South of Eugene, Oregon
March 29
The weight of Beckman’s body on top of him made it hard for Peter to breathe. He didn’t know how many bullets had struck the guard. Probably well north of a dozen. Fortunately, Beckman was wearing a level II ballistic vest, designed to stop most handgun ammunition. It was a relatively thin garment, not as bulky as standard bullet-proof vests worn by law enforcement personnel. Which is why Peter had failed to recognize that Beckman was wrapped in one. Although the 9mm rounds had not penetrated the vest, they did cause blunt-force trauma, akin to being hit in the chest with a hammer. And in sufficient number, blunt-force trauma could prove fatal. At the moment, Peter had no idea if the body he was hiding under was dead or alive.
He glimpsed another guard approaching cautiously. He appeared to be attempting to see into the dark shadows, his eyes still affected by the bright illumination he’d just left. He stopped only a few feet away—had he seen Peter’s arms or legs beneath Beckman?
Suddenly, the exterior door burst open and a furious commotion spilled into the doorway. Diesel was on top of another man, the one named Gedde, his jaws clamped down on the man’s throat.
“What the hell?” the guard closest to Peter said. Then he raised his SIG, aiming to fire. Swiftly, Peter pulled his gun arm from beneath Beckman and snapped off a shot just as the guard fired.
The guard jerked as the bullet slammed into his chest. His shot went wide, gouging a hole in the door frame and missing Diesel.
Peter shoved aside the motionless body on top of him and pulled the trigger again, sending another bullet into the man’s chest. The guard turned toward Peter, his eyes wide. Already, he was backpedaling, attempting to put distance between himself and Peter.
Not seeing blood on the man’s chest, Peter surmised that the guards and technicians were all wearing ballistic armor. He raised his sights and fired a third time, and the 9mm round ripped through his throat. The guard threw a hand over the wound, blood seeping between his fingers. In a panic, he stumbled, falling onto his back. Unable to speak, his mouth moved like a fish out of water. A raspy, gurgling sound emanated from his throat as he quickly bled out.
The four guards on the catwalk, two on either side of Corbett, were stunned by the mauling of Gedde, which they were able to glimpse as sunlight washed through the open door. Their surprise turned to shock when Peter erupted from beneath the prone body of Beckman, and to disbelief as they saw him gun down one of their comrades.
“Get him!” Corbett shouted. In unison, four MP5 machine guns were snapped to the guard’s shoulders. But just as they took aim, a new sound exploded through the cacophony of shouted orders and gunshots in the control room. It was the sound of gunfire, but deeper and louder than the crack of pistol ammunition.
BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!
Four rapid, successive reports, and three of the four guards on the catwalk were hit. Corbett dropped to the decking. The fourth guard spun around and immediately opened fire in the direction opposite from Peter. The deep report reverberated again and the chatter from the MP5 ceased.
It was the break Peter needed, and he didn’t hesitate.
s
While Corbett and his guards had been preoccupied with trying to take down Peter, Danya had approached an entry door on the far side of the structure. Without a key card, she wasn’t going to gain access unless she used the shotgun to breach the door, shooting out the latch mechanism with buckshot. Crude, but effective. Also, very noisy. Anyone nearby would hear the shot and she’d lose the element of surprise.
As she was contemplating an alternative plan, a technician exited the door. He halted abruptly, startled to see Danya. With both hands she raised the shotgun and rammed the receiver across the bridge of his nose. He took a half step back, blood and mucous flowing from his nostrils even as his nose turned unnatural shades of yellow and purple.
Danya raised her leg and viciously kicked him in the groin. As he bent over, she slammed the butt of her weapon into the back of his head. He collapsed forward, unconscious but still alive.
Without wasting more time, she grabbed his key card and opened the door. Once inside, motion on the overhead catwalk caught her attention. And then there was gunfire. She couldn’t see who it was they were shooting at on the far side of the control center, but she had to assume it was Peter. Sliding through the shadows, working her way to a defensible position, she spotted a large barrel and rolls of fabric next to a molded drone airframe resting on a large table. Adjacent to the table, a sturdy steel bin appeared to contain scrap of some type; she couldn’t be sure in the dim light. She moved closer. It was a workstation for fabricating fiberglass and carbon fiber panels, parts for the helicopter drone.
She checked the barrel. A label indicated it was epoxy resin. She grabbed the lip of the barrel and tried to move it. No joy, it wouldn’t budge. And the top was clean, with no spilled resin, so she judged it to be full. This will make a good barrier, she thought.
From behind the barrel, she shouldered the FN tactical shotgun and fired round after round, the semi-automatic action functioning smoothly, flawlessly. Four gunmen on the catwalk, all dressed in sky-blue jumpsuits, went down. A fifth spun around and returned fire. Bullets punched into the barrel but the thick, viscous resin worked exactly as Danya had hoped, trapping the 9mm bullets.
She sharpened her aim and fired again. The cluster of 00 buckshot spread to a pattern a foot in diameter and then hammered the gunman. He dropped his MP5 submachine gun and stumbled backwards. His hand felt for the grip of his holstered pistol, but Danya fired again. The shot was slightly higher, and lead pellets found the man’s head, killing him.
The other four guards had started to rise, and Danya saw that some had wounds to their legs, but none displayed blood on their torsos. The sudden realization they were wearing body armor forced her to change her tactics. Still loaded with buckshot, and unable to take time to reload, she emptied the last shells into their legs. Agonizing screams and falling bodies were ample evidence her aim was true.
The shotgun magazine was empty now.
The pause in gunfire was the signal Corbett had been waiting for. Not suffering any wounds, he raised himself and dashed off the catwalk and into the security room, where he disappeared from sight.
s
Rolling out from under Beckman, Peter dived for the partially open door. He grunted as his shoulder clipped the doorframe, and then rolled to a stop on the grass. Quickly, he grabbed Gedde’s feet and yanked him out of the opening, allowing the door to close, muting the sound of gunfire from within. Unable to secure the door, he knew others would follow. But at least they couldn’t look through the opening and see which direction he’d gone.
Diesel padded over and began licking his face. “Yes, I’m happy to see you too,” Peter said as he rubbed the dog’s head and neck.
Expecting more guards to come pouring out at any moment, Peter rose to his feet, aiming the SIG Sauer at the door. “Time to go, boy,” he said, glancing at Diesel.