Search and Destroy (26 page)

Garnett looked into the back seat. “You two?”

Danny responded with a resounding, “Aye, pistol. Glock 37. But the MP5Ks are back at your place.”

Andrea clearly surprised Garnett by producing her revolver. He gave a grim smile. “Okay then. Do we lead them into Mallory and hope they don’t attack with all of the tourists around or lead them out into Parker’s Yard and take them on?”

“What’s Parker’s Yard?” asked Clay.

“It’s an industrial area over towards the naval base. Mostly lock-ups and storage sheds. It’ll be pretty empty this early in the day.”

“Parker’s it is.”

Garnett increased their speed. A soft
whoomph
sounded from the front of the SUV’s hood and a small brown tangle of blood and feathers slapped against the windscreen. “Chicken!”

Clay laughed out loud at the unexpected road kill. “Ten points for a cat with thumbs.” But the moment of levity was cut short by the Dodge Challenger that had pulled across the junction directly in front of them, effectively blocking the road. Garnett acted on instinct and the SUV slewed right, mounting the sidewalk. The vehicle bucked wildly as he fought to retain control. Clay grabbed for a handhold as the rear fender was ripped off the obstructing car as Garnett swung the SUV left, back into the road.

“Keep going,” yelled Clay. Garnett didn’t need to be told. Clay turned to see the driver of the Dodge slamming his hand into the steering wheel.
He looks pissed. Was that intentional?
“I don’t think that was an accident. They’ve got two vehicles.” Garnett swore. Clay turned and saw that the Dodge was disappearing down a side street, but the minivan was less than fifty feet behind them.

“Hold on,” said Garnett as he whipped the Infiniti around a tight corner, sending the rear fishtailing for a few uncertain seconds. The tyres found their traction and the SUV cut a path west down another picturesque street. He leaned hard on the horn as two young women on scooters emerged from a side street directly into their path. Their long hair wafted in cascades in the morning breeze. Both women wore only shorts and bikini tops—no helmets; any spill from their bikes would probably result in grave injuries or death. The nearest woman turned and mouthed a word that was a direct contrast to her prim features. This resulted in another blare of Garnett’s horn. The woman sneered, but they reluctantly pulled over close to the kerb, allowing the SUV to speed past. Garnett gave them half a wave in way of apology. He got the
talk to the hand
gesture in return.

* * *

Cheryl Coster looked at her friend, her eyes extra wide for emphasis. “Do you believe that asshole?”

“He was black, he probably, like, totally stole that car anyway,” Chantelle opined. She tossed her hair in disgust and pulled back into the road without looking in her mirror. She never saw the Chrysler minivan as it slammed into her rear wheel, sending her cartwheeling off her bike. Her strangled screech was cut short as her nearly naked flesh met the sidewalk. She bounced once, leaving behind several teeth, one of her Gucci sandals and most of the skin from her back. Her face proved no match for a parked Hyundai Getz.

Cheryl watched her friend’s fate in what she perceived as slow motion. In her shock she steered her own moped into the hood of another parked car, coming to a very abrupt halt, her ribcage splintered around the handlebars.

* * *

Lincoln stared at Washington in anger.

Washington returned his stare. “What? I didn’t mean it. She just got in the way. You want me to stop?”

“Keep going.” Lincoln’s voice was furious, yet only a small portion of the ire he felt was directed at his wheelman. This should have been a relatively simple job. Collateral damage was sometimes unavoidable but dead civilians would bring the cops swarming in from miles around, something that he would rather avoid at all costs. “Just make sure we get them.”

Washington’s hand shot out, pointing at the rear window of the target vehicle. “That’s her. That’s the woman.”

Lincoln focused on the horrified face under a mop of blonde hair staring back at him through the window. “That’s right, bitch, I see you.”

“Jesus, they just ran those women off the road.” Andrea’s voice was like fingernails down a blackboard.

Danny nodded and felt something deeper than fury seething deep in his stomach. He would make them pay. Dearly.

Garnett was pushing the SUV as fast as he could without running down any slow-moving pedestrians. “Four blocks to Parker’s.”

“They’re still behind us,” said Andrea. Danny saw that she was gripping her revolver like a drowning man would a life preserver.

Garnett powered around another corner, losing one of his wheel trims as he clipped the kerb. The SUV bucked sideways for a second but did not lose any speed. On the kerb, a large Hispanic woman dressed in a bright floral dress shouted and shook her fist angrily at the speeding vehicle.

“There!”

Danny swivelled in his seat to see the entrance of Parker’s Yard. A high chain-link fence formed the perimeter and stretched out for hundreds of yards in either direction. A wide double gate was open and allowed easy entry into the yard. The layout reminded Danny of an army barracks. Two-storey sheds were arranged in long rows, each easily a hundred feet in length. Their walls looked to be constructed from old-style asbestos sheeting, the corrugated-iron roofs painted a dark red. Danny could see at least twenty sheds on each side of the main access road, many with colossal piles of clay-coloured sand against their walls, some higher than their roofs. “Turn off halfway down.”

“Left or right?” asked Garnett.

“Right. It looks like there’s a bit more room to manoeuvre on that side.”

The SUV whipped to the right between two of the sheds. “Slow just a bit.”

Garnett slowed the SUV to twenty and without preamble, Danny opened his door and tumbled out onto the ground. Tucking his head, he rolled smoothly and gained his feet in one practised motion. He sprinted back to the corner of a shed. Crouching, he pressed his back against the wall and lifted his pistol. As the pursuing minivan rounded the corner he squeezed the trigger four times in rapid succession. All four rounds punched through the windscreen. Inside the vehicle someone roared in pain. As the minivan sped past, Danny adjusted his aim and sent another three rounds into the target. One of the shots found the rear tyre, which blew out with a satisfying
whoomph
. He then emptied the rest of the clip into the rear window. Glass shattered and the vehicle slewed wildly to one side but continued to follow Garnett’s SUV.

Danny ejected the spent clip and slapped a fresh one into the butt of the Glock.

* * *

Clay held on as Garnett stamped down on the accelerator and swung the SUV left around the shed. Another tight series of gravel-spitting left turns and they were behind the pursuing vehicle.

“Got them now. I’ll ram them,” yelled Garnett.

Suddenly the already shattered rear window of the minivan exploded outwards. Two men, each clutching an automatic weapon, glared back at Clay and both weapons opened fire as one. He ducked as a hail of bullets ripped through Garnett’s body, shredding his head and chest as if it were made of paper. Clay’s roar was that of a wounded bear, beyond fury, beyond conscious thought.

The SUV skidded into the wall of the nearest shed, its hood punching through the thin wall. It came to a shuddering halt as it met one of the reinforced stanchions that formed the shed’s internal skeleton.

Clay pulled his Colt Python as the PMCs tumbled out of their minivan and approached the SUV, two men on each side of the vehicle, weapons pressed tight into their shoulders, fingers on triggers. He saw that the driver of the minivan was bleeding heavily, his right arm clutched to his chest. He was big, very nearly as big as Clay. He brandished a sub-machine gun left-handed across his chest, business end still focused on the stationary vehicle. The men approached fast but in strict formation.

Clay wrenched open the SUV’s door, knowing that staying inside was sure death. “Out!”

Andrea scooted forward into the front and followed close on Clay’s heels. He raised his Python. He received four muzzles pointed directly at him in way of response. He knew there was no hope of dropping all four before he too was turned to hamburger.

* * *

“You want him dead as well, Lincoln?” asked Washington.

Lincoln considered only for a moment. “I want to question these fuckers first, but here’s something to keep him occupied.” He fired a single shot from his Calico pistol. The lead projectile ripped into the meat of the big man’s muscular forearm. The Presidents laughed as the man dropped his hand cannon.

Lincoln nodded at the woman, Andrea Chambers. “You! Get your ass over here.”

But she did no such thing. In one fluid motion she pivoted to the side and leapt through the gap in the wall created by the impact of the SUV, into the shed beyond.

Bush darted forward, poking his head through the hole. Two sharp retorts sounded from inside the shed. Bush fell back cursing. A three-inch bloody crease along his chin told how close her bullets had gotten to punching him out permanently. “Bitch shot me!”

“Bush, get after her,” ordered Lincoln. “Bring her back alive.”

Bush nodded once. He unleashed a hail of bullets through the fragile walls, aiming high. He then kicked a larger hole in the wall and went through it at speed.

“The first man to move gets a bullet in the head.” The voice that rang out from behind Lincoln carried a cold lethal edge. “Drop your weapons and lace your fingers behind your heads.”

Lincoln turned his head to see a wiry man—the one who had shot Washington, he realised—levelling a Glock at him. He raised his chin. “I know the bleeding fella here is Clay Gunn, saw him on the news looking all shiny in uniform. Who the fuck are you?”

The man didn’t reply, narrowing his eyes at the big man. “You okay?”

Clay Gunn held up his damaged arm. “I might not be so good at Texas hold ’em for a while.” He locked eyes with Lincoln. “Meet my younger brother, Danny Gunn.”

Lincoln kept his Calico trained on Clay but looked over his shoulder at the new arrival. “You’re outgunned here, so to speak. You could shoot one of us, maybe two, but one of us will end it for you, that’s a guarantee.”

“Maybe, maybe not,” Danny Gunn answered. Lincoln was surprised at his Scottish accent. It seemed so odd in the circumstances. How the fuck were these two brothers? “But one thing’s for sure. You get the first one, right in the back of the head, so even your mother won’t recognise you.”

Washington took a slow step towards Clay, his sub-machine gun aimed at his head. “Easy there, Highlander, or the cowboy gets it.”

Lincoln grinned without humour. “Looks like we have one of those Mexican stand-offs you hear about.”

A woman’s scream echoed from inside the shed.

“And it looks like Bush caught up with Chambers.” Lincoln spat his next words at Danny Gunn. “Give it up. You tried but you lost.”

He saw Clay Gunn’s eyes flick to his brother. “We’re dead anyway.”

The Texan went into Washington low and fast, ramming his shoulder deep into his ribs, driving the sub-machine gun up over his head. Both men went into the ground in a tangle of thrashing limbs. Lincoln rocked back as Danny Gunn put two rounds into his chest. He fell to one side, gasping from the impacts, and squeezed off a devastating burst from the Calico, the bullets ripping through the air where the man’s face had been a second earlier. He saw Kennedy open up on full auto, forcing the man to leap behind a large metal dumpster. The heavy trash receptacle bucked and shuddered as the impacts drove it back into the crouching Scotsman.

As Lincoln struggled to his feet, the man dodged out from behind the dumpster and loosed a three-round burst at him, higher this time.
He’s trying for headshots. Kevlar is a real bitch.
Lincoln squeezed off another round as a car roared into view.

Lincoln grinned in triumph as Chad Casey tore around the corner in his Dodge Challenger and sent the troublesome Scottish asshole bouncing off the front fender and clean through the wall of the shed behind. A ragged hole displayed a pair of boots, unmoving. Now there was only one of them. Lincoln turned to see Washington still wrestling with Clay Gunn. Washington was no common brawler, even injured. Both men were fighting more or less with one hand each, but Washington twisted inside the Texan’s grip and slammed him in the throat with the stiffened edge of his hand. As Gunn reeled back from the severe blow, he received another two shots to the neck for good measure.

“Come on.” Lincoln motioned to Kennedy, who had been edging towards the Scot’s unmoving feet. Together they joined Washington and hoisted Clay Gunn to his feet, then dragged him to the trunk of the Dodge, Chad giving them a thumbs-up from the driver’s seat.

Lincoln pulled back his arm and smashed the stock of his Calico square on Gunn’s right temple. Then he and Kennedy pushed the unconscious man into the trunk.

The man chasing Andrea was fast on his feet. Every corner she turned he seemed to appear at the far end of her chosen avenue of escape. Her breath was ragged and strained. Her hands trembled. Pausing at the end of a large shelving rack, she waited for him to appear, her revolver at the ready. The racks stretched nearly the full length of the large hangars. The shelves seemed to contain every imaginable spare part for what she presumed were boats, trucks and cars.

Beads of fear-laden sweat trickled down her face. She tried to remember everything Tansen had shown her about shooting. Aim, squeeze the trigger, and don’t pull. Breathe. A shape moved off to her left. Pivoting and firing as one, she put two rounds into an oil drum that the man had dislodged from a shelf and sent rolling towards her. She cursed out loud. Then from an unseen vantage point the man fired three shots, one placed either side of her shoulders and the third into the ground at her feet. Her hands began to shake more violently. What chance did she have against this trained soldier?

Another shot creased her right arm. Fuck! He was trying to disable her. She was sure he could have put that last bullet through her heart if he’d chosen to do so. Frustrated, Andrea sent another two rounds back in return. The next time she squeezed the trigger nothing happened. Empty! She scrabbled in her pockets for the box of ammunition Tansen had given her. Then a dark shape flew through the air at an alarming speed.