“My God…”
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*****
Smyles slammed his elbow through the colored glass. He then stuck his head in the opening and gulped in mouthfuls of the clean night air. As his eyes cleared, Smyles noticed the commotion outside. “Mother of shit!”
Police cruisers, troop carriers, and armored assault vehicles surrounded the Estate. Swarming across the grounds were RCMP Special Operations Officers and the Ontario Provincial Police, all looking for a fight.
“Shit!” Smyles slipped back through the window and pressed his back to the wall. “Shit.” He retrieved his Semmerling LM-4 from his ankle holster and checked the chamber. The four shot was fully loaded. Smyles gritted his teeth, “One for Riel. One for Triska.”
A door opened.
“And two for you!” Smyles screamed and squeezed the trigger.
*****
Her senses extra acute from the surge of adrenalin pumping through her body, Catherine Wildman all but saw three gunmen enter the ballroom behind her. She scrambled from her now useless cover and dove over the top of the bar as hot lead shattered the bottles and mirrors overhead. In a fluid motion Catherine rolled on impact and rose with the Heckler & Koch in one hand and the Beretta in the other.
She simultaneously squeezed the triggers.
The first gunman doubled over as bullets ripped through his intestines. The second tried to duck out of sight, but was too late as one slug tore into his upper chest and another through his throat. The third gunman, clenching a Smith & Wesson Combat Magnum, dove behind an overturned table and escaped the volley of death.
Catherine dropped to her knees, reloaded both weapons and returned the pink 9mm to its holster. She tore off the rebreather and pulled in a deep breath. The stench of death and gunpowder singed her nostrils and burned her lungs. Two, one, go! Catherine sprang to her feet squeezing the H&K’s trigger. But Crudup’s gunman was quicker and lobbed off three shots before Catherine zeroed in on his position.
The first bullet whistled past her ear, the second smashed through a shot glass near her elbow.
The third connected.
Blood sprayed across the shattered mirrors.
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“Right?”
“I-I…” Madhuri Sahni stammered.
“This is a restricted zone,” the second Mountie snapped, “You are going to have to leave.”
“You can’t kick me out. I’m the media,” Madhuri protested lamely.
“I can kick your skinny ass anywhere I want to,” he threatened, “Now move this piece of junk.”
“Hold it!” Lt. Kurt Burton yelled and pulled off his helmet, “If John Riel is in there he is in a great deal of danger. This is a major police operation. Now tell me where he is!”
Madhuri closed her eyes for a moment, then looked at Burton and said,
“Come around back.” She hopped out of the drivers seat and disappeared through the curtains.
“Damn it. Stay here,” Burton ordered the other cop and dashed around to the rear of the van. There he found the rear door already open. He spotted Madhuri sitting before a row of video monitors.
“John placed a mini-transmitter in there. It’s tied into the building’s own closed circuit system. From this chair I have access to every room in the place. But something happened to the generator so they’re all on battery and I don’t know how long that is going to last.” Madhuri turned on her chair and looked at Burton. “If this is a major police operation then wouldn’t it be so cool for your people to know what’s happing inside?”
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RCMP Special Operations Officer Catherine Wildman gritted her teeth and held the trigger down. Splinters of wood flew as lead danced across the overturned table, yet the gunman remained standing and squeezed off another round that parted her hair. Catherine’s body shivered uncontrollably. The feeling of danger accelerated her heart. Her finger held the weapon tighter. Catherine cried out as her salvo suddenly sliced the gunman in half. Then her legs turned to jelly and she collapsed to the floor, letting the overheated H&K slip from her fingers. Catherine hugged her chest and savored the moment.
Oh.... God!
Then it was over.
Catherine looked at her shoulder. It hurt like hell but she was only grazed. The protective Kevlar sewn into the lining of the leather catsuit kept it from being worse.
“Lucky chick, lucky…” she muttered as she sprayed the wound with an antiseptic.
Catherine gingerly drew her 9mm Beretta, and with it snugly in her grip she eased up and peeked over the top of the bar. There was no one in sight. Catherine slid back down, steeled herself, then rolled over the top of the bar and bolted across the remaining ballroom.
She slid to a stop next to the main doors and pressed her back to the wall. With the Beretta in both hands, Catherine scanned the devastated room behind her. She sensed no movement, let her arms slump to her sides, and blew out a breath. She then raised the weapon and pressed it to her cheek, taking comfort in the heat radiating from the barrel. Catherine suddenly found herself 249
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giggling strangely at the erotic image that must have created. Knock it off, chick.
Catherine refocused on the task at hand and her personal agenda. You better be there, woman, because you and I are going to have a little chat when I finish my business here. She opened the door.
“And two for you!”
Catherine felt two sharp burning spears strike her.
*****
Burton smiled. “Sweet,” he then called to the other Mountie, “You. Drive this in. My orders,” he turned back to the array of monitors and was about to speak when the action on one caught his eye. “Oh God, Cathy….”
*****
Raymond Smyles whooped in delight as the first slug struck her thigh. The second bored into her midsection. Catherine instinctively dropped and rolled toward cover.
Smyles ducked behind a vanity near the window.
Catherine twisted onto her right elbow and quickly examined her side. It was moist and sticky. The bullet nicked her just below the ribs. The Kevlar did not stop the slug, it only slowed it down and prevented it from spraying her digestive track across the floor. The other slug bounced off one of the spare magazines in her pocket, rending the clip useless and one massive bruise on her thigh.
I may never Riverdance again.
Then she heard John.
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The store room was narrow but it stretched out for over two hundred meters. Naked bulbs, hung by their cords from the low ceiling, cased light on the decadence before her. Row upon row of plastic crates labeled “Powdered Milk,” “Baby Food,” and “GEB.”
Directly on her right was a row of shelving, stacked high with video tapes. She stepped closer and examined the first tape. It was labeled with a name and number she did not recognize, but its existence answered several questions she had. She then turned her attention to the nearest crate on her left. It was labeled “Powdered Milk.”
“Milk?” she questioned and pried it open with her blade, already sure of what she would find, and removed a thermometrically sealed plastic bag containing a dark syrupy liquid. It was unmistakable. “Ink,” she whispered to herself.
“And it’s pure. I deal in only the best.”
Major Nikita Triska of the Russian Federal Security Service turned at the sound of the voice and faced Kieran Crudup. He stood out of her reach with a stuffed duffel bag over his shoulder and a primed Uzi pointed at her face.
“Direct from the Triangle and headed for your home town,” Crudup smiled, glassy-eyed. “Now please put down the sample and the poker,” he seemed unfocused but the weapon never wavered.
Nikita complied.
“That’s a good girl, and you are just a wee slip of a girl. Step away. Good girl. You’re learning. I understand that is hard for you Russians today. Everything happening over
there now. So sad. Up hands now.”
Again Nikita complied, flinching slightly as her knuckles bumped into a 251
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hot light bulb above. “Why Crudup? Why do you sell this death?”
“What death?” he snorted. Crudup licked his upper lip, “I’m not killing people.” His mind suddenly seemed to drifted off.
Nikita was shocked, “Not killing people? How can you say that?”
“I’m killing Communists,” he replied curtly.
Nikita eyed him bitterly. “Communism is dead in my country. It died decades ago with the Iron Curtain. You are killing humans with this garbage. My people.”
Crudup did not reply. His mind was elsewhere.
Nikita notice an opening and nourished his hunger. “We are beneath every rock you know….”
“Right!” Crudup exclaimed excitedly bouncing up on his toes.
“Behind every tree…” Nikita baited.
“Yes! Yes! Stein was right!”
“…and you are killing children with your garbage,” Nikita snapped and clenched her fist.
“Commie spawn!” Crudup shrieked. “They aren’t human!”
“You are seventy years out of date, fat man. The world has grown beyond that thinking. It is time you saw the light.” Nikita batted the base of the bulb. It swung toward Crudup and burst across his forehead.
Crudup screamed as glass fragments stung his eyes. The Uzi fell from his grip as his fingers clawed at his face, “I’m blind!” he cried and dropped to his knees.
Nikita scooped up the weapon and jabbed Crudup in the belly with the stock. The fat man fell back on his buttocks. Nikita then spun the weapon around in her hands and pointed the dangerous end at Crudup’s chest, “Get up!” she ordered.
“I can’t, I’m blind,” Crudup whimpered.
With the barrel of the weapon Nikita shoved his hands away from his face. There was some blood beading on his forehead with fragments of glass bit into his skin. The shock seemed to have jolted him from his Ink-induced state.
“You are not blind. Open your eyes.”
Crudup opened his eyes. “I can see!”
“Get up.”
Crudup labored to his feet.
“Hands behind your head,” Nikita ordered. Crudup complied, “Now turn around.”
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Uncertainty flickered in Crudup’s eyes as he turned his back to her.
“Walk.”
Crudup walked. “I have over sixty-two million American dollars in the duffel bag. I’ll split it with you.”
“Blood money,” Nikita snorted. “Shut up and keep walking.” She pressed the barrel into the back of his neck.
“You can have it all. Yes, all of it. Sixty-two unmarked million. Nikita squeezed the trigger and a burst of gunfire ripped into the ceiling above his head. “I said shut up.”
Crudup remained silent until Nikita ordered him to stop at a small card table with a chair and an overturned stool on the floor next to it. “What are we doing here?”
Nikita did not respond, but examined the items on the table. There was a syringe, a half meter of rubber tubing, two porn magazines, and a small vial containing a dark syrupy liquid, “What is in the vial?” Nikita asked.
“Is that it? You want a hit?” Crudup hoped.
“Nyet. You do.” With the stock of the Uzi she cracked him across the side of his head.
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“Oh my God! Look!” Madhuri Sahni pointed at the top left monitor. Kurt Burton struck his head out the back of the van, “Prepare to move in!”
*****
“No!” John Riel cried as Catherine succumbed to Smyles’ gunfire. The ebbing rage that had been building flared. “Catherine! No!” I’ve lost you once! I won’t lose you again!
*****
The renegade CIA man looked up and spotted John poised in the office doorway. Raymond Smyles dropped to one knee and brought his Semmerling around. He had two shots left and planed to make them both count, but his target was already a blur as he squeezed the trigger.
John tackled Smyles with a bone shattering crack.
*****
Catherine Wildman pressed her hand to her side as she labored to her feet. She gritted her teeth as blood oozed past her fingers. Catherine forced the burning from her mind. Focus. I… I can’t stop. Johnny needs me…
She ejected the spent clip from her Beretta and let the magazine slip from her fingers and drop to the floor.
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Hold... hold on Johnny... I’m coming... Fingers, slick with her blood, fumbled but managed to slap a fresh clip into the butt of the Beretta. She held the weapon forward as she started toward the two men.
I’m coming for you...
*****
Smyles shook off John’s attack and scrambled to his feet. He swung wildly but John managed to sidestep and nailed Smyles with an upper cut to the jaw.
“Ack!” Smyles gagged, biting his tongue.
Lost in a blood rage, John lunged and wrapped his finger around the ugly man’s throat. Smyles’ eyes bulged as John squeezed. Then, in an act of desperation, Smyles seized John by the arms and swung them both toward the window.
*****
There was nothing Catherine could do but scream as she watched them fall through the plate glass window.
*****
“Christ,” Burton whispered.
Madhuri’s hands shot to her face, “No.”
*****
Crudup fell to the floor dazed.
When his mind cleared he found himself shirtless and tied to a chair. The rubber tubing was tied tightly around his upper arm and the table had been pushed aside.
Nikita was perched atop the stool with the Uzi resting on the floor at her feet. She smiled sadly, “Welcome to your own personal hell, Crudup.” In her hand was the syringe. It was full. He understood fully what that meant.
“No… please…” he choked.
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stood and approached the fat drug dealer.
“Bitch! You fucking dyke!” Crudup screamed as Nikita found a bulging strip of blue on his forearm, “Bitch! Dyke! Dyke! Bitch!” he hissed as Nikita pushed the needle through the skin and into the vein. She pressed the release button and injected one thousand milligrams of pure Ink into Crudup’s blood stream, “No…” he choked softly.
Nikita returned to her stood, pulled her legs tightly to her chest and waited for Crudup’s heart to explode.
If she had tear ducts, she would have cried.
*****
Amid a shower of colored glass they fell.
With that split-second advantage, Smyles managed to twist so John received the brunt of the impact. The remaining stitches tore away and John blacked out.
*****
“Stay here!” Burton ordered drawing his Browning Auto Pistol. Madhuri’s eyed the weapon and nodded.
The Strike Team Leader leapt from the van and bolted across the yard, ducking around his troops and their prisoners. When he arrived at the crash sight Burton discovered four of his squad with assault rifles trained on Smyles. Smyles had rolled from the jolt and scrambled to his feet. He had his back pressed against the building and held John up before him as a shield, “Just try me ya’ fuckers!” he screamed.
“Don’t shoot.”
Burton followed the voice and spotted Catherine peering out the shattered window. She ducked back inside and moments later appeared at the front doors.
Catherine held her badge in the air as she dashed across the yard, oblivious of the burning in her side and shoulder. As she approached, Burton’s troops split, granting her access to the stand off.
Catherine stepped past Burton and faced the rogue agent. “Give it up Smyles,” she said flatly. “It’s over. You lost.”
“Never!” Smyles screamed. His cold
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separating vertebrae,” Smyles emphasized his point by squeezing his arm tighter around John’s neck.
Catherine glanced back at Burton.
“We could take him out, but it’s even money whether your friend would survive,” he whispered, “Smyles could crack his neck in his death throws.”
Catherine grunted, “Thanks Kurt. Pleasant imagery.” She nibbled on her lower lip for a moment, then turned and eyed Smyles. “It’s not him you want Ray. It’s me.”
A twinkle of the increasing insanity glimmered in his eyes. Catherine pushed on, “You want a piece of me, don’t you little man?”
Smyles started salivating. “You’ve been jerkin’ me off since the beginning.”
Catherine took a small step forward and lowered her voice so only he could hear. “Then lets get to the money shot.”
Smyles hooted and tossed John aside. Two of Burton’s people start to move in on Smyles.
“Non!” Catherine ordered.
Confused, the troopers halted and looked at Burton for direction.
“Kurt,” Catherine said over her shoulder before he could speak, her eyes never left the ugly man who now taunted her with lewd hand gestures,
“Where’s St. James?”
“Seven minutes away.”
“Good,” she whispered.“This won’t take that long. Her and I are going to exchange a few four letter words later.” Catherine stepped back from Smyles and called out to Burton’s people, “No one is to move against Smyles without my say so.” She handed Burton her Beretta and badge. “Is that clear? I take full responsibility.”
Burton nodded and the troopers backed off, leaving Catherine and Smyles alone in a large circle lit by spots from two cruisers. Burton slipped her gun into his belt, “Creep’s all yours.”
“Come on little girl!” Smyles taunted, “It’s just you and me,” he thrust his hips forward.
Catherine ignored Smyles and knelt next to John. She stroked his forehead and whispered a silent oath. Catherine then waved over to a Mountie wearing a white arm band with a red cross. He quickly checked John over and then eased him out of the way.
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