Zeb and Burke crawled swiftly to the side of the yard where there was cover, provided by stacks of pallets and the body of a crane. The firefight raged on behind them with very few rounds coming their way.
‘I’m okay,’ Burke panted, when she felt Zeb’s searching glance. Her knuckles were white as she gripped a railing on the crane and peered cautiously around at the firefight that was raging heavily.
‘Sarah? Zeb, have you seen Sarah?’ Broker’s urgent voice came through his earpiece.
‘She’s unharmed. Scratched,’ Zeb replied when he spotted the trickle of blood on her forehead. ‘Not by a round.’
‘What about you?’
Zeb didn’t get time to reply. A head peeped around a truck about thirty feet away, and a rifle barrel started rising in their direction. Zeb slammed Burke to the ground and fired instinctively. His round pinged off the side of the truck and the head and the weapon disappeared.
‘Bwana, Roger, we need cover.’
‘Dang it, I am providing cover,’ the Texan replied in an injured tone. ‘That critter got away from me somehow. There’s a safe channel behind that truck and past more crates. No hostiles there. They’re all pinned down in the yard. That route will lead you to the entrance where agents are waiting.’
Zeb peered behind them; there was what looked like a route that snaked through equipment and disappeared in the dark where the floodlights didn’t reach. They would have to climb over dense coils of plastic sheets and for a second or so, they would be exposed to the yard. Their legs and lower parts of their bodies would be vulnerable as they ran behind the crane.
It’s not like we have any other option. The hoods will come to the truck, seeking cover, and will spot us. We’ll be outnumbered.
‘On the count of three,’ he breathed.
‘One,’ he grabbed Burke’s arm and brought her to his left.
‘Two,’ he silently requested Burke’s Glock and holstered it under his left shoulder.
‘Three!’
They ran, the volume of firing increasing dramatically, as he blindly aimed his Glock at the yard, squeezing, and just before they reached the coils, he switched handguns in a move untrained eyes would be astonished at.
Burke’s left foot on one coil. His hand under her butt, shoving her up, his body covering her, his gun tracking his eyes, his mind assessing danger, looking at the yard from a different angle, subconsciously counting rounds.
Bodies in the yard. Some law enforcement officers. Many hoods. More than the seven that had turned up, initially. Most of the fighting was by gangsters behind whatever cover they had.
A tall shadow flickered past the mouth of the warehouse, clearly visible under the lights, easily evading the seeking bullets.
Is that Zho? Zeb didn’t get time to answer his own question when a few bullets sang over their heads and hastened their run.
Burke landed on the other side; he followed, shoved her forward, the two of them bending low, covering distance swiftly.
‘Over here,’ a voice called out urgently.
Zeb’s Glock snapped up and lowered fractionally when he saw FBI, stenciled on the man’s jacket. Burke went into a bunch of officers and the last he heard from her was her question, ‘Kowalski?’ and a sigh of relief when someone answered, ‘He’s fine.’
Zeb left the group of law enforcement officers before anyone could question his presence, wove behind parked vehicles and ran down the approach street, in the direction the courier truck was pointing.
The truck was empty, a few bodies still lying near it. The FBI and the cops had been taken by surprise, but superior training and numbers had won and all that was left was the cleanup.
‘Cleanup in progress,’ Meghan confirmed. ‘Sitrep?’
‘I’ll be packing up and disappearing as soon as I get the all clear,’ Bwana replied, and Roger echoed him. They would leave as quietly as they came and Zeb would plead ignorance if anyone questioned him about the mysterious shooters on rooftops.
‘Zeb?’
‘I’m going to the back.’ He turned a corner, the layout of the warehouse imprinted on his mind. One more side to go, before the rear came up.
The rear had an exit.
‘ZEB, DON’T ENGAGE. DON’T ENTER,’ Meghan shouted in his ear, making him wince.
‘Bwana, watch the rear,’ he spoke over her yell.
‘Watch for what?…Well, I’ll be. Our ghost just stepped out. He looked in my direction as if he knows I’m here. Want me to take him out? I can plink him.’
‘No. Is he alone?’
‘Yeah. Walking as if it's a midnight stroll. Hold on. He’s…moving faster now-’ Bwana paused. ‘He’s entered another unit, fifteen doors from the warehouse. Other end of the street. Brown structure. White windows. I’ve lost him.’
Zeb turned the corner and could see the empty street and for a moment wondered why the FBI or the cops hadn’t covered it. The ambush sucked most of them away. Probably a couple of vehicles at the end of the street, but too far to take any action.
He crossed the street, and walked swiftly, ready, not wishing to draw friendly fire. He reached the rear of the warehouse and halted when an idea struck him.
The rear had giant sliding doors that were now shut. He cast his eyes around on the ground, seeking anything that could be of help.
A dark smudge on the sidewalk, caught his attention. It turned out to be a long strip of rubber, part of a tire. The remainder of the tire was propped up against a rusted hydrant.
‘What the heck are you doing?’ Bwana queried in surprise.
‘What’s he doing?’ Beth and Meghan called out angrily.
Zeb didn’t reply. He went to the sliding doors, cut the tire into smaller pieces and jammed them against the rollers. He tried the doors; they held.
‘Tell Burke rear escape is disabled. Temporarily. Ask her to send bodies to cover this street.’
‘I plinked a couple who were trying to escape,’ Bwana added helpfully. ‘They were sitting targets. I could’ve shot with my eyes shut. No one tried, after that. Except this dude, Zho.’ There was no trace of modesty in Bwana’s voice. It wasn’t his strong suit.
Zeb counted the doors and reached the one Bwana had indicated. It seemed to be another industrial unit, silent and dark in the night, unconcerned about the firefight in the warehouse, opposite.
Zeb walked the length of the street and ducked behind a vehicle when he saw movement in a cruiser.
Cops have that end covered. There could be a rear exit in that building from which Zho could escape. Only one way to find out.
He reloaded his Glock and went back to the door. A second to ready himself, another to jerk it open and dart inside and roll away.
Dark. That was his first impression. Empty, was his second. Smells of machinery and oil.
He strained his ears to hear any movement, his eyes as wide as they could go, his body as low as it could get.
Nothing registered. He’s like me. He can control his body and turn off his presence.
A faint sound came from somewhere ahead of him. It felt like the brush of fabric against something.
That has to be deliberate.
‘Gun’s aren’t necessary.’ The voice was soft, but sounded loud in the quiet night. It spoke in Mandarin.
He knows about me. Knows I speak the language. Wants me to know that he knows.
A light came on and illuminated the center of the room Zeb was in. It had several machines that he didn’t recognize, organized in neat lines, chairs behind each of them.
Beneath the light was an open space, about fifteen feet by twenty. The floor was concrete, its surface scuffed by markings, human and machine made.
Zeb looked around the cone of light and still didn’t spot Zho, till he was suddenly there, as if by magic.
He was dressed in loose grey track suit trousers and a thin white T-shirt. His hands were empty, his eyes were dark hollows.
‘No guns,’ he repeated and Zeb understood what he meant.
Only one of them would step out alive.