Search and Destroy (32 page)

One of Jensen’s men leapt over the rail midway up the stairs, pointing his pistol at Danny.
Boom!
Both men went down.

“Danny!” Andrea screamed.

Jensen laughed in her ear, then kissed the side of her bloodied face. “One down, one to go!” Despair gripped her heart as Danny staggered. Jesus Christ, could he really be dead?

On the far side of the bulldozer, Clay was on top of one of Jensen’s men. Another was on his back, stabbing over and over with a knife.

All is lost.

Jensen was still leaning over her. “Well that was an entertaining interlude. Now, back to business.”

As he pulled on her hair, Andrea went with the force and slammed the back of her head into his face. Caught off guard, he stumbled back, loosening his controlling hold. The scalpel dragged across the side of Andrea’s jaw, cutting deep as it glanced off the bone. She continued to turn, swiping her fingernails at his eyes. She missed as he staggered back, holding his nose. A kick directed at his groin connected but only her toes made real contact as he dodged. He grabbed at her hair again but she lunged first one way then the other. A wild sweep with the scalpel cut the air where her face had been a second earlier. Lurching after her, Jensen stumbled, going to his knees as he tried another desperate grab for her hair.

Andrea yelped as she tore along the landing at full tilt. She pushed through the first door she found, which opened onto a steep set of wooden stairs leading upwards. With no other choice available to her, she kicked the door closed behind her and raced up the steps. She emerged into a room very much like the one she’d just been dragged from, filled with dustsheet-covered furniture. But there was a window, its glass battered by the relentless rain. As she wrestled with the latch she heard the door to the stairs wrenched open below. He was coming.

There was no time to force the latch. She picked up a small stool and smashed the window out of its frame, then climbed out. She felt like she’d stepped into an industrial carwash, such was the force of the pelting rain. She was on a flat walkway that encircled the uppermost part of the roof, the only barrier between her and open air a set of iron railings. A quick glance over the edge left her in no doubt that a fall from this height would leave her broken on the ground far below. Steadying herself by placing one hand on the railings and the other against the sloping roof tiles, she scooted away from the window.

* * *

Jensen Strathclyde held out the scalpel, ready to stab or slash if the woman tried to blindside him. The bitch had got lucky with that head-butt but no way was she going to get him twice. He padded up the stairs light and easy at first, then the crash of breaking glass spurred him into a run. He reached the top of the stairs and entered a room just in time to see the bitch’s naked back disappearing through a window.

If she was on the walkway she could get to the fire escape. But there was no way this cow was getting away from him now. He’d catch her on the roof and either drag her back inside or, if needs be, just gut her and call it quits. Jensen ran to the window and poked his head out, then immediately retreated in case the woman had a weapon. But even the quick glance revealed the woman clambering along the widow’s walk like some terrified child. He felt himself grow stiff at the thought.

He climbed out into the storm. Out of sheer instinct he grabbed for the railings. The force of the wind and rain was savage, and he found himself struggling to stay on his feet. The sky had turned a battleship grey and the lights from the town in the distance were reduced to indistinct blotches of pale orange. He swore as he saw his target turn a corner and vanish out of sight.

Strathclyde started after her, then paused. He looked up at the sloping roof. If he could get over it he could cut her off as she made her way around the circumference of the house. With his scalpel clenched in his teeth, he began to climb.

Danny Gunn raised his empty carbine as the man armed with a combat knife launched himself down the stairs. The blade glanced off the M4 but the man immediately twisted and stabbed at Danny’s exposed hands. Dodging the blow by mere inches, Gunn used his weapon as a stave and jabbed the barrel into his opponent’s face. The M4’s front sights clattered against the man’s teeth, rocking his head back, but still he fought on. The man’s arms were a blur of motion as he tried to grab the carbine with his free hand and slash with the other. In response Danny swung the M4 like a baseball bat, climbing the stairs one by one. Swing, step, swing, step.

After a few exchanges Danny waited for the man to surge forward. He didn’t have to wait for long. His opponent kept up a blistering pace and was not to be underestimated. As he sprang forward with a slash to Danny’s throat, the Scotsman used the additional length of his carbine to his advantage, swinging it in a wide horizontal swipe. The man ducked low under the M4 and kept on moving—into Danny’s stamp kick. The heel of his boot caught the man just below his nose, smashing nasal bones deep into his skull. The man toppled down the stairs and Danny followed, making sure he stayed down by driving the butt of the M4 repeatedly into his ruined face. Unbelievably the man raised his knife as if to throw it. Danny kicked out one last time, this time driving the man’s head back against the edge of the bottom step. Vertebrae crunched and the knife dropped from lifeless fingers.

* * *

Clay was fighting for his life, one man beneath him and another coming up fast behind him, knife in hand. The blade tore a ragged line across his shoulders. Clay roared and struck back with an elbow, turning his whole body as he did so. The man on his back forced the blade deeper into Clay’s flesh, but the point became wedged against his shoulder blade. The man lost his grip and was sent sprawling as Clay clipped him hard in the face with another elbow jab.

The pain in Clay’s broken feet was almost intolerable yet he forced himself forward. He grabbed the first man who was reaching for his fallen Glock and caught him mid-motion, one hand around his throat and the other tightened into a vice around the man’s groin. Hoisting his screeching opponent like a power-lifter, Clay raised him above his head and threw him at the second man. Both went down amidst bricks and shattered timber.

Charging forward, Clay caught both men up in one massive sweep of his arms, their backs pressed together. A couple of violent shakes and Clay had them in the classic bear hug wrestling hold. The Texan felt his vision swim momentarily but held on tight, his arms like a steel band around the operatives. One of the two had an arm free but his blows were delivered from an ineffective angle and were little more than backhanded slaps. Clay wrenched with all of his remaining strength. Both men struggled furiously, kicking and thrashing, but inch by inch Clay’s arms constricted, crushing their ribcages. He felt bones snap beneath his corded muscles. He stumbled, his back grinding painfully against the tracks of the JCB, but he held on.

Clay felt his legs fold beneath him and all three men slumped to the ground. The two killers slipped from his grasp. One lay dead, pink bubbles trickling slowly from his mouth. The other stared up at the Texan with hate-filled eyes. His hand closed around a ragged spar of wood. Clay slashed the edge of his open hand across the man’s throat, crushing his trachea into his spine. Then all three men were silent.

* * *

Danny’s head snapped up at the sound of a woman’s scream. It seemed to be coming from above, but there was no sign of Andrea. He risked a glance over to Clay, who had snatched up the two other men and was shaking them like rag dolls.

Switching from the now empty M4 to the Glock at his waist, he slung the carbine onto his back and raced up the stairs. He paused on the landing. Several doors stood to either side of the main staircase. He was faced with a simple choice: left or right.

The choice was made for him when yet another jumpsuited man stepped out onto the landing A space of ten feet or so separated the two men. Danny brought up his pistol and squeezed the trigger. Twin holes appeared in the wall as with surprising agility the man pivoted the top half of his body then in one continuous motion leapt forward in a combat roll. Danny had never seen anyone move as fast. One second he was standing motionless ten feet away, the next he was coming up under his guard and pushing Danny’s weapon towards the ceiling. Danny felt his heels teeter on the edge of the stairs. Rather than go down backwards, he broke the hold and ran down the steps, turning at the bottom, gun raised.

A hand slammed into Danny’s throat like a piece of iron. The man was fast! Danny struggled to take a breath as his trachea constricted in response to the tiger mouth strike. But his opponent pressed home the attack with relentless determination. Danny felt the man seize his wrist and twist it to breaking point in an effort to disarm him. Instead of resisting the wristlock, Danny dropped to one knee, his gun hand now above his head, drawing his adversary over his back. As the man was sent tumbling over his shoulder, Danny’s pistol spat out another three shots. He scowled as the slide bucked back; the magazine was empty.

The shoulder throw would have at least stunned most men, but Danny’s opponent landed not on his back but in a crouch, and again sent a killer blow at his throat. Danny blocked the throat shot with his right elbow and slashed his pistol backhand across the man’s face. The open slide of the pistol gouged a deep furrow into his cheek, sending him reeling towards the kitchen area. It was Danny’s turn to press the attack as the operative snatched his own Glock from the holster at his hip. Using his empty pistol again as a club, Danny brought the weapon down on the man’s hand. The thumb snapped with an audible crack. Without losing any momentum Danny seized the broken hand with a vice-like grip and smashed his empty pistol into the man’s upturned face.

Yet the man did not fall, and the barrel of his Glock inched closer to Danny’s body as they butted and gouged at each other. With a last effort Danny charged, picking the man up bodily and propelling him backwards, through the doorway where his first opponent lay dead, and into the kitchen beyond.

The cold took Andrea’s breath away as she clambered along the narrow platform of the widow’s walk. She felt herself slip towards the edge of the roof as rain blasted into her face. Her numb hands found the wrought-iron railings and she clung motionless until she felt steady again. Squinting against the downpour she turned in time to see Jensen Strathclyde emerge from the window onto the walkway. She silently wished for a bolt of lightning to fry the bastard. She continued to claw her way along until she turned the corner of the roof and the storm seemed to reach a new level of intensity, the rain slapping into her like a solid wall. Forcing herself forward she inched along at what seemed like a snail’s pace. The wounds on her face and chest buzzed with an angry life of their own. Her mind flitted momentarily back to the overlook at Area 51, where this nightmare had begun. It seemed like a lifetime ago. Were Greg and Bruce lying in some mortuary cold room? Had her parents read her email? Did they even know that their son was dead yet?

Her mind snapped back to the present as she spotted a point thirty feet along the walkway. A pair of curving handrails indicated the top of a fire-escape ladder. Andrea, spurred on by the real chance of flight, renewed her efforts.

Her moment of hope turned to one of horror as Jensen Strathclyde slid down the rain-slicked roof onto the walkway in front of her. He looked like a ghoul, in his bizarre black bodysuit and mask. Only twenty feet or so separated her from the safety of the ladder. The twenty feet might well have been a thousand. He advanced towards her, but, more intent on reaching her than his footing, Strathclyde slipped and clung to the railings for support. Andrea started to backpedal, went round the corner again, and then turned and ran back towards the shattered window. She heard him curse behind her as she threw herself through the window frame, ending up on all fours with a wide sliver of broken glass in her hand. Her legs wobbled as she forced herself upright.

Andrea began to pick her way through the maze of covered furniture when she felt an icy hand grip her neck from behind. She was spun around in a tight circle to see Jensen’s leering face above her. He raised the scalpel.

“No escape this time, bitch.” He gave a contented sigh, then stabbed down at her unprotected throat.

Danny wrapped an arm around his opponent’s legs and drove his shoulder deep into his midsection. Powering forward, both men crashed through the kitchen and into the utility room beyond. After bouncing painfully off the top of the washing machine, the man was momentarily airborne, then Danny slammed him down to the floor. As the man reeled from the impact, his head bouncing sharply on the tiles, Danny’s kick sent the Glock spinning from his grasp. The gun slid under a shelving unit at the far side of the room. A second kick, this one aimed at the man’s face, was partially blocked by his hastily crossed forearms. Without pause the man kicked out in return, his feet striking Danny painfully in the shins. Springing back in order to avoid being upended, Danny snatched up a large bottle of bleach and used it as an impromptu bludgeon to beat the man around the head, landing three solid shots before the man rolled to one side and drew the knife from his belt. He held the knife point-down in his left hand with his injured right close to his chest.

Danny intercepted the first stab with a swipe of the plastic bottle. The second strike pierced the plastic with a solid thump. As the knife was pulled free Danny squeezed the bottle, sending a stream of bleach at the operative’s face. The man ducked to avoid being blinded but liquid saturated his hair and ran over the back of his head, causing him to screw his eyes tight shut as he raked his sleeve across his face. Danny raised the bottle and sent it bouncing off the head of the man, who swore. The language was alien to Danny but the sentiment was all too clear.

Danny aimed another kick at his opponent’s groin, and as the knife descended, twisted his leg in a tight arc away from the knife and snapped a roundhouse kick into the side of the man’s exposed jaw, sending him crashing into a shelving unit. Cans and bottles were sent flying, rolling around the floor at their feet. The look on the man’s face as he righted himself was one of unbridled fury. His skin was burned red from the bleach, and his lips were curled back, exposing his teeth.