Three Alpha Romeo

I wanted to kill him. No, it was worse than that. I wanted him to suffer. I wanted him to—

“We’re going to sit here and wait,” he said, squeezing his arm. “Just you and me. Together. Alone.”

I couldn’t think. I couldn’t do anything. The pain was just… just…

“We’re going to sit and wait for your boyfriends to come for you,” he said. “And when they do…”

Oh my God.

Suddenly I knew why we were sitting there, all alone. With no guards. No bodyguards.

“Because believe me, they will come for you,” Kyrkos continued, adding a sinister laugh. “They’re too stupid not to. The very men we’ve been hunting — the ones I’ve been holing up here, protecting myself against? They’re going to deliver themselves straight to my doorstep, straight to us…”

My skin shivered. I felt all the blood in my veins turn to ice.

“And in the end, it’ll be all because of you…”

Forty-Eight

HOLDEN

We took the front of the abbey easily, moving one by one, laying down double suppressive fire. Screening ourselves with smoke grenades, as we advanced into the abbey’s inner chambers.

It wasn’t enough to check our corners. We had to consider every target; every last shot had to be checked and double-checked, before it was ever taken.

And that’s because we couldn’t risk hitting her.

We couldn’t use the HE’s for the same reason. The 40mm high explosives might do more harm than good. No, it was going to be room by room, chamber by chamber. Mistakes weren’t allowed. We’d only get one chance.

Marcus and I were changing out the clips on our M4’s when two more men ran in from the outer parlor. Randall took them both in the chest with the Benelli. They practically flew backwards beneath the onslaught of the high-impact rounds, the combat shotgun barking loudly between each pump.

“Up,” said Marcus. “Top level.”

We passed a chapel, then hugged the stone pillars surrounding a central cloister. That part was too open. We’d cross it only if we needed to.

“Your six!”

I whirled and fired, all in a single movement, trusting implicitly in Randall’s judgment. The stream of fire caught another one of the dark-suited men mid-stride, sending him spinning one way, his weapon the other.

Marcus was on him in an instant, the barrel of his M4 probing the flesh beneath the man’s chin. He had his finger on the trigger…

“In or out?” I asked sharply.

Though the man’s head remained absolutely still, his frightened eyes kept darting between me and Marcus. He was wounded, but not badly.

“Hurry,” I warned. “My friend is low on patience.”

“Out.”

Marcus pulled the barrel back. The man got up, wheezing and bleeding, and bolted in the direction of the exit.

“Good choice,” I muttered after him.

We fled together up a stone staircase, carved into the mountain itself. It was older than time. Worn slick and smooth.

Randall pumped another smoke round into the next area, well before we poked our heads over the top. It ricocheted off the staircase wall and bounced left… where it was accompa

nied by a sharp cry and the sounds of a scramble.