Endwar_ The Hunted Part 32

Chopra stirred, his eyes fluttering open. She yelled at the medic, ordering him to lift Chopra and carry him to the final access panel built into the wall beside the main vault door.

Gunfire began booming in the distance.

"They're coming," gasped Hussein.

Chopra saw the boy ascending to the throne like an angel, wings spread as he turned to face the crowds and then, finally, inevitably, as perfect and correct as the moment could be, he took a seat on the golden chair and smiled, all of the hope in his heart spreading out in waves across the millions who'd gathered, their faces stretching into the farthest reaches of the desert, their voices a steady hum, like an electrical current coursing through the universe.

And his father was there, too, standing beside the bike he'd given Chopra. "Your life has been remarkable, and I am very proud of you."

His mother and sisters were there, beckoning, even as an evil woman growled in his ear, "Wake up, old man. One more door. Come on. This is it!"

Computer voices.

His hand on something.

A light in his eye.

A p.r.i.c.k to his finger.

And then the comforting thump of his heartbeat and the words I am still here I am still here echoing. Abruptly, the heavy clunking of the vault door jarred him as the ground began to shake. echoing. Abruptly, the heavy clunking of the vault door jarred him as the ground began to shake.

He told himself he was submitting to her, if only to keep the boy alive. "Hussein?" he called. "Hussein?"

The armored transport drivers working with Haussler's Spetsnaz team maneuvered all four BTRs into blocking positions of the tower's four parking-garage entrances. They placed the tank on the main road facing north, toward Juma's oncoming forces, and the main gun had already boomed twice, those rounds targeting Juma's forces, as best Brent could tell without the satellite uplink.

Strangely enough, the BTRs had anti-aircraft guns, but not one of them was shooting at the European choppers, and that fact gave Brent pause.

Why would the Russians not target the Euros ... unless they were now working together? And if they were, who had arranged that temporary alliance-even after Haussler had taken out those Badgers?

The Russians did have the European economy under their thumb, so perhaps this was blackmail or coercion of sorts. Whatever the case, the fact remained that Brent had to get past both of those forces to reach his target.

He, Lakota, and Juma crossed the bridge over the ca.n.a.l, but as they turned onto one of the side roads to reach the main highway, incoming fire ripped up the road in front of them. Ah, the BTRs weren't targeting the choppers; no, they were targeting them.

Juma's driver floored it as the Javelin missile guy considered firing his rocket while still hanging out the back of the SUV. Lakota hollered at the maniac: The back blast would kill them all-but he kept trying to swing out and shift the weapon so the blast would be directed outside.

"Hold fire for now, you fool!" shouted Brent.

He wasn't sure the man understood English, but Brent's tone and expression were hopefully enough.

"Ghost Lead, this is Schleck," called the sniper.

Brent immediately saw Schleck's point of view; it appeared he was pinned down, stealing glimpses around a corner. Ahead lay a long, dark tunnel. As Schleck leaned forward, gunfire sparked along the wall, driving him back.

"I see it, Schleck. Start ga.s.sing them out, but you move in slow. Buy us some time. They're sealing off the main tower entrances."

"Get around them and go in through the Silver Tower," said Schleck. "We'll flush them toward that exit. Grid test shows they've restored power to the vault security system down here."

"Okay, that's the plan, buddy. Flush them toward the Silver Tower. You hang in there. We're on our way."

"Brent, it's me," said Voeckler, his camera image appearing now in Brent's HUD. He was behind Riggs. Gunfire boomed in the background. "I'm jamming these local cameras, but I just busted through the encryption being used by the Euros outside. They want to engage the Russian troops, but they've just been ordered to hold fire."

"Surprise, surprise. Keep listening. You hear anything I need to know about, you call me a-sap. And while you're at it, see if you can break through and get a message back home. Try every satellite you can find."

"Roger that, sir. I already have been trying. And sir, those Russians coming in here ... they wouldn't be the same guys that killed my brother, would they?"

Brent took a deep breath and lied.

The Snow Maiden finished donning her helmet, then made sure Hussein's fit properly. They'd known they'd face resistance and a.s.sumed chemical weapons would be used against them, tear gas and other less-than-lethal agents at the very least. Their suits were expertly fashioned copies of the Joint Strike Force advanced MOPP gear prototype number six and not unlike the ones being used by the Americans trying to stop them.

"Where's Chopra's suit?" asked the boy, his voice coming through the helmet's speaker via the open team channel.

"Forget it," she answered, grabbing the kid by the arm as the forklifts rolled into the vault behind her.

Light shone across long metal tables piled high with gold bricks that had been carefully stacked on reinforced wooden pallets. She felt as though she'd entered an ancient Egyptian tomb sans the art and statues, replaced by hedgerows of gold within which you could get lost. The brilliance of all those bricks collected in one place and stretching out for dozens of meters was quite breathtaking, even for someone as stoic as the Snow Maiden.

Chen's men couldn't help themselves either, taking just a moment to marvel over the bricks and shout a few words of excitement to each other before sliding their forklifts into position to lift and haul away the pallets. Once loaded, the two lifts began whirring out of the vault.

Meanwhile, she and the boy walked thirty meters to the back, where several computers had been positioned in a corner desk area whose walls were covered by old-fashioned paper maps, mostly terrain maps of various parts of the Middle East. She called in two of Chen's men with batteries and a power converter to jump-start one of the computers. They finished their job within a minute, and the computer began to boot up.

She shoved the boy forward, then yanked a data key from her pocket. "Show me what I want and copy it here."

The boy took a seat, pillowed his hands across the back of his helmeted head, then kicked his feet up onto the desk. "All right, b.i.t.c.h, it's time you listen to me ..."

Before she could react, a voice crackled over the team radio. "h.e.l.lo, Viktoria, are you there? I know you're busy making a little withdrawal, but I think you and I need to talk."

The Snow Maiden closed her eyes and willed herself to burst into flames. Nothing happened. She looked up.

The kid raised his brows.

Haussler called again: "Viktoria, I've just killed two of your Chinese friends. Don't make me kill any more. I've got this building sealed off. You can't get out."

"Watch me," she growled.

He laughed under his breath. "I know why you're here and what you're doing. Do you think Izotov can pay me more than what's in that vault?"

"Of course not."

"Then let me help you."

"You're lying. You'll turn me back over to them."

"Come on, Viktoria. You know me. We're both opportunists. Let's you and I seize the day. I'm the only one who can get you out of here. Not this pathetic team they gave you. I have the firepower. And afterward, we can sip champagne-just like the old days."

"We never did that."

"We should have."

She stood there, wanting to call Patti. The Green Brigade was supposed to take care of Haussler. They'd obviously failed, and now she was forced to deal with him. He'd killed two of her men and gained access to their communications, which put them at another disadvantage. She had a decision to make.

The boy looked at her. "Are you going to talk to him or me?"

"Shut up."

"No, you you shut up! You're going to deal with me. I want a suit for Chopra! If you don't get me a suit right now, I'll smash these computers!" shut up! You're going to deal with me. I want a suit for Chopra! If you don't get me a suit right now, I'll smash these computers!"

She removed her pistol and shot him in the leg- Before he even had time to take another breath and utter another word.

Bang. A bullet had struck the armor plating in his suit and ricocheted off, but the impact would give him a terrible bruise.

He wailed and nearly fell out of the chair.

She turned her scorching gaze on him. "Get on that computer and get me what I want! I will will kill you!" kill you!"

He scrambled forward and began typing on the wireless key panel. He slid off a glove for fingerprint authentication, received it, issued a voice command, was identified, then, finally, gained access.

"Oh, no," Riggs was saying as she whirled to find six fully suited Spetsnaz troops standing behind her. She faced forward, where two Chinese troops were doing likewise.

Schleck was screaming, as was Voeckler.

And Brent watched it all happen in his HUD as Juma's driver raced toward the Silver Tower.

The woman Brent remembered as looking so ravishing the night they had gone to the Tour de France party did the only thing she could do.

She opened fire on the Chinese guys, then spun back and fired on the Russians.

She didn't last long. Of the dozens of rounds fired at her, only a few needed to find the seams in her armor. She shouted, "I'm sorry, Ghost Lead. I tried my best."

And then her avatar flashed red and the camera image from her helmet showed the wall. She lay there, unmoving.

The voices came: We've lost Riggs! We've lost Riggs! We've lost Riggs! We've lost Riggs! The reports swirled in Brent's head and never took hold, all of them unreal for just a moment and then finally, inevitably, they registered as a cold shock to the system. The reports swirled in Brent's head and never took hold, all of them unreal for just a moment and then finally, inevitably, they registered as a cold shock to the system.

Suddenly, Riggs's helmet camera swiveled to an image of another man, now wearing a helmet of his own; it was Haussler. He was staying a while after all. He muttered something in Russian to a man behind him, then dropped Riggs's head with a thump. The camera shook.

With a finger gesture, Brent closed the window, took a deep breath, and tried to calm himself, his gloved hands balling repeatedly into fists.

That opportunity lasted all of two seconds before the whomping of a Cheetah sounded from behind them, and before Brent could scream his warning, a rocket detonated not three meters behind the SUV, causing the driver to lose control, smash into the retaining wall, rebound, then hit the opposite wall, even as cannon fire st.i.tched a line through the top of the SUV.

A round struck the driver and blood splattered over Brent's visor as he hollered for everyone to bail out.

The SUV had slowed to about twenty miles per hour when he hit the concrete, dropped, rolled, and came up with his rifle.

Lakota was beside him, as was Juma, who took a hard fall but a.s.sured them he was okay. The militiaman with the Javelin launcher jogged off, found a position to his liking, then lifted his weapon to the sky. He shouted something drowned out by the din of motors, and then the entire highway turned pure white as the missile streaked away.

Brent craned his head to follow the Javelin's trajectory. The bird homed in on the chopper, but this time the Cheetah's pilot launched electronic countermeasures-white-hot chaff that bloomed like a cloud of metallic confetti. The missile punched into the chaff and streaked on by, losing its lock on the chopper and then flying skyward for a second or two more before heaving into a thundering explosion.

"Come on, let's go!" Brent cried, waving them down the road as the chopper banked at a steep angle, then turned its guns northward and opened fire a few blocks down from the tower.

More flashes came from behind the skysc.r.a.pers, and the thought of Juma's men being mowed down by the Euros made Brent's skin crawl.

He and the others were only a quarter kilometer from the ample cover of the high-rises, and they ran hard and fast but dropped Juma quickly. The fat man could not keep up, and Lakota went back to urge him on while Brent and the Javelin guy hit the wall of the nearest skysc.r.a.per, the Goldcrest Executive Tower, which stood just beside the Almas.

Shifting furtively and almost not wanting to do so, Brent reached the corner of the building and stole a glance.

The BTR was sitting there like a pit bull on all fours, big guns lowered and pointed directly at him. Two dismounts hunkered down on either side of the vehicle, while the driver sat forward, his hatch open.

Yes, the long way around was through the Silver Tower tunnel, but at least they wouldn't have to face Haussler's buddies.

Brent checked the WAN uplink and dreamed of having Colonel Grey call in an air strike, something, anything, to ward off these wolves.

"Ghost Lead, this is Remus," called Voeckler. "Euros just got orders to provide air cover and escort to any vehicles leaving the tower area, including the Russian BTRs. You believe that?"

"She's got the Euros and Russians working for her. And no, I don't believe it," Brent answered.

Voeckler's camera switched on, and Brent saw that the man had taken up a position behind some kind of maintenance section with large machinery.

"Where are you?" Brent asked.