RW11 - Violence of Action (17 page)

Mutherfucking showtime!

I saw Danny look up and then gaze right at me. He gave a curt nod. Jack had taken the bait and was making the leap. I readied myself. The cut down shotgun was slung on a simple black nylon sling beneath my vest. I had jacked a federal tactical load into its chamber at the sports field when we’d landed. If Jack went ape-shit on me I’d blow his legs out from under him, then kick him in the pumpkin to put his lights out for a few minutes. Between Danny and me it would be no problem to manhandle Laski, conscious or not, out the exit and into HRT’s getaway rig. I didn’t want to kill the bastard unless there was no other option. I figured Laski would have programmed all his electronic gizmos with eleborate security codes. We didn’t have the luxury of time to let NSA crack his fucking firewalls, nor superhero decoder rings to do the job ourselves on-site. I needed Jack alive and able to talk. We’d take care of the “willing” part later.

Even though I was waiting for it, I was startled when the rappel line suddenly snapped into view from nowhere. Jack was using half-inch nylon sling, which is both compact and extremely strong. It easily held his weight as he dropped from Point A to Point B in less than three seconds. I figured he’d have to use a lightweight, probably aluminum, brake bar and snap link to control his rapid decent. Once on the ground he’d have to pull the remaining length of the nylon sling through the snap link and over the brake bar in order to get clear of the line. He could also simply begin running for the exit point and let the line play itself out as he disappeared. But I wasn’t planning on letting him take a fucking step once he touched down.

By now people were pointing upward and yelling about the man climbing over the railing. The cop cars were outside the main lobby, some of them with their sirens still blaring and light bars spinning. Pandefuckingmonium was about to break loose. I saw Danny trying to make his way over to me. He was having trouble getting through the crowd despite his size. I was beginning to wonder what was taking Jack so long when he materialized in front of me. His daypack was tightly molded to his back and he was wearing black Nomex work gloves to protect his hands from the burn a high speed, balls-to-the-wall, ninety-foot rappel will give you. Even before his booted feet touched down we had locked eyeballs. I recognized him from the photo bios Karen had made for us back in D.C. It was clear Jack recognized me from somefuckingplace as the pupils of his eyes widened for half a second and then a not-so-nice smile erupted across his Eastern European face.

“MARCINKO!”

I jerked the pump gun upward and took a half-step toward Jack’s smiling face. That’s when that asshole Murphy came back from wherever it was he’d been when I’d so badly wanted to consult with him about my plan. Instead of stopping to disengage himself from the line, Jack simply whipped out a vicious little switchblade from where he’d clipped it to a loop on his daypack and cut himself free in a single stroke. Hmmm, I thought to myself, I hadn’t considered
that
solution. But Jack didn’t stop there. In one fluid motion he sidestepped toward me while dropping into a tight crouch. His fucking knife never stopped moving. It buried itself into my forearm between the elbow and the wrist. My right forearm. Which is connected to my right hand. Which is connected to my
fucking trigger finger
!

I didn’t know Laski was left-handed. It was not a good time to learn this little personal detail.

I let out a howl as I felt my index finger pop off the trigger’s smooth metal face on its own accord. Laski pumped his embedded blade once into my arm and the jumble of nerves he hit went stark raving mad. I lost all feeling from my elbow down. Jack then executed a very pretty little snap kick that damn near busted my hand holding the 12-gauge’s wooden pump, which at this point was the only hand holding onto the gun at all. Murphy was working overtime and I was paying the price. Now Jack came directly at me. I threw myself backward and in doing so saved my right eye. But he wasn’t backing off. I stood between him and a chance at freedom. If I went down, he had a clear shot out the door. And if I gave him half a second he could grab one of the civilian fuckers now going crazy around us and it would become a hostage situation. That I did not need.

Laski lunged. I hollowed out as I’d been taught to do by Mr. Worden. Jack’s blade missed my belly by less than half an inch. It tore the shit out of my new L.L. Bean vest, however, and
that
pissed me the fuck off! I drew the Wor-Tech from my left pocket with my left hand. Snapping the big blade open I heard it lock into place even as I executed a quick snap cut at Jack’s right cheek. Surprise, surprise
cocksucker
! The razor-sharp point of my blade sliced him open like a piece of soft fruit. Blood rushed from the wound like dirty water from an open sewer. Laski danced back, bumping into a fat, elderly woman wearing a parrot-pink muumuu. It was almost comical…until he spun around and knifed the poor old lady in the throat.

I heard Danny calling to me from somewhere nearby. The crowd was wild at this point with a stampede of crazed jerk-offs trying to get out the very exit Jack had been making for. I prayed the HRT guys outside wouldn’t fuck up and open fire on the first person who came through the door, and I prayed the HRT guys
inside
on the upper floors could get a shot at Jack before he whacked anyone else, especially
moi
. Where Trace and Paul were I had not a fucking clue. Just when I thought it couldn’t possibly get any worse, it did.

I rotated my knife from the forward to the reverse grip as Jack unholstered a full-size Glock 17. Fucker was apparently as good with his right hand as he was with his left. I stopped advancing and swiftly stepped to the left to get clear of his line of fire. But it wasn’t me he was concerned with. Raising the high capacity automatic pistol Laski began squeezing off round after round into the guests now clogging the upper floor walkways. I knew he had eighteen rounds of high-power ammunition in the gun. With each shot I saw a man, a woman, or child stagger and fall. With a furious bellow I began bulling my way toward the fucking asshole, pushing and shoving and kicking out of the way anyone in my path. I had to get to Laski before he killed anyone else. I still couldn’t feel my lower right arm and hand, so going for my own Glock was pointless. Besides, the thought of both of us blasting away at each other at close range with all the innocent bystanders now running helter-skelter through the hotel lobby was unacceptable.

I suddenly saw Danny emerge out of the chaos of the melee. In his hand was the massive .41 Magnum. He yelled something incomprehensible and then leveled the stainless steel revolver at Jack’s back. Like a freaking wraith the Nemesis operator dropped to the floor, spun around on his side, and fired a string of rounds at Danny’s fully exposed figure. I saw each round slam into the big man’s chest, their combined force shoving him backward into the crowd. I heard the Magnum go off and the resulting screams as those around Danny’s fallen body went even crazier than they had been before. Laski began scuttling across the floor like a crab in heat and I chased after the bastard as best I could. Every time he evaded someone I ended up pushing them down and out of my way. I still had the knife in my left hand and it was my very best intention to ram it up Jack’s ass when I caught up with him. The world as I knew it had turned to shit. Where the
fuck
were Trace and Paul?

Laski gained his feet and executed a near perfect combat magazine change just as I reached him. Jacking the Glock’s slide back he chambered a round and immediately shot a man off to my right and half a step behind me. He then shot a woman who’d made the mistake of cutting in between us. Pieces of her brain and jagged shards of skull bone splattered over my face. I dropped to one knee to make a smaller target of myself. Dropping the fucking knife I reached around with my left hand and managed to jerk my G-26 free of its holster. I was in a gunfight whether I wanted to be or not. When in Rome…

I brought the little pistol to bear even while expecting to take a round between the eyes as I was doing so. My chest was heaving and it was hard for me to see with the chunks of gooey-sticky brain matter now clinging to my face. I heard the unmistakable sound of a high power rifle being fired in my direction. Rolling, I knocked over two little kids screaming and crying for their mother. I heard the rifle’s report again. This time I threw myself forward and rolled to a standing crouch, the Glock outstretched and sweeping the area in front of me.

I saw Jack just as he shot Trace in the chest.
GODDAMN!
She rocked back, her Kimber still coming up as she tried to get a bead on the miserable bastard. I was screaming now, howling like a wounded dog, frothing at the fucking mouth like a lunatic who’s just cut his own dick off. Tunnel vision set in. I only saw Jack Laski smiling like the evil SOB he was, preparing to pump another round into Trace’s upper body. Anyone in my path was being thrown aside as I plowed my way through the mass of idiots and motherfuckers separating me from my teammate. I lost it completely when I heard the Glock’s report and saw the all-black handgun buck in Laski’s hand. Trace jerked hard as a second round hit her. She then half-turned and slumped to the ground, her pistol falling free and clattering away as someone kicked it in a mad dash to escape the insanity.

“JAAAAAAAACK!”

He heard me. Then he saw me. What he saw must have been
velly velly
bad because his eyes opened wide and for a moment I smelled the stink of fear coming off him like smoke off a burning tire. I fired with my left arm extended and kept moving forward. Every time my left foot hit the deck I pressed the little gun’s trigger. I didn’t feel its recoil, I didn’t see its front sight, and I didn’t hear its roar. I just kept pressing the trigger and keeping my eyes locked onto Laski’s as the gap closed between us.

I saw the first round clip his right ear lobe. If he felt the wound he didn’t show it. My second and third rounds hit him low in the belly. He raised his pistol at me and squeezed off a round. I felt a sharp tug at my hip but that didn’t stop me. Danny was down. Trace was down. Jack was going down and I was putting him there. I felt nothing but rage. My fourth, fifth and sixth rounds took him squarely in the chest. He jerked back under their combined impacts, the open snout of his barrel now pointing upward and away from me. A huge explosion blew past me from behind my right flank. Dahlgren! The little bitch was up on one elbow, her backup gun in her hand. Where the FUCK she carries that little shit I don’t know! Jack’s mouth dropped open as the .380 JHP hit him square in the groin. He dropped his pistol and fell to his knees. When I reached him he was doubled over holding whatever was left of his dick with both hands.

He was still breathing.

“Game’s over, Jack!” I wheezed as I pointed my gun at the back of his head. “Give it up.”

“DICK!”

I was already pressing my trigger when Trace’s hoarse warning reached my ears. I saw the fucking switchblade’s gleam as Laski tried to right himself and shove the damn thing into my gut. My round entered his skull at the crown and skittered along his scalp. Trace’s bullet did much better. It punctured his left temple and blew out the right side of his head in a spray of oxygenated blood and splintered bone. Laski dropped dead at my feet. Yeah, I’d wanted him alive.

Shit happens.

I holstered up and knelt beside Trace. “Where you hit?” I asked her. The lobby was suddenly empty except for a blur of black HRT uniforms coming at us from every direction. Trace tried to sit up and I gently pushed her back down. Thanks to her all-black outfit, I couldn’t see where she was bleeding, or how much. “Easy, easy there. Help’s on the way. How bad is it, can you tell?”

Trace nodded. “He shot me in my tits, damn it! Oh, this hurts! This hurts bad, Dick!” Pushing my hand away she sat up and leaned over so her head was resting on her knees. She wrapped both arms around her self and began slowly rocking back and forth.

A lightbulb went off over my head.

“You’re wearing your vest, aren’t you?” I roared in relief.

“Uh-huh,” she moaned. “I always do, unlike some dumb Slavic motherfuckers I know!”

“Point made! I’ll never leave home without it again.”

I looked up and saw Barrett standing half a mountain tall. He was smiling, the massive hand cannon he carries hanging lazily by his side in one huge hand. “Fucking 9-mm bullshit! Hits like a sissy! If it ain’t a .40-plus it’s worthless as tits on a boar!”

“Hey, watch the tits jokes, okay? The girls are hurtin’ here. We got some serious pain!” Trace looked up at Danny and smiled weakly. “I got him, Danny. I blew his fucking brains out for this.”

“Help me get her up!” I ordered. Danny holstered his revolver and together we carefully lifted Trace to her feet. “Can you walk?”

“Yeah, in a minute maybe. Just give me some room, a little air. I’ll be fine.”

“Danny? Strip the daypack off this dead fuck’s back. All the shit we need is in it. I wanna find Kossens and get the fuck outta here.” As Barrett cut the bloody pack from Laski’s body, I saw Paul waving from the third floor, a big-ass black HRT rifle slung across his back.

“GET YOUR FUCKING SELF DOWN HERE, SAILOR! WE GOT SHIT TO DO!”

Paul nodded his understanding and began running for the elevator. Fuck, I sure was happy to see him all in one piece. It was then the pain hit me. Reaching down I felt around my upper left hip. Sure as shit, I was bleeding! “Ah, fuck me to tears, Danny! I took a round. Upper hip. Feels like it nailed me good!”

Tossing the dead man’s daypack to Kossens who’d just reached us Danny knelt beside me and began feeling around the wound. I grimaced but kept my fucking mouth shut. There were people lying all around me in much worse shape. “Yeah, he took a hunk of blubber outta your SEAL hide but you’ll live.”