Collateral Damage - Marc Cerasini [94]
The men rose and moved to the chopper's open doors.
* * *
5:44:08 A.M. EDT
1313 Crampton Street
The stench of gasoline was suffocating. Judith Foy battled the urge to empty her stomach. Though her head was spinning, she kept her focus on a stocky Hispanic teenager with shoulder-length black hair and a Browning Hi-Power handgun tucked casually in his belt.
The youth had come down from an upper floor, empty jerrican in hand. He tossed the container into the pile of empties and crossed the room to the stack of full cans.
He was four feet from Judith when she stumbled to her feet and lurched into his path.
"I need a bathroom," she rasped. "I'm going to be sick."
The punk snarled something in Spanish and thrust her aside, eyes on the gas. Foy pretended to waver, but as he stepped around her, she yanked the gun out of his belt, threw the safety, and shot him in the base of the spine.
The youth howled and hit the floor. Five heads turned, mouths gaping in shock. Judith was a marksman and she hit her marks — first one man, then another.
Before she dropped the third man, he drew his own weapon and squeezed off a shot. The bullet struck sparks off the steel door. Judith lurched sideways and fired again, hitting the shooter in the forehead.
Two men remained standing. One clutched a can of gasoline like a shield; the other was reaching for his weapon.
Firing too quickly for accuracy, even at point-blank range, Judith hit the wrong man. The bullet penetrated the jerrican, and it exploded in an orange ball of fire.
Immediately, the pair was engulfed in flames that quickly spread. Fire scorched Judith, too, setting her hair and jumpsuit ablaze. Bolting across the basement, she dived through the hole and into the tunnel.
Judith landed in a shallow pool of fetid sewer water, dousing her burning clothes and singed hair. Choking, eyes burning, Judith crawled to her feet and raced through the dripping tunnel in a desperate bid to outpace the roaring conflagration at her back.
* * *
5:45:34 A.M. EDT
Crampton Street
As soon as Jack's combat boots struck pavement, he moved away from the fast-rope so the man behind him had a clear space to land.
Jack felt a hand grip his armored shoulder, turned, weapon ready. Tony Almeida was there, blinking against the prop wash.
"We've got to get inside," Tony shouted over the hovering chopper's engine. "Agent Foy's in the sh..."
"Fire! Fire!" someone bellowed in Jack's headset.
He glanced at the warehouse, then the gang headquarters at the other end of the block.
Smoke poured out of the roof above 1313 Crampton Street. Flickering flames reflected off Raptor Two's aluminum belly.
* * *
5:46:00 A.M. EDT
Peralta Storage
Judith burst out of the tunnel, into a cavernous basement. The space was lit by banks of halogen lights. The garage door dominated one wall, the makeshift biological weapons lab the other. There were no vehicles present — Noor was already gone.
Others were there, however. Two men in white lab coats were burning papers in a steel barrel in the center of the room. Smoke wafted up to the high ceiling. A third man sat at a small table, where he tapped the keys of a laptop computer.
A man at the barrel cried out. Judith shot him in the face, and he pitched forward, into the flames. She fired at the other man and missed.
The third man snatched the laptop off the table and ran toward the barrel, ready to toss the device into the flames. Judith shot him in the legs, and he hit the floor. The computer slid across the concrete, stopping at her feet.
The man she missed rushed her. Judith pulled the trigger. The Hi-Power clicked on an empty chamber.
The man slammed into her, and they both went down. As they struggled, the garage door blew apart with a deafening report, and men streamed through the shattered entrance.
Despite her ringing ears, Foy heard a shot. The man on top of her jerked, then fell limp. Almost immediately, someone flipped the corpse aside.
Judith blinked up at Tony Almeida, who lifted