PRIMAL Fury (The PRIMAL Series) (47 page)

CHAPTER 85

“The helicopter is inbound,” Ryu said to Masateru. “ETA five minutes.”

They were in the master bedroom with Karla and could hear the sound of the incoming rotor blades.

“Are we going somewhere safe?” Karla asked.

Ryu said nothing. The Kissaki commander still wanted to abandon the girl to the
gaijin
.

Masateru nodded. “We’ll all take the helicopter to a place no one will find us.” He turned to Ryu. “Head downstairs and get the
oyabun
up here.”

Ryu shook his head. “He’s already dead. They’ve overrun the ground floor.”

The reality of Ryu’s words took a few seconds to sink in.
The oyabun was dead.
That meant Masateru was now the head of the Mori-Kai. He had access to the bank accounts, to all facilities still running. He smiled. Perhaps he could salvage success from the ashes of defeat…

“How many men do you have left?”

“Just the four in the upstairs living area.”

“Tell them to delay the attackers. Then meet us at the helicopter on the roof.” Ryu adjusted his helmet, checked the magazine on his G36, and moved cautiously down the corridor into the living room. Two of his men were waiting for him. The other pair were farther down the corridor.

A grenade detonated with a crump, followed by rapid-fire shots from the direction of the stairs. Ryu pulled a concussion grenade from his vest and gave a signal to his men to advance.

Kurtz reached the top of the stairwell and paused at the two crumpled bodies. They had borne the brunt of the fragmentation grenade he had lobbed up the stairs. He fired shots into their heads as he moved past.

The stairwell led to a short corridor opening up into a large living room. Kurtz stalked forward and took a peek. During the day it would have had a stunning view of the valley. On the other side another corridor led off to the bedrooms.

“How many hostiles left?” Saneh came up the stairs behind him.

“At least one or two. Let’s clear this room, then the next corridor.”

“Throw a flashbang, then I’ll lead.”

The helicopter was clearly audible now, directly above the mansion.

“This is Bishop,” came over Saneh’s radio. “Kenta’s in a bad way. We’re going to need that chopper to evac him; sounds like it’s landing on the roof.”

“Acknowledged, we’re on it.” Saneh pushed past Kurtz. “On my mark.”

As Kurtz went to grab his flashbang, another one skidded across the floor and rolled beside them. “Grenade!” screamed Saneh. She turned and pushed Kurtz back down the stairs.

The blast knocked her off her feet and she tumbled down the staircase, landing in a heap.

“Saneh, Saneh!” Kurtz shook her shoulder, adrenaline forcing him to ignore the disorientation and the ringing in his ears. Helmetless, he’d almost had his eardrums ruptured.

“I’m OK,” she moaned.

Kurtz flicked his stun grenade out of the stairwell. It exploded at head height, sending Ryu’s two last men reeling. He charged forward, cutting them down at point-blank range, armor-piercing rounds scything through their armor.

Ryu opened fire from the far corridor, his unsuppressed assault rifle deafening in the enclosed space. Kurtz’s rifle took a slug and flew out of his hands. He dived sideways into the living room, scrambling behind the furniture, ears still ringing from the concussion grenade and Ryu’s gunfire.

Several 5.56mm rounds punched through a leather sofa a few inches from his face. Kurtz drew his pistol and fired back toward the shots.

“So, who are you?” Ryu had pulled back deeper into the corridor. “A mercenary?”

Kurtz rose and moved swiftly to the wall near the doorway. There, he held his pistol against a light switch and pulled the trigger. The .45 round drilled through the plastic fitting, out through the switch on the other side, into the hall. He heard the Kissaki commander scream in agony. His rifle fell to the floor with a clatter.

Kurtz rounded the corner, leading with his handgun. “Mercenaries? No, we’re just a bunch of Boy Scouts.”

“Wait, you don’t—”

Kurtz’s bullet penetrated Ryu’s face, punched through his brain, and mushroomed in the back of his helmet.

The body hit the ground at the same time as Kurtz’s empty pistol magazine. He slid a fresh one home and raced down the next corridor toward the sound of the helicopter, his boots thudding on the hardwood as he ran.

Kurtz skidded to a halt as he entered the master bedroom at the end of the hallway. “Stop!” he yelled.

Masateru had Karla by the arm. The pair was halfway through the glass doors that led to the rooftop helipad. He pulled her in tight as he turned to face the threat.

“Karla?” Kurtz barely recognized the shy young girl from the hospital. The woman in front of him wore vibrant red lipstick, her eyes outlined in black, her svelte body clad in a shimmering evening gown.

“Kurtz!” She recognized his face through the haze of the sedatives.

His pistol didn’t waver; it pointed directly at them, looking for a clear shot at the Yakuza boss.

Masateru kept himself behind Karla as he slowly raised his pistol. “I think it would be wise for you to drop your weapon.”

The two men stood staring at each other.

Kurtz’s finger took up the slack on the trigger.

Masateru shoved Karla forward, stepped to the side, and fired rapidly. Kurtz cried out as he was struck multiple times and fell to his knees, dropping his pistol. The CAT armor had stopped the rounds but the blunt-force trauma had crippled his arm and knocked the wind out of him.

“Fucking
gaijin
.” Masateru strode across and kicked Kurtz’s pistol away. He stuffed his own weapon in his pants and unfolded his tanto blade. “Do you know what you’ve cost me?” He grabbed a fistful of Kurtz’s hair and tilted back his head, exposing his throat.

The knife came down at the same time Kurtz raised his left forearm. Blade met gauntlet, and the powerful Taser circuit initiated with a snap and a hiss, hurling Masateru across the room.

The Mori-Kai gangster lay on his back with his eyes closed. The stench of burnt hair filled the room.

Kurtz drew a dagger from his vest and climbed to his feet. He lurched forward and plunged the blade down.

Masateru’s eyes opened. He grabbed Kurtz’s knife hand and rolled sideways, wrenching the blade from the PRIMAL operative’s weakened grip. In a flash he was back on his feet, the blade slicing through the air.

Kurtz grunted as the steel sliced through his cheek. The knife flashed again and Kurtz blocked with an armored forearm, at the same time punching Masateru in the face.

The Yakuza lieutenant lost his grip on the knife as Kurtz shoved him to the ground and leaped on top of him. With his face covered in blood, Kurtz bellowed like an enraged bull and unleashed a flurry of punches.

A gunshot cut through his blood lust. He looked up to see Karla holding his pistol.

“Stop! Stop killing each other.” Tears flowed down her cheeks from glassy eyes.

“It’s OK, Karla. It’s going to be OK. I’m here to take you home.” Kurtz suddenly realized that, covered in blood, he must resemble something from a horror movie.

“Get off him. Stop it all, now!” Karla had the muzzle pointed at Kurtz.

He got up slowly, stepping back from Masateru. “Karla, put the gun down.”

“Just stop! Stop the killing!” she screamed hysterically.

On the floor, Masateru gave a moan and rolled onto his side. Slowly he stood and surveyed the situation, his face a bloody mess. “He’s one of them, Karla. The men that tried to kill us. Shoot him.”

Her hand wavered, the pistol remained pointed at Kurtz. More tears rolled down her cheeks.

“What are you waiting for? Kill him!”

Karla’s hand shook.

“Give it to me. I’ll do it.” Masateru took two steps toward Karla and his face exploded, blood and gore spraying across the room. His lifeless body toppled to the ground, blood pooling on the polished floorboards.

Saneh stood in the doorway and lowered her Tavor. A waft of smoke drifted up from the end of her suppressor. She let the rifle hang on its sling and pulled off her helmet. “Drop the gun, Karla. It’s over.”

“You killed him!” Karla screamed. The pistol in her hand shook uncontrollably as she looked back and forth between Masateru’s body and Kurtz. “You killed him!”

“Karla, drop the weapon.” Saneh took a step toward her.

“You killed him!” Karla tightened her grip on the pistol and pointed it at Saneh. At that moment, Bishop charged into the bedroom, assault rifle at the ready. His decision was instinctive: his mind registered the threat and his trigger finger responded accordingly. The three rapid shots caught Karla in the center of the chest, slamming her backward onto the floor. She managed to fire the pistol but the bullet went over Saneh’s head and buried itself in the ceiling.

“No!” Kurtz screamed. Both he and Saneh turned in disbelief as Bishop strode past them, his Tavor still pointed at Karla’s body.

“We need to get Kenta to a hospital. NOW!” He continued out the double doors to the rooftop garden. Aleks followed, Kenta slung over his blood-soaked shoulders, unconscious.

They dashed up the stairs to the rooftop helipad, where the helicopter was waiting, rotors still turning. Bishop pulled the door open, his weapon aimed at the face of the pilot. “Do you speak English?”

The pilot nodded, hands raised.

Bishop reached into the pocket of his pants and pulled out a wad of Japanese currency. “There’s over five hundred K in here. It’s yours if you can fly my colleagues to a hospital in Kobe.”

The man looked around, concerned.

“You don’t have to worry about Yakuza. They’re dead, all of them.”

“No problem with me.” The pilot took the cash. “I am not Yakuza. You give me money, I take you anywhere.”

Aleks gently lowered Kenta into a seat in the back and Bishop returned to the others.

Kurtz was slumped against the wall, blood dripping from his nose and ears, face ashen, staring at Karla’s dead body. His blast injuries and the blunt trauma from the gunshots had taken their toll now that the adrenaline was wearing off.

Saneh had removed his upper body armor and was immobilizing a broken arm when Bishop arrived. “You didn’t need to kill her, Aden,” Saneh snapped as she administered a morphine injection. “We had it under control.”

“She might have shot you. Now listen, Kenta’s already in the chopper. Does Kurtz need to go to the hospital?”

Her eyes flashed as she fought back emotions and words. She looked at Kurtz. The morphine had kicked in and he was glaring at Bishop with glazed eyes. “He needs a doctor. I’m not sure what internal injuries he has but his armor took multiple hits to his head, chest, and arm. He also took some blast when he wasn’t wearing the helmet.”

Bishop nodded. “You’ll escort Kurtz and Kenta to the hospital. Dump all your kit, both of you, no weapons or armor. I’ll take care of it all. Hurry up or we’re going to lose Kenta.”

By the time they got Kurtz to the helicopter Aleks had wrapped Kenta in a space blanket and administered an IV drip. Kurtz slumped into a nearby seat, Saneh sitting between them.

“I’m going to warn Baiko and get him to ring the local police and authorities,” Bishop yelled over the helicopter’s engines. “Stick to the FBI contractor thing, he’ll take care of the rest.” He slid the doors shut and gave the pilot a thumbs-up.