Cliff Ryder - Out of Time

Then it came to him, and he almost smiled.

Alex turned to face his opponent, crouching low. He leaned heavily to his left, favoring his right leg. He blinked his eyes, as though focusing, or blinded by sweat. He didn’t look straight at Dayne. His left hand trembled.

“Leave her out of this,” he said. “She isn’t part of it. This is between you and me.”

“Spoken like a true hero,” Dayne said, circling slowly.

Alex spun, trying to keep the man in front of him, but it was difficult with only one leg supporting him. He nearly toppled, then righted himself.

“Unfortunately,” Dayne continued, “I’m not made of the same stuff. I don’t believe in wasting feminine beauty or perfectly viable weapons, and when I leave this complex, I intend to have both with me, one way or the other. The work isn’t done, you see. What we did in Beijing has to be replicated. We have some of the files here, and we have the prototype, but if we deploy that, what will we have left? We need your wife, Mr.

Tempest. I’m afraid that means our use for you—

and yours for her—has come to an end.”

“And yet I’m still here,” Alex replied. His voice didn’t tremble as he spoke this time, but Dayne didn’t notice.

Without warning, Dayne moved. He launched himself at Alex, sending a roundhouse kick at the weak knee and thrusting the blade toward Alex’s eyes. The man was damned fast. He moved like a big cat, and the blade might as well have been an extension of his hand.

Alex was ready. The second Dayne moved, Alex threw himself to the side and kicked. He’d been forcing his right leg to hold his weight, pretending that there was no strength in the left, and when he launched his kick, Dayne was taken completely by surprise. He felt his foot connect and Dayne flipped over it, crashing face-first to the floor. Alex tried to spin back and take advantage of the moment, but this time the weakness in his leg was real. He staggered.

Dayne’s nose dripped blood as he lifted himself from the floor and scooted forward. He still moved quickly, but he wasn’t as steady on his feet, and when he turned back he didn’t smile. He still held the knife tightly, and his eyes, which had been intense, had gone wild.

“You missed,” Alex said softly.

That was all it took. Dayne rushed at him, slashing wildly with the blade. Alex caught his wrist again. This time, when the man tried to shift the blade toward his free hand, Alex was prepared, and snatched at it, knocking it away, and trying to ignore the bright sliver of pain in his palm as the blade sliced across his hand. It caromed off the wall and spun away.

Alex drove his wounded hand toward Dayne’s damaged nose, but the man was already moving again, so he struck high on his cheekbone instead of smashing into the wounded area. Nonetheless, the force of the blow was enough to send the man staggering a step to the side, and Alex kicked out again. This time his leg obeyed and he felt the contact. Dayne’s legs flipped out from under him.

He dropped heavily, trying to spin and get a grip on Alex. Dayne hit hard, striking the tiled floor with his hip.

Alex backed away and crouched, ready for another attack, but instead, Dayne screamed. He’d landed badly, and Alex thought he must have snapped something, probably his hip or his tailbone. Alex stepped forward and kicked Dayne in the face so hard the man’s head snapped back.

The 9 mm pistol was still out of reach, but Alex lurched in the other direction and found the hilt of Dayne’s knife.

When he whirled back Dayne had managed to slide to the wall and was struggling to get to his feet. Alex faced him and watched. If he’d mis-judged the damage done by the fall, he might still have a fight on his hands. Dayne tried to pull himself up, screamed and started to drop.

Alex didn’t hesitate. He ran forward and drove the knife blade into Dayne’s throat. He felt the blade bite deeply and he twisted it, jerking up hard.

The motion lifted Dayne again, and their gazes met. Alex held it for a long moment, then pulled out the blade. Dayne tumbled to the floor and tried to scream but couldn’t get sound past the bubbling mass of blood and froth that had been his throat.

Alex turned away. There was a single light glowing down the hall, and he knew it had to be Rand’s office. He limped toward the light, recovering his 9 mm pistol and gripping it tightly. His legs ached, and he was having trouble focusing his eyes, but his mind was clear. At least, he thought, it was clear enough.

He slipped along the wall, trying to keep quiet, but knowing that the time for such caution was probably long past. If Rand hadn’t heard what was going on in the hall outside his office, then it didn’t matter how much noise Alex made. If he had heard, or had been watching on one of the security monitors, then there wasn’t any chance of surprise.

Alex followed the barrel of his pistol slowly around the door frame to Rand’s outer office. He wasn’t sure what he’d expected to find in that office, but what he expected to.

There was a woman standing at the end of the room. The lights were dim and at first, he thought it might be Rand’s secretary. Then he looked closer, and his heart nearly stopped. He choked up, and he had to bite back a sudden, overpowering wave of emotion.

“Brin.” The word had been barely audible, but she heard him—or sensed him.

She spun, her eyes wide and her lip trembling at the sight of him. She began to shake.

“Alex?”

She launched herself at him, crossing the room and throwing her arms around his neck.

Alex barely had time to brace himself. The force of her leap was nearly enough to topple him, but he held her tight, keeping himself upright for a few moments, one weakened leg stretched behind him to keep his balance.

Even in that moment, his arms finally sliding around her, the emotion and the pain and all the things he needed to say rushing to his lips, he kept his head. He knew she couldn’t be there alone, and he knew that Dayne was not the only dangerous man in the building.

“Shh!” he whispered into her hair, clutching her to his chest and trying to spin, keeping his eye on the door to the inner office. As he spun, her hair brushed over his face, and in that moment something shifted.

He brushed her hair away almost frantically.

When he cleared his vision he saw that he was too late. Hershel Rand stood in the doorway of his office. He watched the two of them coolly. His eyes were wide and his jaw was set. He raised his arm and Alex saw that he was gripping a gun so tightly his knuckles were white from the strain.

Perhaps Rand had thought he was being stealthy, waiting for the two to be distracted before making a move.

Alex saw the motion of Rand’s arm, and he reacted. He still held the 9 mm pistol in his hand.

Brin’s body had blocked it from Rand’s sight. In a single, smooth movement he spun Brin away and pressed her to the wall. He held her there with his hand on her chest and raised the 9 mm handgun. He fired without aiming, trusting his instinct to make his aim true.

The bullet found a home in Rand’s chest, right below his left shoulder. The impact spun him around. There was a quick suck of air and a yelp of pain. Rand stood, leaning against the door frame, and stared down at the wound as blood soaked his shirt. He turned and looked at Brin, ignoring Alex, and it seemed as if he wanted to say something. The gun dropped from his hand and clattered to the floor, and Rand followed, sliding slowly down the wall. As he dropped, he picked up speed. He landed with a teeth-jarring thud, his eyes wide with shock and dark with fury.

Alex released Brin and kicked Rand’s gun away from him. “Stay there,” he said quietly, then turned to stand over the dying man.