kill the men in his sights.

  He squeezed back on the trigger.

  One more millimeter before a .50-caliber round was fired.

  The big man and his older colleague still had their guns held up with outstretched arms, moving closer to the end of the corridor and the room containing Kurt Schreiber.

  So easy to kill them.

  Just one millimeter.

  So easy.

  Kronos thought about his story to his sons and their response after he finished the tale.

  That can’t be the end. The young eagle wouldn’t be injured if the giant earthworm hadn’t been so bad. And the eagle king needs to say sorry for hurting the younger eagle. The best way he can do that is to find the worm and allow the younger eagle to kill it.

  Could he go home to his family and finish the story in the way he was now contemplating?

  Kronos’s finger was motionless.

  Could he?

  No.

  Stefan eased off the trigger.

  Had to have faith that the man in his crosshairs was Cochrane.

  Had to give Mathias and Wendell an ending they deserved.

  Even if that ending enabled the giant earthworm to escape forever.

  Will stopped. The door at the end of the corridor was a few yards away. It was the only place Schreiber could be. Slowly, he lowered his arms and placed the butt of his
submachine gun into his shoulder. He knew Kronos should have killed him; it was the logical thing to do. He wondered why the deadly assassin hadn’t done so.

  “This is for my Betty.” Alfie pointed his gun at the oak doors.

  “It is.” Will walked forward, gripped the door handle, twisted it and pushed. Locked. He fired at the door hinges and lock, kicked the door away, then immediately slammed his body against the adjacent wall, expecting a hail of gunfire to come through the entrance.

  All was silent.

  He entered the room.

  It was a big living room—floor-to-ceiling windows on two sides, leather sofas, armchairs, and coffee tables, a roaring fire, oak-paneled walls, paintings by German artists, and a bookshelf that segmented the room and ran down its entire length. At the far end of the room were glass sliding doors, beyond them a long balcony that overlooked the Alps and valley. In front of it was a large mahogany writing desk. A diminutive old man was sitting at the desk, wearing a suit and rimless spectacles.

  Kurt Schreiber was still, looking calm. The bookshelf and walls shielded him from Kronos’s sight.

  He was looking directly toward Will and Alfie as they moved closer, their guns trained on him.

  “Kurt Schreiber?” Will took three paces toward the man.

  Schreiber smiled, his hands flat on the desk.

  “Schreiber?”

  Schreiber’s eyes twinkled. “You know who I am and I know who you are.”

  Alfie ran forward, anger coursing through him.

  “I wouldn’t do that if I were you! Not unless you wish for more . . . death.”

  Alfie stopped. “You killed my wife.”

  Schreiber retained his smile. “Not me. She was executed by men who were acting on my precise instructions.”