Alex Archer - Mystic Warrior

“This is Black Legion One,” Sabre called over his headset. “We need assistance. Our vehicle has been disabled.” He slipped a combat knife from his vest, flicked the blade open and sawed through the seat belt. “Does anyone copy?”

“Copy, Black Legion One. Ten is on your six.”

Through the cracked windshield, Sabre watched as another SUV pulled in front of the one he was in, providing partial cover. The men in that vehicle deployed in two two-man groups and laid down suppressive fire.

Sabre gave up on trying to open his door. He drew his pistol and slammed the butt into the window, shattering the safety glass so he could pull it out. “Do you see the shooters?”

The radio crackled in response. “We have the shooters, One. Two of them at eleven o’clock. One of them is down. The other is running.”

“Get me some ID on these people if you can.”

“Roger.”

“These people are in heavier than expected.” Sabre pulled himself through the window and crouched, leathering his weapon and then extending his hand down to Meszoly. “Watch yourselves.”

“Copy that.”

Meszoly grabbed Sabre’s hand and allowed himself to be helped as he clambered up from the overturned vehicle. “This can’t be about Krauzer,” he said, then wiped blood from his split lips with the back of his hand. “That man is more self-indulgent than important. This is about something else.”

The Merovingian kings, Sabre thought. That’s what this is about. Still, so many years had passed since those days and the time of Matthias Corvinus. Something that had been lost for so long couldn’t just reappear. And who would be so interested in finding it?

Dyson broke through the rear passenger window as the heat of the burning vehicle swirled over them. Blood ran from two cuts on the side of his face and dripped from his chin. Still, he seemed steady enough as he reached back inside the SUV and hauled out the man he’d been seated with. Sabre helped Dyson because the other man was unconscious. Together, they hauled the man’s deadweight from the stricken vehicle just before the gas tank exploded and knocked them to the ground.

Rising again, Sabre told Dyson to stay with the unconscious man. Then he and Meszoly headed toward the target building, taking cover where they could. One of the men who’d wielded a rocket launcher lay bleeding on the ground and managed to pull his sidearm. Sabre shot the man in the face and leaped over the corpse. Behind him, two other police cars pulled into the parking lot, sirens howling. They rolled to a stop on either side of the burning patrol car.

“Black Legion Nine.” Sabre reached the next clearing and peered across the open area separating him from the next building. The helicopters continued circling above, but their attention was split between their mission goal and the arrival of Sabre’s people and the police. “This is Black Legion One.”

“Go, One. Nine copies.” Saadiya Bhattacharjee’s British accent sounded unflappable. She’d been born to a Sikh family in Telangana, India, and had finished her education in crisis communication at Oxford. Sabre had hired her immediately when their paths crossed three years ago, headhunting her from other corporations by promising her a more exciting career than patching political careers and spin-doctoring bad products put out by corporations.

“I need you to interface with the local police,” Sabre said. “Let them know we’re on the job.”

“Copy that.”

“And don’t get shot.”

Saadiya laughed, then said, “Ta.”

Taking his smartphone from his tactical vest, Sabre pulled up the GPS locator he had that connected him to Krauzer’s position inside the building. All of his clients were programmed into his locator systems. He and Meszoly were only 179 meters out and closing fast. He broke into a run with Meszoly following behind and to the right so they’d both have established fields of fire.

* * *

ANNJA HEARD KRAUZER before she saw him. Orta followed in her wake, crouched as she was. When she reached the door, she stood and peered through the small window beside the closed entrance. Inside, the soft glow of a cell phone revealed where Krauzer was.

The director knelt under a computer desk in a dark room and spoke in a hoarse whisper that carried. “Sabre! Where are you? I’m in trouble!”

Annja tried the door but it was locked.

“Allow me.” Orta stepped forward. “Most of the classrooms on this floor open with the same key to facilitate matters.”

She stepped back and allowed the professor access to the door. He took a set of keys from his pocket and started sorting through them.

Keeping calm in spite of the tension that filled her, Annja divided her focus between the hallway and the shattered wall of windows. She’d noted the second helicopter circling the building, as well, and kept expecting one or the other to sweep in. She still didn’t know what the explosions outside the building had been about.

After succeeding in unlocking the door, Orta opened it and entered. The yellow rectangle of the hallway lights fell into the dark room. He started to reach for the lights but caught himself before Annja pointed out that wouldn’t be a good idea.

“What are you doing?” Krauzer glared up at them. “Get out of here! This is my hiding spot!”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Orta turned away from him and faced Annja.

“They’re after me.” Holding the crystal between his knees, Krauzer waved his free hand at Orta, keeping him away. “You’re leading them right to me.”

“They’re after all of us.”

“Really? Really? You’re here every day, so these guys just happen to show up tonight to get you and I’m unlucky enough to get caught in the middle of that? Do you even hear yourself?”

“They’re totally happy to kill all of us,” Orta stated. “They want the crystal.”

Krauzer wrapped his free arm around the crystal and turned his attention to the phone. “You need to get here. Now! ”

“You know, if they get him, maybe they’ll leave us alone,” Orta said.

“Wait.” Krauzer wasted no time thinking about that. He grabbed hold of the desk and partially scuttled out from hiding. “You can’t just desert me. We need to stick together.”

Shaking his head, Orta looked back at Annja.

She slipped her miniflashlight from her backpack, switched it on and swept the high-intensity beam around the classroom. It was larger than she’d initially thought, actually built like a small auditorium with stadium seating. The only other door out of the room was on the same side of the wall.

Voices echoed outside in the hallway, and she knew they were out of running room.

9

“Get down.” Annja switched off the miniflashlight as she closed the door softly and locked it behind her. The barrier was too flimsy to put up much resistance, but maybe the men looking for them would hurry on by. On the other side of the door, police sirens screamed and the whop-whop-whop of the helicopter rotors was somewhat muted.

“Up there.” She pointed Orta to the highest seat. “Stay away from the windows and hide in the corner—otherwise you’ll be skylined against the outside lights.”

Clutching the manuscript case to his chest, Orta sprinted up the long steps and hunkered down behind the curved row of tables. He disappeared in the inky pools of shadows, and Annja hoped that he would be safe during the coming confrontation.

Sliding back under the desk, Krauzer drew his legs farther into the darkness, but the phone’s light illuminated his face.

“Turn off the phone.” Annja slid the machine pistol out of the backpack and readied it.

Reluctantly, with a last whispered command to whoever was listening, Krauzer broke the connection and pocketed the phone. He held on to the crystal with both arms, and Annja didn’t know if he was trying to protect the object or hide behind it.