“Down,” I hiss, pushing Iris behind a marble pillar.
I raise the captured rifle, keeping the laser off.
Thud-thud.The first man drops.
The second spins, raising his weapon.
Thud-thud.He falls just as fast.
“Move,” I command.
We sprint across the open floor. The marble tiles are slick with the rain blowing in from the shattered entrance, smeared with the blood of the men I just dropped. We slide to a halt at the study doors. They’re barricaded from the inside.
I bang on the wood. Three sharp knocks. One heavy. The code.
“Varro!” I shout. “Open up!”
“Clear!” Varro yells from inside.
The locks disengage. The door swings open.
Varro pulls us inside.
My hulking, heavily tattooed second-in-command looks like hell in the green glow of my optics. His thick jaw is bleeding from a cut above his eye. His tactical vest is scarred from a hit.
“You made it,” he sighs, relief flooding his voice. “We thought you were pinned in the basement.”
“We were. Who’s left?”
“Just me and two guys from Team 6,” he says. “The rest of the interior guard is down.”
“And the drive?” I ask.
“In my pouch,” he says. “Secured.”
Four men against a hit squad.
I look around the study. It’s a fortress of mahogany and leather. The windows are shuttered.
“Where’s Kirill?”
“He’s directing from the courtyard,” he says. “Waiting for us to bleed out.”
I check the magazine on the rifle. Half full.
“He won’t wait long. He heard the shots in the kitchen. He knows I’m active.”
I turn my attention to Iris. She’s crouched behind a leather sofa, holding the pistol with both hands, terrified. But she isn’t frozen. She’s scanning the door. She’s surviving.
“We hold here,” I command. “If they breach, we take as many as we can.”
“And then?” Varro asks.
“And then we die.”
Suddenly, the radio in my ear crackles.
The voice speaks in heavily accented English. It’s Kirill.
