Tim Stevens - Severance Kill

Then the VW reversed again, all the way up the side street this time. Calvary rolled and got his gun and loosed off three shots after the car, just as it executed a three-point turn into the main street. He heard glass give way. By the time he reached the junction, the tail lights were weaving away, heading further down the cobbled street.

*

Son of a bitch. The shot had been a lucky obeeidth="2emne, but Bartos had been lucky, too. The bullet had passed through the windscreen and through the big fan of muscle joining his neck to his shoulder. The pain was enormous, as though a fiery boot had stamped on his shoulder, and he found he couldn’t raise his left arm. But he didn’t think anything vital had been damaged.

Behind him the old guy raised his head and Bartos snapped at him, wincing at the stab this provoked. The road before him twisted to the right and plunged even more steeply, down into the Lesser Town. He braked, too quickly, and felt the tyres slip on the cobbles.

He’d put some distance behind him, then ditch the VW and get himself a new car. Then he’d be away and dry. Let the cops find Calvary and those other assholes at the Hummer.

*

Calvary ran, staggering because of the slope and the uneven surface, the town before him with its medieval quaintness tilting crazily. Yet again the bandages had come loose from his head and he tore them away. He barged past a late-night couple, their faces agape.

The brake lights ahead kept flickering on, the VW moving uncertainly through the streets not meant for cars.

Calvary found his phone in one of his pockets and punched the button while running.

‘Nikola, it’s me.’

Her reply was halfway between a cry and a gasp.

‘Is Max okay?’

‘His — I think his arm is broken.’

‘You have to get away from there, Nikola. Get Max away and to a hospital. Drag him if you have to. Get clear of the Hummer, and then call an ambulance. The police will be there any moment. Oh, and don’t take the guns with you.’

‘What — ’

‘Make up some story. He slipped and got run over. It’s not a bullet wound, it won’t be treated as suspicious.’

‘Jakub — ’

‘He’s dead, and you have to leave him there.’

‘Where are you?’

‘After Blazek, on foot. I’ll find you later.’

‘Martin — ’

He stumbled on, listening.

‘You must kill him. Blazek.’

‘I promise you, he’s not getting through this alive.’

*

The bullet might not have hit anything critical but there was still blood loss, and it was starting to get to Bartos. Through the windscreen th wialie Baroque buildings rippled. A lamp post toppled towards him and he jerked the wheel aside, felt the front bumper on the passenger side hit something hard and buckle.

He restarted the engine, tried to reverse. No good: he was jammed against the obstruction, a hydrant or something. The hell with it.

He took several attempts to open his door, reaching across his body with his right hand to do it. He almost fell out, grinding his teeth against the fire in his shoulder. But he had a degree of movement in the joint, he realised.

A tiny dog on the end of a lead began yapping near his feet and he brought the pistol to bear and watched the terrified owner back away, hauling the mutt after her. He glanced up and down the street. Nobody about, all the windows dark. Beside him was a narrow church, Gothic spires barely visible against the dark of the sky.

Bartos dragged open the rear door and seized Gaines’s collar. The man collapsed on to the pavement. Bartos hauled him to his feet.

Footsteps, and he turned and looked back the way he had come.

Calvary was lurching down the street towards him.

Bartos took aim but the ground tilted again and there were suddenly two of the Englishman. He shook his head and blinked.

Need to get a grip.

Drawing breath deeply, he yanked Gaines in front of him, ignoring the pain in his shoulder — he was, after all, the Kodiak — and stumbled towards the church.

*

When Calvary became aware that Blazek wasn’t going to shoot — could barely stay upright, it seemed — he lifted his own gun, but his phone buzzed and he fumbled it out.

A text message, from Nikola: Max took this .

He looked at the attached photo.

Calvary put the phone away. Down the hill, Blazek had disappeared with Gaines around the side of the church. Calvary heard glass smash.

He ran almost headlong into the church wall, his own co-ordination failing him. For a few seconds he stood with his eyes closed, fighting down the tide of fatigue and nausea.

He ejected the magazine from the Makarov. He’d fired three at the VW. Five bullets left.

He’d noticed Blazek had the same handgun, doubtless taken off one of his Russian captors. He’d be close to empty, given the shooting he’d been doing back there at the Hummer. Two bullets into Jakub, four at Calvary as he’d rolled away. Three left, at most.

Unless of course he had a spare magazine.

Calvary crept along the church wall towards the side window. It had been stained glass, and was shattered. Through it, Twidth="2emdim candlelight provided a degree of illumination. Alongside the wall was a small rockery. Calvary prised a Frisbee-sized rock loose, nearly overbalancing as he bent down, and tossed it through the window space.

The flash came from somewhere to the right of the window at the back of the church, the crash of the shot echoing in the confined space.

Two left.

Calvary launched himself through the space, using his left shoulder to roll and coming up on one knee. He was alongside a row of pews, his view of the back of the church obscured.

He crawled down the aisle on this side of the pews, risked a glance over the top. Blazek was there, Gaines slightly off to his side. Calvary took the shot, missed, heard the ricochet sing off something brass. Blazek fired back and Calvary dropped, feeling the slug pass above him.

One.

Calvary stood up. Blazek was behind the rearmost pew, Gaines clamped in front of him with his left arm. Calvary saw the awkwardness, the blood saturating Blazek’s shoulder. Once again the gun was jammed against Gaines’s head.

‘It’s over, Blazek. One bullet left. You shoot Gaines, or me, or yourself.’

The big man glared, his eyes swimming out of focus for an instant.

‘I’ll make it easier for you.’ Calvary tossed the Makarov to one side. Spread his hands. ‘Here I am. A sitting target.’

Blazek’s eyelid flickered in bewilderment. He moved the pistol, at first uncertainly and then with more resolve, so that it was aimed directly at Calvary’s face.

‘But first, you might want to have a look at this.’ Using his fingertips he drew the phone from his breast pocket. He found the picture, placed the phone on the floor and sent it spinning towards Blazek.

Blazek stopped it with his shoe, glanced at it. Keeping his eyes and the gun on Calvary, he stooped to pick it up, wincing.

Gaines blinked at Calvary, his face wary, as if he thought he might be expected to make a move. Calvary shook his head minutely.

Blazek looked at the picture.

*

He was the Kodiak. The king of the city.

The asshole kid had taken the picture from the back of the Hummer. It was a lucky shot, the angle perfect. In the picture, Bartos had his arm round the neck of the other guy, the gun against his head. Bartos’s face was clearly visible, and the camera had caught him clenching his teeth so it looked like he was grinning.

Bartos dropped the phone.

In front of him the Brit, Calvary, said, ‘Within the hour, every paper in the country will have that picture. Every TV broadcaster, every internet news site. You’re finished, Blazek.’span›‹p›