“Yeah, as usual somebody tipped them off. I guess it’s up to us now.”
Russo sighed. “Just another day at the office with Miss Myles.”
“Ooh, I like that. You make it sound dirty.”
Russo smiled, knowing the camaraderie was necessary, and lined up the first terrorist as he leapt over the balcony.
“Shall we?”
“No need to ask.”
Russo fired, catching the man in the stomach and spinning him around. Blood burst across the grass and the mattresses as he fell dead. Another man was already jumping, gun clasped across his chest, and his eyes suddenly grew wide. Above though, the terrorists showed at least a modicum of training as they crouched between the rails and gave him cover by firing at Alicia and Russo.
The Englishwoman rolled back to safety. Her radio crackled.
“Vino here. Can you see what’s going on back there?”
“Yeah, they know you’re coming and are jumping out the back. We’re under fire.”
“Shit. Numbers?”
“At least a dozen. But our friendlies are among them.”
“To be expected, I guess. We’re breaching the door in sixty.”
“Make it twenty.”
Alicia hooked the radio onto her belt and rolled again. Three men were standing on the mattress, taking aim at her area of cover. She shot one, making him collapse and fall into the building. His colleagues fired back as another man jumped and another climbed onto the balcony railing.
Russo was scrambling to alternate cover. Once there he peeked out, took aim, and picked off another terrorist. Instantly, gunfire came from above, peppering his hiding place. One of the bullets tugged at his jacket. Russo crawled clear.
Alicia shot one of the terrorists balancing on top of the rail and saw him fall amongst the men below. Nevertheless, more men crowded forward and blanketed her hiding place with bullets.
Alicia slithered down the bank and away.
She found herself skirting the first pool, a shallow, tropical-blue, heart-shaped puddle surrounded by palm trees. The water looked inviting. Alicia turned her nose up at it and scrambled back up the bank, emerging at a different vantage point. As she crawled she saw civilians on the left, running toward the parking areas and further up the beach.
At least one thing was going right.
Among the greenery, she peered out. Six men now guarded the mattresses and another three were up top. Three more were visible just coming out of the room, herding Terri and Crouch between them. Alicia glimpsed Ricci too, standing behind Crouch.
A noise came from the room, something loud. That’d be Vino breaching.
And then everything went to hell. Alicia gaped as terrorists launched themselves off the first floor balcony, arms and legs and heads filling the air and clattering against each other as they fell. Seconds later Crouch and Terri and their captors were either pushed or jumping, the mattresses grew crowed. Bones broke. Guns and knives flew in all directions. Men fell, sprawled and staggered into the side of the hotel.
Alicia took her chance.
CHAPTER THIRTY FIVE
She broke cover and flew at them. As she ran she saw Ricci wildly push the banner over the edge and then follow it down. The long, well-wrapped package smashed one terrorist to the ground and bounced off the shoulder of another, sending him tottering away. Those few men that had held on to their guns, trained them upward, expecting the cops to check the balcony first.
Alicia struck them hard, knocking two men off their feet and grabbing a knife as she rolled. Then Russo hit like a charging bull, scattering terrorists like bowling pins. Men turned or scrambled up from their knees only to receive punches to the face. Alicia ducked and strode through the melee, jabbing her knife here and there and drawing blood or making scars. Red filled her vision.
Russo lifted a man by the jacket and hurled him against the wall. This movement, however powerful, left him vulnerable. A terrorist stabbed him in the jacket — a bruising blow but one that only hit thick protection.
Alicia found herself rolling across Terri.
“You okay?”
“I… have no idea.”
Then a man blindsided her, coming in from the side, taking her off her feet and toward the brick wall. Alicia folded and rolled, hitting the floor and sending him on his way. It was his own spine that struck the ungiving surface. The area rang to the sound of groans and crunching. Russo fell over outstretched feet but managed to take his opponent down with him.
Alicia saw Crouch just meters in front of her, fighting a terrorist and receiving a blow to the face that left him bloody. She shouted and leapt across.
Only to be stiff-armed in the face by a solid blow. She saw stars and swayed in place, looked over and received a hard punch to the jaw. Even as blood filled her vision she knew it was Ricci. The bastard had blindsided her.
She darted sideways, wiping and flicking the blood away. Using a terrorist’s back to gain some height, she leapt up and came down hard, elbow first. Ricci blocked the blow and delivered a harsh punch to her ribs. Alicia took it without protest and used the space to deliver a crunching blow to his right cheekbone. Pain filled the man’s eyes and he ducked away.
At that point the cops arrived, looking out over the balcony and then immediately firing down at the ground. Alicia heard someone — probably Vino — screaming at the hotheads to cease, but everyone could all be dead before that happened.
She rolled into the side of the building even as Ricci shrieked at his men to grab their weapons and run.
The order panicked and galvanized every single one of them. With most of them grunting in pain, they scooped up discarded guns and knives and ran away from immediate cover, in the direction of the pools. Russo was on his knees, a man unmoving beneath him. He tried to grab another but received a kick and a gun-barrel-blow to the head. Russo made no sound, just shrugged it off.
Alicia saw Ricci with Crouch pulled into his chest. Both men ran, but Crouch’s feet were practically off the ground. Terri had a gun to her head and was forced to join the run. At that point the police stopped firing and the terrorists streamed across the open grass.
Alicia counted Ricci and eleven men, all of whom bore various wounds, and then Crouch and Terri. With the loud clatter of gunfire mercifully stopped for now, her ears rang in the silence.
“After them.” She forced herself to stand.
Her radio crackled. “Are you okay?”
“No thanks to your men. Do you see the bad guys?”
“Yeah, and the captives. They’re headed for the beach. We’ll be right down. Keep them in sight.”
Alicia started toward Russo, picking up two weapons as she went. Her own gun rested in its holster along with six spare clips. She held out a hand to the big giant.
“You coming?”
“That was close.”
“Yeah, I thought we had it there for a few seconds.”
“Watch out for Ricci. He’s good.”
Alicia nodded, already aware. They took a moment to fill their lungs with air, steady their pulses, then took off after the terrorists.
Alicia crossed the grass and ran up the bank at the far end. As she crested the hill shots were fired, erratic and high, the terrorists shooting wildly as they ran. Some bullets passed way over her head to hit the windows of second and third floor hotel rooms behind them. Alicia threw herself to the ground. The terrorists were either skirting around or wading through the pool now, water sloshing from their boots. One man fell and came up sluicing water, then quickly fired behind to cover his mistake.
He hadn’t even turned around.
Alicia unplugged her radio. “Vino? You have to evacuate that beach, man. These guys are out of control. Don’t you have a siren or something? Shark warning?”
Vino yelled that he’d check and that they were now just minutes behind.
Alicia maneuvered herself into position and made sure to loose off a couple of shots. The gunfire was their best way of
warning civilians now. The return shots helped for once, and Alicia was already safe behind cover.
The way ahead cleared as the terrorists ran and stamped and tore their way through to the next pool.
Alicia signaled Russo and followed as fast as she dared. They kept vigilant, wondering if the terrorists might leave a sniper behind, but it soon became clear that wasn’t Ricci’s intention. It was a speedy getaway. Even now the banner and the captives were slowing them down, but he refused to leave them behind.
They hugged the edge of the pool as they raced around the edge, careful not to slip in any puddles their quarry had left behind. Russo dragged a sun lounger out of the way, sending it flying over a hedge. Alicia kicked a plastic chair to the side.
They reached the next bit of landscaping — a sinuous slope winding between four palm trees about three meters high. Racing straight up, they slowed near the top.
Alicia looked over, saw many men crossing the next pool area. She lined one of the stragglers up, but then a cacophony of noise came from the right: FBI agents streaming toward the running terrorists.
They came around another chunk of designer camouflage, weapons drawn and shouting loudly, ordering the terrorists to lay down their guns.
Alicia flinched at the sight. “Oh, no…”
The strategy was all wrong. The runners would never give up; that much was abundantly clear. And they had hostages. To a man they didn’t break stride, but turned their weapons on the FBI. The two men running with the banner ran harder. Ricci pushed and shoved Crouch almost beyond his limits.
Alicia couldn’t stand and watch the outcome. She started to give chase again, slowly closing the gap between her and the last man. Out of the corner of her eye she saw three agents go down and the rest jumping for cover.
The terrorists cleared another pool area and then passed among a huddle of palm trees as they headed to the beach. Alicia and Russo were close, maybe within ten meters, and could hear bullets thudding into the hard trunks. One of the men fell, but their losses weren’t close to the same level as the collapsing agents.
Alicia hurdled the dying man. The beach was spreading out all around now, wide open spaces, well-tended, raked and flooded with sunshine. She could even hear the powerful roar of the surf to their left.
The chase strung out. The banner-bearers were ahead, just hitting the real sand, followed by more men, then Ricci and Crouch, another man and Terri, and half a dozen trailing terrorists.
Alicia shaded her eyes as she ran. Sunshine bounced and reflected off the bright blue seas. “You got any sunglasses?” she shouted across at Russo.
“Oh yeah, let me pull a pair out of my jockstrap.”
“Maybe not then. You wear a jockstrap?”
“Just like you.”
Alicia became aware of a huddle of tourists up ahead. The terrorists hadn’t noticed them yet, but several men and women were hiding behind a heap of stacked chairs and tables. Their bodies were visible through the gaps in the slats. Alicia grimaced and pointed it out to Russo.
“Get ready, mate.”
The big man charged slightly ahead, just in case. The lead terrorists stomped quickly by. Ricci didn’t appear to notice, although Alicia suspected otherwise. The men at his back barged past too, but then Alicia noticed the very last man. She saw his head turn and then do a double-take. She saw his finger tighten on the trigger of his gun.
She knew what type of man this was.
“No.” She was nowhere near close enough to stop him. “No!”
The man raised his semi-auto and they could all hear his demented laugh.
CHAPTER THIRTY SIX
The day stretched taut like a ragged nerve about to snap.
Alicia’s fingers weren’t fast enough to use her gun, but Russo was close and brutal enough to give the terrorist an instant of pause.
He fired anyway.
But Russo was a cannonball, a missile made of bone as hard as mountains, flesh the thickness of animal hide. His body, airborne, struck the terrorist at shoulder height, folding him fast and knocking the weapon out of his hand. Russo fell and then spun in the sand, as quick as Alicia had ever seen anyone move and, even before she ran past, was on top of the downed terrorist, reaching for his neck.
Her heart leapt when she saw his face.
Shit… that’s…
The berserker rage.
A dilemma fell over her, causing her pace to falter. Russo’s concern for the civilians and hatred for anyone that would try to murder innocents so heartlessly had manifested into the one thing he hated. It was not Russo anymore. It was an animal.
She saw the terrorists ahead, getting further away with every moment that passed. The FBI were to the right, keeping track but choosing not to close the gap at the moment. In the distance, maybe a quarter of a mile away, she believed she could see a small jetty and several moored boats.
Russo locked massive fingers around his opponent’s throat and commenced to smash a fist into his face. Again and again the sledgehammer came down.
Alicia cursed. It wasn’t the stranger she worried about; it was Russo’s sanity.
The fist came down at the rate of one blow per second. Russo was gone; his face red, his eyes wild, spittle flying from between his lips which bled profusely because he had bitten them in his rage. The grunts coming from his throat were feral, inhuman. Alicia couldn’t let this happen.
Waving at the civilians to run back toward the hotel, she approached Russo, shouting at the top of her voice. He didn’t even acknowledge her. She bent over and punched him in the side of the head. There was nothing in response, not even a grimace as she rabbit-punched his ear.
The man on the ground was smashed and bloody, barely moving, blood bubbling from his mouth and covering his face like a thick blanket.
Alicia tapped the barrel of her gun firmly against the back of Russo’s neck.
“Rob. Come back to me. Rob!”
The fist was raised once more.
“Listen to me! It’s me! Alicia!”
That last word halted the descending hammer blow in mid-air as if Russo had suddenly been frozen. Blood dripped from his knuckles into the sand below. The terrorist groaned. Russo’s entire body seemed to slump, and he fell to one side.
Alicia jumped on top of him, slapping his face. “You there? Rob? Are you back to the land of the fucking living?”
He reached up to grab her hands. “Yeah,” he murmured. “Yeah.”
She slapped him once more for luck. “You sure?”
“Get the hell off me. I don’t like you that way and your skinny ass is cutting into my ribs!”
She rolled clear. “Bastard,” she said. “That’s just rude. Now seriously, are you okay?”
Russo forced his bulk out of the sand and upright. “Y’know something? It was your name that cut through. Your fucking, goddamn name. Isn’t that crazy?”
“Not really,” she said. “Most men have an inbuilt, primal, subconscious fear of me. It’s who I am.”
“Right,” Russo said clearly without understanding. “Right.”
“He’ll be all right, but he’s going nowhere.” Alicia indicated the prone terrorist. “Are you ready?”
“Yeah, and thanks, Alicia. Thanks for caring for me.”
She turned away. “Back to the fray.”
CHAPTER THIRTY SEVEN
Michael Crouch’s entire body was a traumatic world of hurt. His lungs were on fire, the blood that streamed through his veins was red-hot poison. The muscles in his thighs and calves were painful slabs; he could barely keep his feet.
Ricci forced him on, pounding his back when he faltered, squeezing his throat when he stopped. Crouch found it easier to just keep going, despite the agony. A gun was lodged between his ribs, making them sore. From the corner of his eye he made out the much younger Terri being forced along with them, still running freely but looking battered and bruised.
Terrorists surrounded them and ran ahead of them. Their world was crowded
by bearded men that stank of sweat, carrying guns and knives as well as burdens real and imagined: hate, as well as new and old wounds. The sand clogged his feet, but he tried to skip over it. Curses and rants came left and right. Terri half-fell and was then hauled along by her shirt, her feet scrambling to catch up.
He didn’t see Alicia fall back. He saw the FBI to the right, but distant. He made out the boats ahead that were fast becoming clearer and clearer.
The only thing waiting for you out there is a gigantic oil tanker, torture and death.
But how could they hope to escape? The game was up now, surely. Even if they made it to the oil tanker, the FBI and Hawaiian authorities had choppers, coastguard cruisers, battleships. There was nowhere to go.
It made him ultra-wary. So far, Ricci had always proven to be a step ahead. A somewhat ironic thought considering the journey from DC to Hawaii had been one long chase. The longest chase in history? Crouch wasn’t sure.
He entertained these thoughts purely to stave off the agony.
They arrived at the boats and Ricci threw Crouch temporarily to the ground. He hit hard, face first, sliding with a bow wave of sand in front of his nose. The stuff made him choke and cough and stung his eyes, but he rolled and tried to sit up to appraise the situation.
Bollocks.
The FBI were slowing too, hands gripping their weapons but faces wary. Two of their leaders were shouting into radios. The entire beach was clear of civilians. Alicia and Russo were well behind now, but sprinting fast to close the gap.
Crouch looked closer, at his own predicament. He was almost at the point where he’d be happy for the police to start taking potshots.
Terri was sitting by his side, covered in sand and sweat. Her body heaved but she still seemed fresh. Two men had climbed onto the jetty and were being passed the banner. Ricci ordered five more men to get up there and watch their backs by shooting anything that moved. The banner was thrown aboard a motorboat. It was a small affair, with a single cabin covered by a white tarpaulin and a restricted triangular-shaped rear where people could sit or stand. Ricci was already jumping aboard a second and starting the engine.
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