The Trade of Kings (Surviving the Fall 10)

After crossing to the north and heading west to arrive at the northern edge of the compound, Ostap and Carl used a pair of ropes and hooks to get over the wall. Well-trained in unorthodox methods of combat and movement, they made the ascension with ease, though the two technicians were left standing on the ground looking up. Carl dropped down into the compound first, while Ostap crouched on top of the wall and whispered down at Oles and Jacob.

“Stay low, keep quiet, and wait till we radio you to come in.”

“How’re we supposed to get in?” Oles looked up and whispered back, gesturing with futility at the rope.

“Just go around front!” Ostap shook his head in frustration before dropping down next to Carl. “Idiots. I hate babysitting.”

“Now, now…” Carl tutted in a mocking tone.

A shout from around the building in front of the two Spetsnaz officers made them both close their mouths as their attitudes shifted from casual interest in their environment to being on high alert. Ostap was the first to charge forward, heading to the back door of the building with Carl in tow. They entered the building quietly and moved toward the front, keeping their footsteps quiet and communicating only through hand signals. Each room in the bottom floor of the rectangular building was cleared swiftly, and they soon found themselves near the front door.

Ostap was just about ready to take a peek out through the window on the front door when there was another shout from outside.

“Oye! They’re up there! Get after them!”

Carl, standing just feet away on the other side of the double doors, looked at Ostap and the two men nodded to each other. The call from outside was accompanied by the sound of several individuals running for the building, right toward the door where the two Russians were standing. The people outside were chasing down someone on an upper floor based on what one of them had said, and though that information was limited, it was more than enough for the two hyper-trained, elite soldiers to use.

While Ostap stayed near the door, just inside to the left, Carl pulled back a few more feet, ducking inside the first room on the right that offered him both cover and a clear view of the entrance to the building. Seconds later the front door flew open and two people ran in, one carrying a machete and the other wielding a pistol. Ostap remained still as the pair flew past him, not even bothering to watch where they went as he didn’t yet want to give away his position. When the two men were but a few steps away from the room that Carl was in, the Spetsnaz officer popped out of the room with his suppressed pistol in hand. Four rounds spat from the barrel, two for each of the intruders’ chests and heads.

No sooner had the bodies of the men collapsed to the floor than another three entered the building, shouting and yelling at each other as they saw the bodies of their comrades lying on the ground. Carl fired several more shots in their direction just as Ostap did the same, their combined close-quarters fire bringing down the three before they could do so much as raise a weapon in retaliation.

Outside, the leader of the gang’s eyes widened in surprise and he shouted at his people to fall back. A few huddled behind the vehicle while the others, already in the process of running into the building, stacked up against the walls just outside the door. Bursts of gunfire came from behind the vehicle, slamming into the still-open door and decorative windows around it, and Ostap turned to shield his face from the exploding glass. The walls of the building were more than thick enough to absorb the small arms fire aimed in his direction, but with the incoming fire intensifying it would be difficult for him to do much in return.

Down the hall, Carl stepped out of cover and fired through the open doorway with his rifle, aiming for the general direction of the car parked in the middle of the compound. Ostap moved back down the hall at the same time, using Carl’s distraction as an opportunity to get away from the front hall and take cover in the next room down from Carl, on the opposite side of the hall.

Outside, behind the vehicle, the leader of the gang snarled as he watched the two figures draped in black retreat deeper into the building, realizing that his overwhelming numbers had just been sliced nearly in half and that it was about to get much, much harder to take out the entrenched enemy within. As someone who had risen to his position in MS-13 through brutal, inelegant violence instead of tactical genius, though, he was ill-equipped to think of any other way to deal with his enemy than taking them head-on. The loss of five good men angered him greatly, and his outlet for anger was simple: more violence.

Foregoing his previous caution, the leader of the group kicked at the others huddled behind the car, forcing them out as he screamed obscenities at them and the others closer to the building. The gang members were lethargic as they moved toward the building, their initial enthusiasm sapped since five of their group had been slaughtered almost instantly. Fear over their leader won out as he continued to kick and curse at them, and they eventually piled up around the door and flooded inside. The bodies of their fallen lay strewn about, dark red blood pooling on the tile floor, but despite how quickly they had died, there were no gunshots as the rest of the group entered the building. The gang members moved slowly down the hall, gripping their pipes, crowbars, pistols, shotguns and rifles as they chattered amongst themselves, none of them wanting to be in front in case the black figures were still lurking around.

At the opposite end of the hall, near the door leading to the stairwell, Carl and Ostap stood in rooms on either side of the passage, hidden from the view of the men walking toward them. Carl was one room farther up the corridor from Ostap, ensuring that they had a wide field of crossfire open to them. Ostap pressed his shoulder against the doorframe as he manipulated a tiny mirror attached to the end of a thin, retractable piece of metal. The mirror offered just enough of a vantage on the approaching men that he was able to make hand signals to Carl, letting the other Spetsnaz officer know exactly how close the gang was getting.

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nbsp; Fear was palpable amongst the group in the narrow hallway, and it was growing by the second. Each empty darkened room that they passed only served to heighten their fear, making them paranoid and increasing the quiet murmurs between them. Used to violence on wide, open streets where their numbers dropped only by one or two during heavy conflicts, walking past five of their members who had been slaughtered inside a dark, tight building was something they hadn’t prepared for. The fear that they had spent years of their lives inflicting upon others had been turned around on them in an instant, and all by two shadows that they had barely seen and heard.

“Move faster, pendejos!” The leader of the group pushed and shoved the others in front of him, being careful not to expose himself too much in any direction. “It’s just two of them!”

“Plus the three upstairs.” The woman who had walked up the drive with him whispered in his ear, and he responded with a sharp glare.

“We still have them outnumbered. They were running scared!” His voice rose in volume slightly and his gaze flicked between the rooms in the hall. His best attempt at bravery was faltering, and the others with him noticed.

The unfortunate soul walking at the front of the group, gripping a sawed-off shotgun in his hands and wearing a blue and black bandana, was one of the youngest and newest recruits. His “13” tattoos on his arms were still fresh, the skin still inflamed in patches and the hair not fully grown back from where it had been shaved during the tattoo sessions that took place just before the event.

His hands shook and his heart thumped hard and fast as the others behind him pressed him forward, making him feel like he was going to pass out. He struggled against the feelings, though, mostly to try and impress the leader of the group and the one who had personally recruited him. Sweat trickled down his face and he wiped at it with his upper arm, trying to stay focused and alert.

His recruitment into MS-13 had required escalating stages of initiations, culminating in the midnight murder of an elderly resident in a neighborhood just outside D.C. He hadn’t wanted to kill the old man, but not doing so would have meant punishment, or possibly his own death. He had been nervous then, but still efficient, killing the old man quickly and with minimal noise. While he was young, he was strong and capable, with plenty of muscles and the smarts to use them. In any other situation he could have gone on to greatness in some field or another, but instead he became the newest member of MS-13.

It took less than a second for Marcus Rodriguez’s life to be snuffed out.

As he took a step past yet another room and turned to look in, a dark figure appeared from nowhere. One hand grabbed his head and pulled him in while the other came down hard on his shotgun, knocking it to the ground. The hand then produced a shining blade that flashed through the air, cutting through his throat before he could even utter a sound. The figure then kicked Marcus’s dying body backward, sending him toppling into two others in the hall who had turned to see what the gurgling noise was, only to find the bloody body of one of their members being shoved toward them.

While the gang members struggled to react to the death—and, indeed, near-beheading—of one of their own, Carl ducked back into the room, retreating into the shadows while giving a single shout in Russian.

“Idti!”

At the shout of “go!” Ostap drew his pistol with his right hand, swung around the doorframe and pulled the trigger as fast and fluidly as possible. Seventeen rounds went down the hall, all at chest level, and all striking against flesh and bone. He pulled back behind the doorway, slammed the pistol into its holster while slipping the mirror into his pocket, then retrieved his rifle from his shoulder and flicked the switch to automatic. He swung out again and was just about to squeeze the trigger when a blurred form struck him from the front, sending him off-balance and nearly knocking the rifle loose.

The leader of the gang, having barely escaped from the barrage of gunfire by ducking down behind his cronies, leapt forward and caught Ostap on the shoulder, trying to grab at his rifle. Ostap backpedaled into the room, keenly aware that there were still a few of the gang left alive in the hall, and struggled with his right hand to keep the rifle while pawing for his knife with his left hand. Fingers met the steel handle and he drew the weapon, slicing upward toward his enemy’s face.