Gabriel Hunt - Hunt Among the Killers of Men

Mitch quickly brought up the nearest available sidearm, a Beretta 9mm with a hi-cap mag, and quickly dispatched twenty shots to pin down the approaching mercenaries with some second thoughts about an easy sweep-and-clear. She chucked the empty gun and sought another.

“Take that rifle and hit the alley, over there,” Qi shouted. “I need you to cover me—I’ve got to get unstuck.”

“No. We go together.”

“Don’t be stupid. We go together, we both get shot. Do what I ask.”

Mitch could almost see the logic of it. One blind corner. One escape route not covered by Zhang’s police. If she could make it, and then cover Qi, if they could dump weapons and fade into the crowd, they might just walk.

Mitch fielded a few more shots with the LMT rifle she had recovered, although it was awkward to maneuver the weapon inside the crushed cabin. She wished she had a full-auto pistol like Ivory’s. The things had originally been designed for use by tank crews who might need to wield gunpower inside a confined space. But once she was out in the open, as Qi suggested, she’d be able to make every cartridge count.

“Go for it,” shouted Qi. “Go now. I am right behind you.”

Mitch scuttled out. Using the smoke and confusion as cover, she was able to crabwalk to the alleyway Qi had indicated.

Qi was not right behind her. In fact, the incoming cops had gained another ten yards on the ruined chopper. They were going to take Qi, and take her hard, if she did not move her ass double-quick.

Qi’s heart surged as she saw Mitch make a break for it. It was correct that Mitch should live. Just as Mitch should not have to know that Qi could feel the ruptured metal biting through her leg all the way to the bone, trapping her in the downed aircraft, making her one with its skeleton as it burned.

Zhang’s men crept closer. Qi could see the bores of their weapons, all trained on her, inside.

“Hold your fire,” said a voice. “It’s the Nameless One.”

Shukuma was not in evening wear for this little social event, and so was not packing her unobtrusive .380. She leaned closer to the cabin behind the more awe-inspiring muzzle of a no-frills military .45.

“Cheung will want her,” Shukuma told the cops.

“I have a gift for Cheung,” said Qi, nearly choking on her own blood. She smiled gruesomely, her teeth outlined in red.

And opened her hands to reveal two grenades, pins already pulled.

The police were already backtracking, diving for cover. Shukuma, however, could not wrest her gaze from the bulkhead tank right behind Qingzhao that was stenciled NO NAKED LIGHT.

It was the last thing she saw.

Gabriel and Ivory were out of their vehicle and running. The explosion knocked them both to the pavement.

The secondary explosion bathed Mitch’s view in white fire, sprawling her backward.

Smoke rolled to make a huge fist in the night sky.

Chapter 24

Ivory pushed up, glass fragments in the palms of both hands, to come face-to-face with General Zhang.

“I have lost men,” Zhang said sternly. “What is Cheung doing? Tell me or I shall have to expedite you.” He had the backup to prove he was serious.

“The helicopter was stolen by assassins,” said Ivory smoothly. “The plot was to kill Cheung in the Peace Hotel.”

“Massacre in the streets does not reinforce his position,” said Zhang. “The Tong leaders will want an explanation.”

This seemed pretty slick, coming from the man who had watched Cheung blow Mads Hellweg into the afterlife right in front of the Tong bigwigs at Tuan’s funeral and not said a word against it. Of course, while that had been public violence, too, it had been less public than this.

“Do what you do best, General,” Ivory said with respect. “Order needs to be restored here. Cheung shall answer fully.”

Gabriel swore he could see telepathy passing between the two men, and Ivory saying: I shall fix it.

“Very well.” Zhang turned, pointed and barked orders to his men. “You say that this assassin—the one who has been trying to kill Cheung—is now neutralized at last?”

A quick check of the steaming wreckage of the chopper, now cordoned off by men with chemical extinguishers, confirmed this. Gabriel saw Ivory’s stature warp almost imperceptibly; the cool-as-ice operative’s shoulders bowed slightly in sadness.

Qingzhao Wai Chiu had been incinerated. Gabriel felt the regret settle on his shoulders as well.

But there was no sign of Mitch.

“Cheung needs to be told immediately,” Ivory said. “And he will not believe it unless it comes from you or me.”

“I have duties here,” Zhang sniffed with harried-bureaucrat superiority. “It is your burden.”

Ivory’s performance was pretty spectacular, thought Gabriel. But damn it all, the man had not lied to Zhang. He had merely found a way to circumvent the truth. And in the bargain, won both himself and Gabriel an armed police escort right up to the entrance of the Peace Hotel.

Mitch finally unlocked her limbs from her frozen fetal position in the alleyway when someone, a stranger, tossed a few coins at her, thinking she was a beggar.

She could not see Gabriel and Ivory palavering with General Zhang less than fifty yards away. Too much smoke, too many people, confusion squared. Her face was scuffed, scabbed and blackened. Blood on her fatigue jersey.

She snugged her fatigues and retied a wayward bootlace. She had to make it out of this alley and into the Peace Hotel—she had to. And she could, she knew she could find some way in, if only her brain would stop slamming against the walls of her skull.

She slid the syringe from her pocket. Yes, she had deceived Gabriel back at the leaning pagoda when she’d clutched onto him and implored him to watch his ass. She’d meant what she’d said—but it had not been as important as liberating the hypodermic she knew he carried, the syringe that held all the solutions to her distress. She could seek forgiveness later, if they all lived.

She stuck the spike in her arm and gave herself the full remaining eight cc’s of the drug, all the while repeating her own instructions to herself. She didn’t want to lose her plan to the drug, slip away into sleep or waking dreams of unrelated combat. Somehow she needed to hold onto enough mental control to steer herself even when—

The hit when the drug took effect was similar to a great orgasm, the kind you still remember years later, yet contoured with vitamins and excellent speed, like an energy drink made with plutonium.

A deep breath, and her vision seemed to clear, though it was almost too clear at the edges, realer than real. She would have to concentrate, focus.

She moved directly to a Zhang soldier on the sidewalk who was shouting directives to an apparently deaf gentleman who wanted to argue that he could not extricate his big tricycle from the grille of a wrecked car because it was augured into a phone pole. When the soldier made to strike the man with the butt of his rifle, Mitch grabbed the gun barrel and yanked the soldier off balance. As he turned, Mitch shot a fist into his exposed throat. The weapon came free in her hands as the man went down bug-eyed and crimson-faced, unable to draw air. She gave a quick thumbs-up to the citizen, who looked horrified rather than properly grateful. No matter. She appropriated the Zhang man’s helmet and moved on down the street.

The gun settled comfortably into her grasp. With the helmet and weapon, she could pass for another uniformed solider, if no one looked too closely in the midst of all the commotion.

And while Gabriel and Ivory were still occupied with Qi’s few remaining molecules and the contentions of General Zhang, Mitch made straight for the Peace Hotel.