SKOPJE, NORTH MACEDONIA
As soon as Helen told him Milan Velkoski was down, Donovan quickened his steps in the direction of the courtyard. He knew Helen wouldn’t be able to simply walk by and continue to the closest of the three emergency vehicles they had positioned nearby.
For better or worse, she was not that type of person.
The last couple of weeks he and Helen had spent together had been quite intense, and, if he was honest, much more dangerous than he had anticipated. He was starting to know her better now. Definitely not enough to finish her sentences and predict her next move the way he’d been able to with his Force Recon teammates, but he felt he and Helen were slowly earning each other’s trust. That was why he was still irritated by how fast she’d simply brushed him away when he had suggested postponing the meeting. Maybe she didn’t trust him as much as he trusted her. They’d have to talk about that at the debrief.
Donovan glanced casually around, his gaze constantly moving as he continued toward the courtyard at a hurried pace. The early afternoon sun radiated down and warmed the back of his neck. Residents and tourists pulled out their wallets to make purchases at bookstores, cafés, and bakeries. The shops weren’t upscale, but the people seemed happy, and many were smiling. It was business as usual.
The calm before the storm.
Donovan could feel it. The shit was about to hit the fan. Hard.
Helen’s voice came in through his earpiece.
“Velkoski’s been shot,” she said, “but he’s still breathing.”
Donovan was still one hundred yards away from the courtyard when the first shot rang out. While most people who heard the shot froze in place, wondering what had just happened, to Donovan the gunshot had the same effect as if he had been a one-hundred-meter Olympic sprinter at the start line. He pulled his Glock 29 from its holster, not bothering with the suppressor, and raced toward the courtyard. By the time the crowd realized that the gunshots weren’t firecrackers, Donovan had already traveled a quarter of the distance.
Since he hadn’t heard the shot that had downed the UR Real News editor, it meant there was more than one group operating with guns in the area. Differentiating between the bad guys and the good guys was going to be a challenge.
Or maybe they’re all bad guys.
“I’m on my way, Helen,” he said. “Talk to me. Keep the comms open.”
Coming from somewhere west of his position, several bursts of automatic fire split the air, but Donovan kept running, listening to her as she questioned Milan Velkoski. From Samardziska, Donovan turned left onto Bozhidar Adzija.
Fifty yards to his right, in the square between the Old Bazaar hotel and the south side of the Arasta Mosque, two North Macedonian police officers were exchanging fire with an unknown number of shooters too far west for Donovan to see. All around him, scared shoppers were trying to hide wherever they could, giving Donovan concerned looks as he raced past.
Bursts of automatic fire mixed with single gunshots continued to push people in Donovan’s direction. He did his best to dodge them as they zoomed past in the opposite direction. Sudden, panicked shouts behind him had Donovan glancing to his rear. Twenty yards behind him, coming out of Samardziska, a bald man stopped running and brought a black pistol up, taking aim at Donovan.
Donovan threw himself to his left behind a newspaper stand as two gunshots cracked in the tight confines of the pedestrian street. A young man fell holding his chest, his mouth agape in surprise. Donovan aimed his pistol in the shooter’s direction, but the man had disappeared.
Shit.
Just as he was about to resume his sprint, the bald man reappeared from behind an alcove. Donovan, who had his pistol aimed that way, squeezed two shots, but the man had already ducked back behind cover. Donovan didn’t waste one more second. As soon as he realized the bald man had retreated, he dashed across the street, effectively restricting the shooter’s angle, and ran as fast as he could toward the courtyard, doing his best to keep his weapon out of sight. The last thing he needed was to be fired upon by scared police officers who misidentified him as a threat to their safety.
The firefight on his right suddenly grew in intensity, with multiple shooters using automatic weapons. Donovan looked behind him to see if the bald man had given chase. He hadn’t, but what happened next caused Donovan to pause. A police officer, flanked by two men dressed in civilian clothes, who Donovan presumed were also police officers, rushed out from Opincharska—a small street just south and west of Samardziska—and ran to where Donovan had last seen the bald man. Surprising Donovan, and catching the three officers completely off guard, the bald man left the cover of the alcove in a rolling dive that carried him into the street. He leveled his pistol and fired three rounds in quick succession, downing the three officers. The bald man fired a fourth shot into one of the fallen cops, then scanned his surroundings. He briefly locked eyes with Donovan, then leaped back to his feet and sprinted out of Donovan’s sight and toward the firefight.
What the hell?
“Donovan, armed men—” Helen started. And then nothing.
But it didn’t matter. He was almost at the courtyard. Five more yards.
Donovan sprinted into the courtyard, leading with his pistol. He spotted Helen at the other end. She was standing next to a tall man wearing a black leather jacket and a dark blue baseball cap, as if she was giving him a hug.
At their feet lay a man. Milan Velkoski.
Tall man. Black leather jacket. Blue baseball cap.
It took Donovan’s brain half a second to put two and two together. Shit!
The world around him suddenly seemed to move in slow motion, and Donovan experienced a moment of paralytic disbelief as he watched Helen’s legs give way beneath her.
No!
Donovan rushed forward, his pistol up, not caring if a police officer or another shooter saw him. Helen started to fall, and Donovan had to stop to align his shot, not confident of hitting his target while running at full speed. With Helen close by, and scared pedestrians in the background, Donovan couldn’t afford a stray round.