A shotgun blast to Ryker’s left – Pettersen. Then another to his right from Sonja. A flash of fire erupted with each shot, lighting up the space in front of him in strobe for a fraction of a second each time.
Then blackness. Shouting, screaming. Thuds. Cracks.
Carnage.
Ryker stepped back. Air whirled around him. A cry of pain nearby. He swiveled left, then right. Reached out, thinking someone was right by him. Thin air. Where was Berg?
Thud.
Someone on the floor right next to him.
Then another shout of pain a little further away. Ryker moved that way. Why? Why not keep going back until he hit something solid? The wall?
Because he wasn’t there to cower. He was there to help.
Something or someone brushed against his side. He spun, reached out… Nothing.
Another blast of a shotgun. Another flash as the room lit up momentarily. People… Bodies.
Darkness once more.
A blood-curdling cry.
Thudding.
‘Get the lights!’ Ryker shouted out. ‘Pettersen, get the damn lights back on.’
Before we’re all dead, he thought, but didn’t add.
A few seconds later…
The lights flicked back on, just as a blur of movement raced right in front of Ryker. Andrey, the little bulldog. Ryker bent at his knees, pushed his weight to his toes, ready to move.
Click.
The lights went off again.
Andrey smashed into Ryker. They ended up on the deck. Ryker could see nothing but felt and heard Andrey. Breathing. Snarling. Ryker took a blow to the side. Used his fists and his elbows to try and retaliate and try to find the space to get the man off him.
A blow to Ryker’s face burst his lip open and he swallowed blood. He heaved and groaned and lifted Andrey and slid out from underneath. He winced when a shock of pain pulsed across his chest. A slash from a knife?
Click.
The lights were on again. Blaring. Ryker squinted, trying to get his focus. He and Andrey were both on their feet. Andrey rushed forward again. The edge of the knife swung for Ryker’s throat. He craned his neck back. The blade nicked him. He grabbed Andrey’s forearm, used the natural momentum of the deflected blow, pivoted the arm at the elbow, and pushed hard and fast… He heard – felt – a suck and squelch and Andrey inhaled sharply as the blade sank into his neck, just below his ear. Three, four inches of metal disappeared.
Ryker let go. Andrey, eyes bulging, dropped to his knees as he clutched the knife handle with both hands. He yanked it out and a spurt of blood erupted.
He collapsed to the ground.
Ryker went to grab for the discarded weapon but found himself momentarily distracted, looking around.
Bodies and blood everywhere. Pettersen remained standing. Gun in hand, backed up in a corner by the light switches. Erling was down, badly injured, blood all over him, but breathing. Sonja was down and wouldn’t ever get up given the blood-spilling hole in her neck. Berg… Where the hell was Berg?
Sychev remained in place. Henrik was there, too, on his feet, Sychev behind him, knife to his throat.
No Berg. No Konstantin. Konstantin, who Ryker was sure was responsible for the majority of the carnage he saw.
Ryker glanced to Pettersen.
‘You loaded?’ he asked her.
She shook her head. Couldn’t she have lied?
The other shotgun remained in Sonja’s death grip.
‘Let Henrik go,’ Ryker said, taking a step toward Sychev who shook his head.
‘Move again and I’ll slit his throat.’
‘No. You won’t,’ Ryker said, defying the order.
Sychev stepped back, dragging Henrik with him. Ryker saw, out of the corner of his eye, Pettersen moving too.
‘Jesper’s your boss, isn’t he?’ Ryker said, putting the pieces together.
No answer.
‘I bet he didn’t know he had a son here, in Blodstein.’
‘No closer. I’m serious.’
‘You’re going to slit the throat of your boss’s son? I’ve never met Jesper, but given the types who work for him, I’m imagining he might not like it if his son gets hurt.’
‘Hey.’
The voice came from behind Ryker. He twisted.
Coming in through the open door… Berg, knife at his neck. Konstantin held the blade.
‘He tried to run,’ Konstantin said.
Ryker was sure he saw Pettersen roll her eyes. Konstantin pushed Berg forward, moving further into the room. Pettersen shifted around them, giving them a wide berth, herself edging back closer to the door now, to block it.
‘So what now, smart guy?’ Sychev said to Ryker.
‘Let Henrik go. Whatever is happening here, you don’t have to hurt him.’
‘I’m sorry, but you see, the problem is, no one outside of this room even knows who this boy is.’
Ryker hadn’t thought of it like that.
‘Jesper doesn’t know he has a son,’ Sychev said. Confident, but angry too. Angry at Berg, Pettersen, Ryker, all of them. He wanted to punish them. ‘If all of you die here tonight, Jesper doesn’t ever have to know.’
Was he bluffing?
‘Ryker, now!’ Pettersen shouted.
Click. Darkness again. Not the greatest plan, but Ryker took the opportunity. He darted forward. Collided with a body. Too hefty to be Henrik. They collapsed to the ground. Ryker grabbed the head and smashed it into the concrete. Did it again.
A shout of pain, from behind him, before the lights came back on.
Beneath Ryker, Sychev’s body was limp. Still breathing, but he wasn’t getting up in a hurry. Ryker jumped up. Spun around. Berg, on the floor across the other side, held his hands to a bloody wound in his gut.
Henrik was on the floor next to Ryker, grimacing as he tried to prop himself up. Pettersen was by the door, hunched over, shotgun on the floor, clutching at her arm. Knife wound?
‘I’m fine,’ she said. ‘He went out.’
Konstantin. Ryker wouldn’t let him get away. Not after what he’d done.
Ryker went to take a step forward.
‘Aaaahhh!’
He jumped back around.
Henrik dove forward, on top of Sychev, his bound hands clutching the handle of the knife which he plunged into Sychev’s chest. He pulled it out and stabbed again.
Ryker was lost for a moment. He hadn’t expected that… viciousness. Anger, hatred, and violence in Henrik’s eyes…
‘Don’t let him get away,’ Henrik said to Ryker, his words an angry sneer.
Ryker said nothing. He glanced once at Sychev’s corpse, then rushed for the door.
Berg was in a bad way, but still alive. Did Ryker trust Henrik in the same room as the man who’d kidnapped him?
No.
‘Watch Henrik,’ Ryker said to Pettersen.
He noticed the slash on the sleeve of her coat. Long, probably a deep cut given the pain she was clearly in, but she wasn’t in serious trouble. Could she stop Henrik if he went to attack Berg?
Ryker pushed the thought away.
He rushed outside then stopped. Darkness. He waited for a couple of seconds to let his eyes adjust. Not as dark as the warehouse had been. To his left, the lights remained on in the forecourt, and the moon was visible through the thin clouds in the night sky. Ryker scanned. He saw no movement by the parked cars. All five remained in place. But he spotted three bodies there. The guys from Berg’s crew who were supposed to have kept watch. Not their fault. They hadn’t been ready for someone like Konstantin.
The faintest of noises from behind Ryker.
He spun. Nothing he could see. He edged forward. Forklift truck. A sea crate. Wooden pallets.
A flash of movement. Between two piles of pallets.
Ryker stopped and listened and watched.
Engine noise behind him now. He glanced. Two headlights pointed his way, from the other side of the security fence. What the hell? Someone joining the party?
Noise again.
Ryker spun. Saw the outline of the figure five yards in front.
He wasn’t expecting the flying dagger. Ryker winced as the blade thudded into his thigh. He shouted with equal anger and pain as he yanked the knife out.
There he was, rushing forward.
‘Now I have your knife,’ Ryker said, ready to tackle the onrushing beast. Except at the last second the shape shifted across and disappeared into the blackness.
An illusion? Ryker was sure Konstantin had been rushing toward him.
He spun left, right. No Konstantin. He looked behind him. No headlights now either. Where had they gone? Whoever they were…
He moved forward, further away from the light. Further toward the gentle lapping of water – the only sound he could make out above his own breathing, and the slap of blood on concrete as the liquid dripped off the end of the knife.
Ryker moved between two piles of pallets. A corridor, several yards long. He reached the end. The edge of the dock gave way to water.
A rush of air behind him. Or so he’d thought. But when Ryker spun he could see nothing there.
Just the wind? He carefully retraced his steps toward the factory. Reached the end of the pallets again.
Behind him. This time he was certain. He spun around. Except Konstantin wasn’t on the ground, but flying through the air, off the top of the pallets. He clattered into Ryker. They both tumbled. Ryker had the focus to swipe with the knife as they fell and he caught the Russian on his side. Enough to knock the guy’s focus, and cause them to land on the ground apart from each other.
They were soon both back to their feet, but even despite the blow, the Russian was quicker than Ryker. He stooped low and slashed with another knife that caught Ryker on his lower leg.
Ryker turned. Where had he gone?
Another stab of pain on the back of his other leg. Ryker had to fight to stay on his feet. He turned the other way. Nothing. Konstantin was everywhere and nowhere. A scrape across Ryker’s back this time and he imagined the skin and flesh parting. He reeled forward in shock, his body tense as pain shot through him.
Finally, he saw him. Knife twisting forward. Ryker only partly deflected the blow. The blade scraped his arm but he concentrated on getting his man once and for all. He drove forward and plunged the knife into Konstantin’s side. Took the Russian by the throat. Plunged the knife again and they collapsed to the floor, Ryker on top.
He straddled the stricken man. Ryker trusted his aim. The damage he’d caused to Konstantin’s kidneys… Survival was unlikely. But he wasn’t dead yet. With his face cast in the light coming from the open factory door, Ryker saw no defeat in his eyes. He still looked calm, in control.
Doubt flashed in Ryker’s mind…
Boom.
He jumped in shock. Not just at the noise but at the spatter that covered his face. He wiped his eyes. His mouth. Blood and sinew and brain and bone. He looked down at the mess which a second ago had been Konstantin’s head.
‘Get up,’ came the call from his right.
Ryker looked over. Wold, shotgun in hand.
‘Drop the knife, then get off him, or you’ll end up just the same.’
Ryker did as he was told.
His body ached. The wounds he’d taken throbbed and smarted. He was losing blood too, light-headedness worsening with each beat of his heart.
‘I knew you were bad news,’ Wold said, stepping toward Ryker.
‘No, don’t.’
Pettersen. Still clutching her arm, she stumbled out of the factory. Wold glanced at her but didn’t move the gun from Ryker.
‘Please,’ she said. ‘He’s not one of them.’
But Wold was one of them. In bed with Berg.
‘Where’s Sigurd?’ Wold asked, looking at Ryker.
‘Sigurd’s dead,’ Pettersen said.
Ryker slumped a little.
‘They’re all dead,’ Pettersen said. ‘Except for us, and Henrik.’
On cue, Henrik stepped out at Pettersen’s side. No knife now, his hands were unbound and by his sides. Had Berg succumbed to his injuries or had Henrik finished him off too?
‘It’s done here, Wold,’ Ryker said. ‘Whatever hold Berg had over you, it’s finished now.’
Wold’s eyes narrowed – anger. Clearly, he didn’t like Ryker’s insinuation of his corruption, but the fact he didn’t try to argue against it suggested Ryker was spot on.
‘He’s right,’ Pettersen said. ‘It’s okay now. Everything’s going to be okay.’
Wold looked like he really didn’t believe that at all, but after a few seconds of tense standoff, he finally lowered the gun as Ryker collapsed to his knees.