Ghost Target (Ryan Drake)

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Ghost Target (Ryan Drake) Page 41

by Will Jordan


  However, his questions were answered an instant later when he felt something heavy and solid hit the other side of the couch, followed by a metallic thunk as the same object rebounded onto the floor. A second later there was a second dull thump as something hit the window nearby, falling to the floor in similar fashion.

  He knew exactly what was causing the noise now. Someone out there was using a Milkor MGL (Multiple Grenade Launcher) to fire low-velocity grenades into the room. Resembling a giant revolver pistol that fired 40mm grenades instead of bullets, the MGL was a devastating infantry weapon capable of laying down a carpet of high-explosive ordnance on a target area.

  But there was no explosion this time, no deadly hail of shrapnel; just a loud continuous hiss as the chemicals inside the grenades went to work, spewing out ghostly white smoke. For a moment he wondered if they were simply laying down a smoke screen to cover a renewed attacked, but the instant Drake felt the stinging vapour reach his eyes, he realized their strategy was far more insidious.

  ‘Cole! Tear gas!’ he shouted, scrambling away from the source of the choking cloud that was quickly enveloping the room.

  * * *

  On the roof of the apartment building overlooking the safe house, the fire escape door suddenly flew open from inside and a team of black-clad operatives rushed out, fanning out in different directions to cover the open space, with M4 assault rifles up at their shoulders.

  Three of them converged on Anya’s rooftop sniper position, knowing exactly where to look for her. Two were armed like the rest of the assault team, the other carrying a handheld taser intended to stun and incapacitate – they had orders to bring her in alive and unharmed if possible. But instead of catching the would-be sniper at her most vulnerable, they found the position vacant, the unused rifle resting on the ground.

  ‘Clear!’ came a call from the far side of the roof.

  Beside the rifle, a single rope snaked over the edge of the building, trailing all the way down to ground level. Enough for someone to rappel quickly down if they suspected their position was compromised. The taser operative exchanged a glance with his two companions, reached up and hit his radio transmitter.

  ‘Team Two. Rooftop secure. No sign of Maras. Repeat, Maras is not on site. Looks like she fast-roped out of here.’

  The reply, when it came, was characteristically abrupt. ‘She’s close. She won’t leave without Drake. Find her.’

  The operative knew better than to argue. ‘Copy that.’

  Chapter 54

  Ejecting the spent magazine from his weapon, Drake fished a fresh one from his webbing, pushed it home and tapped it hard to make sure it was locked in place. The air around him already reeked of burned cordite, magnesium from the stun grenade and, most worryingly, the acrid stench of CS gas.

  Shutting his eyes, Drake dove for the closest grenade, which was spewing a steady stream of toxic smoke into the air. He was grateful for the leather climbing gloves as he closed his hand around the projectile; the reaction within it was exothermic, leaving the casing red hot to the touch.

  Even with this extra protection, he let out a growl of pain as the heat seared his skin, before launching the missile towards the far end of the room and ducking aside to get clear of the worst of the gas. He’d bought himself a little time, but seconds only. The CS gas canisters would fill up a room of this size within moments, creating a suffocating cloud they could neither resist nor escape.

  And Drake knew from experience how ruthlessly effective such gas could be. Already his eyes felt like they were on fire, tears streaming down his cheeks, while his throat seemed to be closing up, making breathing difficult. If he was heavily exposed, he’d be blinded and incapacitated within seconds.

  ‘Cole. Sound off, mate!’ he ordered, pulling back the cocking lever to chamber the first round. If Mason was here, the last thing he wanted was to open fire on him by mistake.

  No response. Drake felt his heart skip a beat.

  ‘Cole! Where are you?’

  Hearing footsteps heading right for him, Drake raised his weapon just as a dark figure leapt over the couch, landing heavily beside him.

  ‘Goddamn it, give it a rest,’ Mason hissed, backing up against the meagre cover. ‘You’re worse than Keira.’

  ‘You all right?’ Drake asked, raising his weapon up over the edge of the couch and sending a short burst of suppressed fire whizzing out into the hallway, encouraging their enemies to keep their heads down.

  ‘Can’t hear too good,’ he admitted. Like Drake, his eyes were streaming from exposure to the CS. ‘What’s our situation?’

  ‘We’re bone here.’

  Mason frowned at the British military term. ‘Huh?’

  ‘Shit. FUBAR. Not altogether good,’ Drake hurriedly explained. ‘They’re just going to wait us out until the gas takes us down.’

  ‘Then we need an exit, fast. Preferably one that involves not dying.’

  Drake wasn’t about to argue. Twisting around, he turned his weapon towards the nearest full-length window that looked out over the driveway below, and squeezed off a five-round burst.

  He was expecting to hear the musical tinkle of shattering glass as the window disintegrated under the impacts, but instead was rewarded with nothing but a series of heavy thuds as the rounds ricocheted off the flat surface, making no impression whatsoever. A second burst, fired more in frustration than hope, yielded the same result.

  ‘Fucking bulletproof glass,’ Drake said in disbelief, lowering the gun. Their attackers had thought of everything. No wonder they weren’t rushing in to storm the room – with their targets trapped in here, time was on their side.

  Only then did the full weight of his folly settle on him. ‘I walked us right into a trap, Cole,’ he said, almost in shock. ‘Didn’t even see it coming.’

  Hearing movement in the smoke-filled corridor, Mason raised himself up and sprayed a burst of fire into the hallway, prompting a muffled shout and an answering flurry of suppressed gunfire that was similarly inaccurate.

  ‘Beat yourself up later. In fact, I’ll do it myself once we’re out of here,’ he promised, ducking back down. ‘Right now, focus on staying alive. Get us an exit!’

  The ominous gas cloud was rolling in around them, like the fingers of some great ghostly hand seeking to strangle the life out of them. They couldn’t break the windows with their weapons, and they were too close to set off a breaching charge without being killed in the resulting blast. The only way out was through the house, and the armed operatives barring their way.

  It was a battle they were unlikely to win, but anything was better than suffocating to death in here.

  ‘Cole, give me your breaching charge,’ he said, holding out his hand.

  ‘What the hell for?’

  ‘Just give it to me,’ Drake demanded. With no grenades left to clear the corridor, he had no choice but to improvise.

  Swearing under his breath, Mason dug into the pouch at his thigh and handed over a block of olive green plastic with a simple grenade-like pin fuse mounted in the centre.

  Removing the second breaching charge from his own pouch, Drake looked up at his companion. ‘Cover me.’

  ‘I oughta shoot you myself,’ Mason growled, nonetheless rising up to his knees and training his weapon on the hallway. ‘Go!’

  Clutching both charges, Drake yanked the pins out to activate the five-second fuses as Mason started firing in short bursts, spraying rounds randomly into the corridor while trying to conserve ammunition.

  Four seconds.

  Rising up just far enough to take a rough bearing on the doorway, Drake hurled the first breaching charge out into the corridor. If he missed and the device landed in the room with them, it was likely to be the last mistake he ever made.

  Three seconds.

  The first one was out. He could hear muffled shouts from further away, possibly from one of the enemy operatives who had spotted the breaching charge. He could only hope none of them were brave enou
gh to try to throw it back into the room.

  Two seconds.

  Gripping the second device, Drake threw it just as the cloud of gas swept in around them. Too late to go back now, he grabbed Mason by a strap on his webbing and pulled him down, clapping his hands over his ears and opening his mouth in the hopes it would offer some protection against the pressure wave that was about to engulf them both.

  ‘Cover! Cover!’ he screamed.

  One second.

  * * *

  Skidding around a street corner not far away, wheels screeching as they clawed for purchase against the rain-slicked road, the Range Rover with its high centre of gravity leaned perilously to one side, threatening to tip. Only a frantic wrench on the wheel by McKnight was enough to bring the wildly fishtailing vehicle back under control.

  ‘There it is!’ Frost cried out, pointing towards the safe house about 50 yards up ahead. ‘Right there!’

  ‘Got it.’ McKnight stamped on the gas, and the powerful engine growled in response.

  ‘Great. You got a plan?’

  ‘Go in, get Ryan and Cole, kill any fucker that stands in our way. Not necessarily in that order. Questions?’

  She didn’t need to look at Frost to tell the young woman had just flashed one of her fierce, predatory grins. ‘My kind of plan. You’d better—’

  She fell silent as a sudden bright orange flash in front of them cast the street into hideously sharp relief, the glare throwing long shadows across the soaking ground. Looking instinctively towards the safe house, both women stared in shock as the upper-floor windows suddenly blasted outwards in a spray of fire, smoke and shattered glass, the detonation accompanied by a thunderous boom loud enough to blow out windows in nearby houses.

  ‘Shit!’ she cried, jamming on the brakes as pieces of shrapnel and flaming debris rained down on the road in front of them.

  Skidding wildly in the appalling driving conditions, the Range Rover screeched to a halt just short of the debris field. Too stunned by what they’d just seen to react further, they both stared in awe and horror at the ragged, smoke-filled hole that had just been blasted in the upper floor of the safe house.

  ‘Ryan!’ McKnight gasped.

  * * *

  He was alive.

  His body ached like he’d been locked inside the world’s biggest washing machine with a dozen bricks for company, the world around him had been reduced to darkness and a high-pitched buzz that seemed to blot out all other noise, but he was alive.

  Shaking the dust from his head, Drake opened his eyes and looked around, his blurry surroundings slowly resolving themselves into something approaching normal visibility

  One look was enough to confirm that the breaching charges had done their work, and then some. Likely the second charge had been close enough to produce a sympathetic detonation when the first went off, effectively doubling the explosive yield.

  Light from the street lamps and other buildings outside now streamed through the smoke and flames, allowing him to make out the rest of the room. Both couches and the coffee table that had once sat in the middle of the room had been hurled aside like children’s toys by the force of the explosion, ending up in crumpled, broken heaps.

  At least the blast had served to disperse the worst of the CS gas, and what remained was drifting outside.

  Movement nearby told him his comrade was still alive. Drake watched as the broken couch shifted, then suddenly overturned, revealing a battered and bruised-looking Mason who sat up and shook his head. Like Drake, he was covered in dust from the blast, and bleeding from several small lacerations where pieces of broken glass had cut him, but otherwise seemed to be in working order.

  ‘Cole!’ he called out, relieved to see his friend alive, though not exactly unhurt. ‘You okay?’

  ‘I’ll be a lot fucking better once we’re clear of here.’ He gestured towards the shattered windows. Rain from the deluge outside had served to damp down whatever fires had been started by the blast, but the air was still thick with smoke. ‘Nice work, by the way. Subtle.’

  ‘Thank me later. Come on, move!’ Drake replied, dragging himself to his feet. Their enemies might have been disoriented and driven back by the blast, but they would soon recover and retaliate at any moment. Their only chance of surviving was to strike first.

  The windows might have offered a way out had this room been on the ground floor. The thirty foot drop was as likely to break bones as to offer an escape route.

  Snatching up their fallen weapons, both men advanced into the corridor beyond. What greeted them was a scene of utter devastation. Clearly Drake had underestimated the explosive potential of the two devices, because the combined blasts had blown a hole right through the floor into the lower level. Chunks of smoking rubble lay everywhere, intermingled with bloody chunks of flesh and shredded of uniforms.

  It seemed not everyone had made it to cover before the charges went off.

  ‘Go, mate,’ Drake urged his companion, leaping over the ragged hole blown in the floor. The air was thick with cordite smoke, and something else that Drake had come to grimly recognize during his military career. The smell of charred flesh.

  ‘Contact!’ Mason called out beside him.

  Sure enough, a figure in combat armour had emerged from the smoke up ahead, staggering against the wall as if drunk. Likely the detonation had destroyed his sense of balance.

  Either way, they weren’t taking any chances. Both men raised their weapons and opened fire, spraying twin bursts into him. The dull wet thumps as they slammed into body armour and tore through flesh was accompanied by a grunt of pain and surprise, and the man slumped backwards, collapsing in a pool of blood amidst the rubble.

  Drake and Mason were on their way before he’d even stopped moving, stumbling past him with smoke stinging their eyes, their weapons up and ready as they hurried towards the stairwell that lay at the end of the corridor. Once they made it down to the lower level, Drake knew they could break out into the courtyard and try to find a way…

  His thoughts were dismissed in an instant as a pair of operatives appeared at the top of the stairwell, weapons already swinging towards them.

  ‘Contact!’ he cried, bringing his weapon up to fire.

  His finger was already tightening on the trigger when something slammed hard into the centre of his chest, throwing him backwards and punching the air from his lungs. Loosing an unaimed burst of automatic fire, he let out a grunt of pain and fell, struggling to draw breath.

  Through blurred vision he watched as the two enemies advanced towards him, twin muzzle flashes from their weapons illuminating the gloom. His body armour might have stopped the first round from killing him outright, but at any second he expected another to tear through him.

  Then suddenly another figure had appeared behind them. More flashes lit the darkness like lightning bursts, and he stared in disbelief as the two men crumpled and fell to the ground.

  ‘I don’t believe it,’ Mason gasped as a figure emerged from the smoke. A woman, armed only with a handgun. A woman with blonde hair.

  ‘Are you all right, Ryan?’ Anya asked, crouching down beside him. Smoke still trailed from the barrel of her weapon.

  Drake coughed, struggling to get air back in his lungs. ‘Having a great time,’ he rasped. ‘I thought you were supposed to be covering us?’

  She must have descended the zip line by herself when they lost radio contact, knowing she could be of little use from her distant vantage point.

  Nevertheless, she could scarcely have timed her arrival better, and he saw a grim smile light her face. ‘I am.’

  Drake might have laughed at that, had their situation been less dire. As it was, he gave her a smile of gratitude that was more profound than any words he could have summoned up.

  She held a gloved hand out to him. ‘Now get up.’

  He gripped her hand as she hauled him to his feet. Managing to get one foot planted firmly on the ground, Drake forced himself up, clutching at the
wall for support. Something warm and wet was dripping down his arm, and with a strange sense of detached curiosity he saw blood running from a long straight wound across his forearm. He hadn’t even noticed it until now, but he dimly recalled the faint sting as something zipped past him during the fire fight in the living room earlier. Apparently it had come a little closer than he’d thought.

  ‘Can you make it?’ Anya asked, for once sounding concerned.

  ‘I’m fine. I’m fine,’ he said, waving her away as he snatched up his weapon, ejecting the spent magazine to insert a new one.

  ‘Then let’s get the fuck out before more of them show up,’ Mason urged, hurrying towards the stairwell. Drake and Anya followed close behind, weapons sweeping left and right.

  Descending the stairs, they crossed the expansive reception area downstairs, halting beside the main door.

  ‘Ready?’ Drake asked, clutching the handle with bloodied fingers.

  Mason and Anya nodded in silence, and with a single turn of the handle, Drake threw the door open to reveal a wide empty courtyard beyond. No cover presented itself. If they were caught out in the open while trying to evacuate, they would have nothing to do but die.

  ‘Smoke out,’ Mason hissed, popping the smoke grenade and hurling it into the centre of the open compound. The area was already strewn with smoking debris, but a smoke screen might just save their lives as they made a run for it. Straight away a plume of bright red smoke began to rise from the device.

  * * *

  ‘There! What’s that?’ Frost called out, pointing towards the sudden cloud of red smoke that had begun to drift through the air from inside the courtyard.

  McKnight’s eyes lit up with sudden, wild hope. No explosion or fire could produce smoke of that colour, and it seemed unlikely that whoever had tried to ambush their team would have triggered a smoke bomb. It could only have come from one of their own smoke grenades.

 

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