Jonathan Maberry - Assassin's code

“Ghost- frag out! ”

Ghost flattened behind the corpse.

The grenade hit the floor right inside the door and took a short bounce just as the second wave of Sabbatarians rounded the corner. The frag exploded at waist height, blowing the men apart. There were terrible screams from the attackers who hadn’t been in the direct blast radius. Men and women. Then gunfire.

I dove forward and slid chest-first to the doorway, my pistol out in front, and even before I stopped sliding I began firing. I emptied the second magazine into the mass of them, shooting for the center of any man-shaped shadow, firing the magazine dry as bullets tore through the air three feet above me. They couldn’t see me through the smoke, and the confusion was too great for them to grasp that I was shooting from a prone position.

Ghost barked, wanting to be in the middle of this, but this was a gunfight; there was no place for him.

Behind me the front door was blasted to splinters by heavy-caliber gunfire. A second later I heard the distinctive pop-pop-pop of the compact MTAR-21. And more screams.

Something came whistling through the air and struck the doorframe above my head; glass exploded and I was showered by splinters and a noxious-smelling liquid. Even with the intense stink of cordite in the air, I could identify the smell. Garlic oil.

Freaks.

They still thought they were fighting vampires. Suddenly I understood why they had sent so many. They were that afraid of the Red Knights. Maybe they’d found Krystos and his crew and thought that a Red Knight had taken out the whole team, so this time they sent two teams.

“Reloading!” I heard Violin yell.

I rolled onto my back and fired six shots downrange past where she crouched. I saw one figure fall and others scatter. As Violin slapped the magazine into place I heard feet crunch on glass, and I twisted out of the way as bullets chopped into the floor where I had been lying. I fired as I rolled away, sloppily but continually, and someone screamed.

But then several of them opened up at once and I had to throw myself behind the wall and curl into a ball to save my eyes from the glass and tile splinters that filled the air like a swarm of hornets.

Ghost kept barking, furious and frustrated.

Men began pouring into the building, running past me, unaware of the figure curled in the corner, hidden by smoke. They aimed their guns at the sound of the barks and I came up onto one knee and fired, hitting two of them and causing the others to skid to a stop. They realized their mistake and turned, but then Ghost hit them from the other side. He was among them like a white demon, and instantly it was all screams and blood. Guns were useless that close and already too late.

Beyond the melee I saw Violin rise up from behind the counter and kill three men in two seconds, her weapon switched to semiautomatic for accuracy and ammunition conservation. I’d only spotted two extra mags on her rig, and she had to be near the end of the second. I swapped out my own and slapped my last one into place; but as I came to my feet I pulled another fragmentation grenade and lobbed it outside. Just as it cleared the doorway there was a figure there and the grenade burst against the man’s chest, tearing him apart but effectively screening the knot of shooters behind him. I faded to one side and fired, but even as I pulled the trigger I saw three men fall. One flew backward from my bullet, but two more dropped with that distinctive rag-doll sprawl of men who had taken headshots.

Then a voice yelled in my earbud.

“ No fire from the house. Friendlies on nine, twelve, and three.”

I knew that voice.

Top.

I tapped my earbud and yelled. “Echo! Echo! Echo! Be advised, friendly taking fire in front of store. Friendly is female and inside.”

Bunny said, “ Got it. ”

Immediately the street out front and the alley behind were torn apart by bullets fired from three separate positions. Men screamed and shouted. The Sabbatarians tried to return fire, but they were being ambushed by Echo Team, and that is a bad place to be.

“Violin!” I barked. “Cease fire. My team is outside. Hold your position.”

There was no answer, and when I risked leaning out to look, her shooting position was empty. Ghost stood panting in the hallway, but beyond him there were only dead Sabbatarians and a floor littered with bullet casings and blood.

Then it was over.

The gunfire stopped. There were no more screams, no shouts. Just the sound of running feet as Echo Team swarmed into the store from both sides, weapons out, eyes blazing with anger.

“ Clear! ” called Khalid as he checked the small rooms downstairs. He and Lydia ran for the stairs and cleared the second floor. No one had tried to come in that way.

Bunny’s monstrous form filled the front doorway, a combat shotgun in his hands.

“Hostiles are all down,” he reported.

Top Sims helped me up off the floor. He looked me up and down. “I can’t leave you on your own for five minutes without you getting into some shit, can I?”

Mustapha’s Daily Goods

Tehran, Iran

June 15, 7:49 p.m.

“Did you see her?” I demanded as Echo gathered around.

Bunny frowned. “See who, Boss?”

“The woman. Violin. She was fighting them from the store.”

He shook his head. “Didn’t see anybody but the bad guys. Lot of hostiles down out there. Saw a couple stiffs with their throats cut, too. Whoever she was, chick can fight. Who was she?”

“Long story.” I hurried into the store and checked the bodies, and though one of them was female, it wasn’t Violin. “Check everyone. Do we have anyone with a pulse?”

“Got one here,” said Lydia, who was crouched over a slender figure. Jamsheed.

“He’s one of ours,” I said. “Khalid-?”

“On it.” Everyone on Echo Team was a certified medic, but Khalid was an actual medical doctor with a specialty in traumatic injuries. He went to work on Jamsheed.

Top said, “This was a pretty noisy frat party, Cap’n. We’re going to be ass deep in police real soon.”

We listened for sirens but did not hear any yet. I wasn’t certain how reassuring that was. Special Forces and military SWAT units don’t roll with sirens.

“Who’s watching the street?”

“John Smith and he’s got night vision.”

I tapped my earbud. “Cowboy to Chatterbox. What are you seeing?”

“Nothing.”

He wasn’t the most talkative guy on the team.

“Stay sharp. You see so much as an old lady with a shopping cart give a yell.”

“K.”

I turned to Khalid. “Talk to me.”

He looked up from where he knelt by Jamsheed. I could read it on his face. “Blunt force trauma to the head resulting in a depressed fracture. Got some pretty severe damage to the cervical spine…” He let the rest hang.

I moved over and dropped to my knees by Jamsheed. His eyes were open, but they were bright and glassy with pain and one pupil was fully dilated, indicating a cerebral hemorrhage. Khalid’s eyes bored into mine and he gave a tiny shake of his head. I took a cotton square from him and dabbed at the blood and sweat on Jamsheed’s face.

Before I could say anything, Jamsheed spoke. His voice was hoarse, low. “You cannot stay here. The police…”

“I know, but we have to-”

“No, you don’t,” he interrupted. “You can’t take me with you and still do what you have to do.”

“You don’t even know what we’re here for.”

He smiled faintly. “Does it matter? You work for the Mujtahid. He called me to say that I should trust you because he trusted you.”

I didn’t know what to say to that, so I nodded.