Дэвид Балдаччи - End Game

Hard metal against soft tissue was no contest at all.

She took the paint can with the IED that Lamarre had been carrying and hooked it to her belt.

Reel had brought some first aid supplies. With Mateo’s assistance they cleaned and bandaged Blue Man’s wound as best they could.

The man showed his grit by not making a sound as they worked around the wound.

Then Reel got on her comm and explained the situation to Robie.

“How bad is he?”

“Bad enough. We have to get out of here pronto.”

“We’re double-timing it.”

After that they slowly moved down the passage heading toward the door that Blue Man had mentioned. It was bothering Reel that the remaining shooter — she didn’t know if it was Randall or not — had been running in the opposite direction from the passage leading up. But maybe there was another route. She would have liked to ask Blue Man, but he was in no condition to answer.

They reached the doorway, and after Reel made sure it was clear, they passed through.

Or so she thought.

The bullet barrage hit them at their most vulnerable.

It couldn’t be just one person, Reel knew. Because she was hearing different types of weapons firing.

She dropped to the floor and returned fire.

When she looked to her left, she saw Blue Man lying there breathing heavily.

On top of him was Mateo.

Where his left eye should have been was a gaping hole.

Shit.

Reel grabbed Blue Man by the back of the shirt and dragged him behind a stack of metal bars situated near a wall.

She said, “Are you hit again?”

“No. Mateo?”

“Dead.”

Reel peered over the stack of bars and nearly got her head blown off for the effort.

They were pinned down. She got on her comm pack and relayed their situation to Robie.

“Two minutes away,” he replied.

As the line went dead Reel knew she didn’t have two minutes.

Blue Man was bleeding. They were pinned down. If Robie and the others tried to come though that door they would get slaughtered.

She took the scope off her rifle and managed to work it between two of the bars on top of the stack.

She saw three men parked at the top of the short stack of stairs that led through a door and then up several more flights of stairs to the surface. They had high ground, good cover, and thus the clear tactical advantage. That also meant that reinforcements had joined the battle.

She was never going to get off enough shots to take these guys out without exposing herself to return fire. And if she went down it was all over.

She gauged the distance between her and them.

Thirty feet.

It might be possible.

But she needed a diversion. And they had no handy corpse on a stick.

She got back on her comm and explained her plan to Robie.

“Roger that. One minute.”

“Give me a five-click warning,” she said.

“Done.”

She told Blue Man what she was about to do.

“You going to wish me luck?” she said.

Holding his shoulder he managed a weak smile and shook his head.

“I know,” said Reel. “It’s never about luck.”

She put the scope back on her rifle’s rail, ran through the plan in her mind, and judged it to be good enough. She eyed the top of the metal stack and the trajectory there to her intended target.

Then she loosened up her right throwing arm. This was far more intense than throwing out the first pitch on opening day. If she didn’t toss a strike, they were dead.

She positioned her rifle barrel on top of the metal stack, making sure to keep her head below the barrier.

She got the five-click warning from Robie.

What she was about to attempt was the mother of all multitasking.

You can do this, Jessica. This isn’t as hard as what you did back in Iraq. Nothing is as hard as what you did back in Iraq.

The door burst open and shots were fired through it.

As Reel expected, her adversaries pointed their weapons that way and returned fire.

She stood with the paint can in her right hand. She swung it around to gain momentum and force and then heaved it at the stairs.

As soon as it left her hand and arced toward the target she dropped to the floor and sighted through her rifle as the paint can began its descent.

She waited... waited.

Her aim with the can had been good enough.

Her focus was complete. There was nothing else on earth right now, other than her and that can.

Like shooting clay pigeons.

She fired.

The round punctured the can and the heat from the bullet did what the match and fuse would have accomplished.

She ducked down right before the explosion.

After the smoke cleared she sighted through her optics.

Her pitch had been long and loopy, but ultimately right down the middle of the plate.

A few moments later Robie was next to her.

“It worked,” he said. “But we lost Camilla. She caught a round in the chest.”

He turned to Malloy. “You’re going to stay here with Walton. Watch his bleeding and do whatever you can to comfort him. I don’t think there are any of them left down here, but be on guard.”

Malloy didn’t look pleased by this plan at all. “I can fight,” she said.

“I have no doubt of that,” said Robie. “But Jess and I will be better off without anyone.”

“You think I’m going to hold you back. I can take care of myself.”

“And you think leaving a wounded man alone makes sense?” said Reel.

Malloy hesitated and then said resignedly, “Okay. But what are you going to do?”

“We’re going to finish this,” said Reel.

“Déjà vu all over again,” whispered Reel as they moved along. “We’re hunting in pairs.”

“If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it,” replied Robie.

Reel glanced sharply at him, but he wasn’t looking at her.

He had snagged an undamaged pair of optics off one of the dead men and took a long look around.

There was a door up ahead, at the top of the stairs. They reasoned that just beyond it was the level on which they had entered the silo. They needed to get help. They were well aware that Blue Man could not survive much longer in his condition.

They were also under no delusions that there would be no one on the other side of that door waiting to kill them.

“If Randall is still here, leave him to me,” Reel said.

“You really hate the guy.”

“ Hate doesn’t really cut it.”

They reached the door and Robie put his ear against it, listening intently.

He nodded and Reel cautiously opened the door as they each peeled off to either side of the portal.

They both recognized the staccato burst of an MP5 emptying dual mags.

“Me high, you low,” said Robie.

Sixty rounds later Reel and Robie pointed their rifles through the doorway and sprayed their rounds in a one-eighty arc, top to bottom.

They caught the man reloading the MP5. One of Reel’s rounds tore into his thigh while two of Robie’s bullets hit the man in the head and chest, respectively.

They burst into the room and Reel grabbed the MP5 from the dying man’s grip, while Robie pulled free two full mags from holders on the man’s pants.

“Good lesson in keeping some of your powder dry, moron ,” said Reel to the dying man.

“This is the JV team,” said Robie. “We left the varsity down below.”

Reel slammed the mags in and gripped the weapon as she looked ahead. “I recognize this hall.”

“I do too. The manufacturing area Fitzsimmons showed us is that way,” said Robie, pointing to his left. “So that means the long passage where we took the golf cart ride to see Bender’s body dumped is beyond that.”