One Rough Man - Brad Taylor [121]
Jerking upward, I tried to rip the MP5 out of the man’s hands, the weapon cycling with the rounds blasting skyward, inches from my head. The man fought me to regain control, and almost succeeded, when his driver decided to accelerate, causing the weapon to be wrenched out of his hands. The car hurtled forward with its tires squealing again.
I watched the vehicle race away, then scanned for any other danger. I caught movement over my right shoulder and trained my weapon on the threat. A man was exiting the alley I had passed on my way to the pub. The same alley I had been going to use for cover. He had a pistol in his hand and was looking for a target. I let loose with the remaining rounds in the MP5’s magazine, chipping the bricks around him and forcing him to retreat back down the alley.
The air was split by the sound of sirens approaching. I looked at the couple shot earlier, seeing the man sitting up holding his shoulder. The woman lay on her back, rolling left and right, her abdomen sprouting a red stain, dripping on the concrete. I knew I should help them, but had to make a hard choice. My conscience screamed for me to stay, but the man in the alley told me this wasn’t random, and that I was the target. I decided to leave the scene. I dropped the weapon and took off at a dead sprint back to the Metro station across the street.
74
Two blocks away, Lucas was on an encrypted radio trying to get a handle on what had occurred. “What’s the status? What happened?”
Mason came through first. “The target came alone. The girl wasn’t with him. He didn’t give me time to set up. He came out of the Metro at a dead run. I didn’t have time to give the mounted team a warning order. By the time I called, he was almost at the pub. The mounted team was forced to rush, alerting the target that they were coming before they could engage.”
The mounted team cut in. “The psycho didn’t run for cover like you said. He ran right at us. He grabbed my weapon right out of my fucking hand. We were forced to exfil.”
Lucas cursed. If they were lucky, Pike would think it was a random drive-by. That would be a break, but wasn’t assured. The hope was crushed by the next call.
“This is shooter one. I saw what occurred with the mounted team. I tried to get a clean shot but was compromised. He suppressed my fire with the weapon from the mounted team.” Shooter one’s clinical description broke down. “He came close to fucking killing me. I didn’t get off a shot.”
Lucas dropped his mike in frustration. Pike definitely knew it was a setup now, and that he was being hunted. Shit. This operation just went from easy to almost impossible. Picking up his cell phone, he called Jerry. “Did you find the hotel they’re at? Next to the Metro?”
“Lucas, there are about five hundred hotels next to Metro stations. There’s no way I can neck it down without more information.”
KURT TORE OUT OF THE FOUR COURTS PUB, trying to ascertain what had occurred. Seeing no sign of Pike, he moved immediately to the wounded civilians, honing in on the woman as the most seriously hit.
“You’ll be okay. Help’s on the way,” he said, conscious of approaching sirens. He began initial first aid, checking her airway and putting direct pressure on her wounds as an ambulance screamed to a halt beside them. Paramedics leapt out to conduct triage.
Kurt told them what he knew, then walked away before he got tied up by the police. He pulled out his cell phone and called Pike’s number. At the sound of a woman’s voice, he was about to disconnect, thinking he had a wrong number. Then he remembered.
“Jennifer?”
“Yes. Who’s this? Where’s Pike?”
“This is Kurt. I don’t know where Pike’s at. Where are you? You’re not with him?”
Jennifer voice grew alarmed. “No, I’m at the Embassy Suites.