David Leadbeater - Weapons of the Gods

Hayden stared at him, the man that had ostensibly made SPEAR enemies of the state. Kinimaka and Molokai spread themselves out, observing every small movement.

Hayden breathed a sigh of relief, her mind turning to Drake and the others for one single, clear moment.

And then it happened; the last act of Tempest.

Hayden’s mind was in cooldown. The enemy were beaten. Not even the jab of faint worry nagged at her. Later, she understood it was always going to end that way — Tempest could never let themselves willingly be taken alive after all the horrors they’d perpetrated.

Gleeson reached for a gun and then so did three of the others. Troy let a small handgun fall from the sleeve of his shirt into his hand. Another — Hayden recognized Mark Digby of the CIA — threw a live grenade high into the air.

“You think we didn’t prepare for this?” Gleeson screamed.

It was the matter of but a moment to line the general’s forehead up in her sights. She thought: I don’t care what you think, asshole, as she squeezed the trigger. Gleeson died instantly, which was unfortunate, falling into another man. The grenade looped lazily down. Smyth moved faster than an exploding firework, shifting his aim to Digby even as the aide leveled his handgun.

Smyth fired first. Digby flew back. Hayden grunted with approval.

The grenade came down as Delta and the bodyguards threw themselves to the grass. It exploded a meter above ground, killing several men. One of the dead was a member of Delta Force, sending a jab of pain through Hayden’s heart.

Bodies littered the grassy knoll just in front of the gazebo. Hayden approached the remains, desperate to find at least one still living.

Smyth already had the unlucky felons under close watch. He shifted his eyes briefly as Hayden approached.

“I believe these two are Urban and Carmine,” he said. “My Delta friend here showed me the CCTV captures from the parking lot where they attacked Lauren. I’m happy to fire as much lead into them as you require.”

The Delta leader was kneeling down beside his fallen colleague. “My eyes are blurred because my friend is dead. I see nothing, and so do my team.”

Hayden’s face was mud-streaked, careworn and vicious as she stared at the two mercs. “Where is Secretary Crowe?”

Drake launched his body across the wide river, landing with boots firmly in the dusty mud, then ran up the short slope to the edge of the tent village. The chaos was intense here. Terrorists and mercs had been resting, some sleeping, taking a break from the day with the sun at its hottest. Gunfire had roused them and they had come out firing, especially the mercs that were better trained.

Drake launched himself atop a dark-skinned young man, punched him to the ground, the two rolled, crashing into a tent. Alicia fell beside him, struck horizontally by a man that had been flung by another. Dahl’s boot landed in Drake’s opponent’s face, smashing down hard; then Dahl was dragged away by two mercs. Drake elbowed his opponent, drew a knife and stabbed him twice. Then he saw Alicia rise, and looked for Dahl.

The Swede lay on his back, arms scrabbling in mud, as two men struggled to stay on top. One punched his face, the other punched his midriff. Dahl was attempting to roll them off. Drake hooked an arm under the closest man’s chin and heaved, crushing the throat at the same time. Alicia went for a flying kick, striking the other man in the left ear with her boot. He toppled clear and Dahl was free.

There was no time for gratitude. Alicia was dragged backward by a huge merc and then that man fell in a pothole, staggering into a tent. The material enfolded them, thrashing left and right as Alicia and her opponent sought superiority.

Drake twisted so hard he thought his foe’s head would come off. The struggle didn’t last long. Drake left the man face-down, turned and was then hit full in the face with the butt of a rifle. He staggered back, down the slope, a step at a time. Blood ran into his eyes, stinging and blinding him. A knife deflected off his stab vest, and then the butt of the rifle came again, making him think the wielder was out of ammo. In the end it was the river that stopped him.

Boots splashed down in running water as Drake finally managed to stop backpedalling. The fighter must have launched himself through the air because his bulk struck Drake then and sent him crashing down into the deep water. He fell and rolled, swallowing a mouthful, coughing, thrashing. A hand found his throat, holding it down. Drake struck up twice, seeking soft targets and finding what he thought was a ribcage. The knife was still in his hand so he twisted hard and thrust that up through the water as hard as he could. The blade sank in and the pressure eased, the figure twisting away still with the knife in its body.

Drake surfaced fast, sputtering. Water fell from his top half in torrents.

At last, his vision cleared. He was on his feet now, chest above water, staring up the slope and at the tent village.

Figures struggled everywhere. Shots and screams rang out without relent. Drake saw several comrades struggling, and splashed his way out of the river and back through the mud to the top of the incline. Handgun out, he resorted to point and shoot. Where a merc or terrorist stood in space, Drake shot them. Eight went down and his own colleagues stood or knelt and did the same.

Mercs came at them again, a wave of screaming outlines. More hand-to-hand combat broke out. The terrorists were backing away from every encounter, being herded toward the center of the tent village. As Drake stood among the fallen tents he looked for his friends.

Alicia spun and shot an oncoming merc. Dahl threw a man into a tent so that the material enfolded him, giving the Swede an easy kill. Kenzie held her own against another, using two knives to confuse and strike in tandem, leaving the man defenseless before ending his life. Luther and Mai were almost at the center of the tent mass, at the far end of a path of fallen material and men which, Drake guessed, the two had mostly caused.

Other members of their team fought all around them.

Sweating, still dripping water, bleeding from a dozen wounds, Drake labored through the mass to Alicia’s side. He was just in time to stop a merc rising from the floor, gun in hand. Drake picked up a discarded gun and shot him. The Special Forces teams consistently watched each other’s backs, always lending an eye for a colleague.

Luther’s voice blared through his earpiece. “Team Ricardo has met major resistance in the false town,” he said. “Mop up here and move out.”

Drake swore. Was Luther implying this wasn’t major resistance? Shit, what were the other team up against? He shot a man emerging from a tent with an RPG cradled across one shoulder; kicked out at one more that lay in the dirt, still lively enough to cause trouble.

Alicia spun. “You in one piece?”

“More or less. You?”

“Think I broke a nail on some bell end’s tooth.”

“Shit, I’m so glad you added that last word.”

Again, they were parted. Drake threw a man over his shoulder; then staggered beneath another’s heavy blow, finding himself on his knees, staring at bloodied earth. A quick twist and he launched his body to one side, gaining precious seconds. The next attack was stalled, though, as Dahl turned up and confronted Drake’s opponent.

Four seconds later, Drake, Alicia and Dahl stood shoulder to shoulder.

“There,” Alicia said.

Luther, Mai and a dozen others had converged on the center of the tent town. The mercs and the terrorists were rallying there, showing the last of their resistance. Luther carried a machine gun in each hand, their barrels so hot with constant use they appeared to be on fire. Smoke surrounded the scene. Kenzie launched herself in to it so carelessly, armed only with knives, that even Dahl winced.