SIXTY-FOUR
Court fired once at the man with his pistol pointed at Dittenhofer’s face, striking him squarely in the base of his skull. The operator dropped his weapon as he pitched forward, landing next to where Annika had crawled up to her knees.
Court had already shifted his aim to the leader of the team, but Annika was just beyond him so he didn’t take the shot.
Hightower, on the other hand, opened up with fully automatic fire on the four men above on the catwalk, sending one of them tumbling backwards over the side.
The other men returned fire on the muzzle flashes in the dark, and dust and debris kicked up on the ground around the stairwell.
Court shifted fire to the catwalk, as well, but he only managed to squeeze off one ineffective round before his footing became unsteady. Bolts on Zack’s side of the stairs broke apart under the combined forces of the weight of the men, their movement, and the vibrations of the gunfire, and the entire rusted iron structure dropped a foot down on the right-hand side. Court fell into Zack, and Zack slammed against the railing.
They didn’t fall over and the stairs didn’t give out completely, but if they wanted to continue to engage the men on the factory floor they’d have to climb out, exposing themselves.
Court said, “Going for the package!”
“Move!” Zack shouted, and Court pushed off his former team leader, climbed the last couple of steps up, flipped on his light, and sprayed automatic fire above Annika Dittenhofer’s head towards movement along the wall where men had been retreating to cover. He raced forward, as low as he could, and by now Zack was out of the stairs and prone on the debris-strewn floor, sending enough rounds towards the men on the catwalk to hopefully keep them on the defensive and scattering to cover, as well.
Return gunfire had begun by the time Court got to Annika, who, to her credit, had already begun running over the rubble on the floor in his direction. He took her by the hand and pulled her back towards the stairwell as Zack’s weapon ran empty, and they passed him on the floor right as he pulled his pistol and used it to keep up the suppressive fire.
Zack had long told Court that if you can’t make hits, then you can at least make noise, and that appeared to be his philosophy as Court rushed past with the woman.
Annika stumbled right before Court made it to a low broken wall made out of cinder blocks not far from the stairwell out of the basement, and when he pulled her upright again he could feel her limping with each step on her right leg. He got her around the three-foot-high wall and pushed her down onto the rubble on the other side, and then he spun around and began dumping a magazine across the floor, giving Zack the opportunity to get off the ground and bound back to Court’s position.
Zack ran towards his fellow Poison Apple asset’s gunfire, which was safer than running towards enemy fire, but not by much. He leapt the cinder-block wall and then slipped on an old dust-covered tarp when he landed on the other side. He came crashing down in a heap next to the German woman just as Court expended the last of his mag.
Both Americans huddled low behind the wall as incoming fire sprayed in their direction.
Zack was closer to Annika than Court, but Court knew she had stumbled as they ran. “Check her for holes,” he instructed, and Zack crawled to her, slicing his forearms on broken stone as he did so. With a flashlight in his mouth he felt all over her, then crawled back to Court.
“GSW, right calf. Not a big deal, we’ll all have a lot more than that to worry about if these assholes regroup and come at us.”
Court said, “I only saw one muzzle flash. Left wall. Our ten o’clock. Through a doorway.”
“Affirm,” said Zack. “I saw one go into that door, two more take the catwalk up to a door on the second floor, right side. Our eleven hundred high.”
“That’s three. Should be four.”
Zack thought it over. “You popped one and I popped one. You’re right.”
“Where’s the other fucker?”
“Probably flanking our asses.”
“That’s what I’d do.”
Zack said, “Let’s separate. I go right, head for that iron vertical beam, ’bout thirty feet away. I’ll watch our six for flankers. You keep Eva Braun right here and stay low, but keep up the fire.”
Court checked his load out. He had one more UMP magazine, and his HK pistol with two mags. Zack did the same, and found that he had half a mag in his subgun and one pistol mag left.
“Take my UMP,” Court said, and he handed it to Zack, who in turn handed Court his last pistol mag.
Court looked at it. “Steyr? I’m carrying an HK.”
“Strip it for rounds if you need to. You’re the dumbass that wanted to hit this on the light side.”
Zack climbed up to a crouch, fired a short burst over the wall, then took off to the right. Court held his VP9 over the wall and fired a half- dozen rounds.
He couldn’t see if Zack made it; cloud cover had all but blacked out the light on the factory floor, so he called out to him.
“You good?”
“I’m here!” The men were speaking louder than necessary, a result of all the gunfire.
A voice shouted out from the darkened room off the factory floor some thirty yards away, surprising Court. “Hey! Hey! Are you motherfuckers American?”
Court did not respond, but after a few seconds Zack shouted back. “Who’s asking?”
There was a long pause, and then the same voice said, “Who are you working for?”
Zack replied again. “America, dipshit. Who are you working for?”
“America, too.”
Zack said, “Tell you what. You boys drop your weapons, thread your fingers behind your heads, and walk backwards towards us, one at a time. You do that, and we can all hang out and talk about apple pie and Ford trucks.”
The voice from the other side said, “I’m a GM guy myself. And I’m on the job, otherwise we could party all night.”
Court spoke for the first time. “Whatever job you’re on, it’s going to get you killed.”
“There’s five of us and two of you.”
Court only knew of four. He looked over to Zack and could just barely make out his partner’s silhouette, happy to see he was sweeping his rifle behind him, watching out for anyone flanking through the doors on the west side of the factory.
He said, “There used to be eight of you.”
“Seven.”
Court thought about what he’d seen of these men in action. He was playing a strong hunch when he said, “I bet that shithead I killed in Caracas would be pissed to know his TL had forgotten about him a week later.”
Now there was a longer pause than before. “So . . . you’re Gentry? The fucker from Caracas that killed Ronnie?”
“I didn’t catch his name,” Court replied.
The German woman remained huddled next to Court, pressed low below the cinder blocks, but she said, “Why are you making him angrier?”
Court whispered, “We can’t attack them, there are too many. We can only defend. But we’ve got to get you out of here. I’m either going to scare him off or make him attack us.”
“You want five men with guns attacking us?”
“No, I want to be home on the couch watching TV, but I’m working with the situation in front of me.”
Court quickly fumbled in a pocket and retrieved his phone, then placed a call to Zack. They both had earpieces in, so he knew Zack would hear the call. The two men were only thirty feet apart, but Court wanted to communicate covertly.
Court came up to a low crouch. Still whispering, he said, “We’ve got to get her out of here. Any ideas?”
Zack didn’t sound very confident. “You can go for the doorway behind you. Twenty meters of open ground. I’ll cover you till I run dry, but I’ve got known threats on two compass points, one of which has the high ground, and I have two missing enemy.”
The man who had been shouting out before now said, “Look. We’ve got CIA backing for what we’re doing here.”
Zack snapped back, “Yeah? I’m thinking you don’t!”
Before the man could reply, Court shouted out now. “I know you’re working for Emirati intelligence. Trust me, they do not have CIA backing for what’s going on here right now.”
“Dude, my work in Yemen was cleared by the Agency. You can’t tell me it wasn’t.”
Zack shouted, “Look around, genius! Is this Yemen?”
Court spoke to Zack softly through his earpiece. “This guy is not going to listen to reason.”
Zack said, “Shoot him a couple times in the cranial vault, I bet he’ll come around.”
The shouting from the dark continued. “We are a private military corporation working under contract for an entity that has CIA approval for its actions. That’s all I need to know.”
Zack came back over the earpiece. “Jesus, Six. This op has it all, doesn’t it? Assassins, mercs, spooks, terrorists. Shit, I should have stayed in jail.”
Court yelled back across the factory floor. “Listen very carefully to me, man. You are working for the SIA. The SIA is here in Berlin to set up an attack on—”
Gunfire from the far side of the floor interrupted Court’s words and put an end to any possibility of negotiations. Stone chipped the cinder block in front of him, and he shoved the German woman down hard into the dust.
More rounds rained in from the second level now, and Court recognized this for what it was. This was assault by fire. He felt certain some of the men would be advancing right now, using the cover of their teammate’s continuous gunfire.
Zack shouted over the phone. “Here they come! I’ll suppress high ground!”
His UMP began barking, and Court knew his partner would be firing at the men in the room upstairs.
This left Court with the responsibility of covering the factory floor with his handgun. Not wanting to stick his head over the wall that was now being targeted with gunfire, he pulled his handheld flashlight and turned it on, then placed it on the three-foot-high wall, facing the open room. Then he rolled to his right, over garbage and decades of dust, and came out past the end of the low structure. He saw a muzzle flash in the same doorway as before, and then, in the flashlight’s beam, he saw a man running forward, his weapon at his shoulder.
Court shot him in the legs, sending him tumbling into the debris on the floor, then shot him in the abdomen when he tried to get up.
He kept up the fire on the one doorway where he saw muzzle flashes, praying he had enough ammo to stay in the fight, that the men upstairs were being dealt with by Zack, and that the missing operator wasn’t sneaking up behind him right now.
A round hit the flashlight, spinning it away across the room and then quickly extinguishing it.
The slide of Court’s pistol locked open on an empty chamber. He dropped the magazine and slammed his last mag into position, then released the slide and fired a pair of rounds.
To Court’s right a rifle with a weapon light glowing from under its barrel tumbled from the second-story landing and crashed onto the floor, and the light clicked off. Court took this to mean Zack was getting shit done in his sector of fire, too.
Zack called to Court now. “I dropped both targets upstairs that I know about.”
“I got one down here. Another is still in the room at ten o’clock. But we’re still missing one or two. How are you on ammo?”
“Winchester on the UMP.” Zack was telling Court his submachine gun was empty. “Five in my Steyr.”
Just then, the American mercenary’s voice echoed across the factory. “You must be running out of ammo by now.”
Court shouted back, “Not as fast as you’re running out of dudes. You might want to do a quick head count.”
There was no response to this. The massive room fell deathly quiet as, Court assumed, the man attempted to establish comms with members of his team.
The stillness continued for nearly a minute, with Court and Zack both spending the time scanning the darkness all around for threats. Finally, they heard an engine turn over and rev up outside the windows. Tires peeled out on rubble, and the engine faded away.
“Guess they weren’t having fun,” Zack said.
Court and Zack reconverged behind the wall. Court said, “We don’t know if everybody hit the road or not. Keep your eyes open.”
“Don’t worry about me, I’m not reholstering this sidearm till I’m back in Virginia.”
Court pulled Annika to her feet. “Can you walk?”
“I . . . I think so. Who are you?”
“Well, we’re not about to shoot you in the head like those guys were, so I guess you could call us friends.”
She was in a state of shock, but she managed to mutter, “Thank you.”
Court moved her along towards the east side entrance of the factory floor, to a darkened doorway there. Zack hit it with his flashlight, but there was no movement, and they’d heard no noise, so they passed into a hallway.
As soon as they did so, all three of them stopped and Annika cried out in surprise.
A man sat on the hallway floor; an AR-15 rifle was slung around his neck, and his back was against the wall. Zack shined the light directly on him while Court trained his pistol, but it was soon obvious the man was dead. His throat had been slit, and his shirt and pants were covered in dark blood. He was a member of the mercenary team, that was clear, and it was also clear he’d flanked Court, Zack, and their prisoner, and had only to pass through the doorway to be in a position to kill them all from behind.
But what was not clear was what the hell happened to him.
A voice in the dark soon rectified this.
“Hey, boys.”
Zack shot his light up the hall to his left while Court tracked the beam with his HK. There, Zoya Zakharova stood in jeans and a dark tunic, a pistol in one hand and a long knife in the other.
Before either man could speak, she said, “I don’t want to tell you two studs how to do your jobs, but you might want to cover your ass next time. I’m not always gonna be there for you.”
Court had lowered his pistol, and for a moment he just stood there in silence. Then he said, “What are you doing here?”
“I put a tracker in Yanis’s laptop case two weeks ago. Got back in town this evening and checked it. Came here, hoping to find this one.” She motioned to Annika. Then she looked at Court. “And where there’s trouble, as usual, I run into you.”
“Why are you back in Berlin?”
She shrugged at this. “Apparently to save your life.”
“You’re Zakharova,” Dittenhofer said. “The Russian. You work for Americans?”
“Why not? You’re German and you work for Middle Eastern terrorists.”
“That is a lie!”
The sound of police sirens rolled in from over the lake.
Zack said, “Kraut po-po is en route. Think we can pick up this chat again back at the safe house?”
To Zoya, Court said, “Our wheels are a half mile away. Tell me you’ve got something closer.”
“My car is next to the lake.”
Court grabbed Dittenhofer by the arm, and all four of them headed for the exit.
They made it outside into a parking lot near the river, all three of the Poison Apple assets scanning the walls and windows and open ground for threats. Zoya had a four-door Fiat parked next to the low building in the deepest shadows, and they ran over to it.
They passed an alcove in front of the entrance of the low building, and Zack quickly flashed his light there.
Another of the mercenaries lay back against the door, a pair of bloody bullet holes in his forehead.
Zack turned to Zoya and looked at her pistol. “Anthem, did you take off your silencer?”
She stopped, turned to him, and flashed her own light into the alcove.
“That wasn’t me.”
The three CIA agents looked at one another for a split second, and then they turned their backs to one another, with Annika in the middle. With their pistols sweeping all directions, they climbed into the Fiat.
Maksim Akulov slid into the backseat of the Toyota four-door driven by Anya Bolichova, slammed the door shut on the misty night, and sat quietly for an instant as the vehicle raced away. In front of him in the front passenger seat, Inna Sorokina turned his way. “What happened?”
He winced with pain as he touched his rib cage where he’d been hit after diving out of the hotel. “You have ears, don’t you? There was a gunfight.”
“Between who?”
Maksim shrugged. “I saw Zakharova right as I arrived at Gentry’s location. I didn’t see Gentry, so I decided to wait for them to come back to the car. And then . . . and then it went to hell.”
“Who was shooting?”
“I have no idea. I heard eight, ten guns in the fight. I found cover behind her vehicle. A minute later a man appeared, I thought it was Gentry. Shot him twice, he went down. Then I saw it was someone else.” Akulov slammed his fist into the seatback in front of him, jostling Sorokina with the act. “What the fuck is going on? You’re the intelligence officer! You can’t lead me into a ten-man gunfight! What’s wrong with you?”
Inna seemed to have trouble controlling her anger, but finally, after spending several seconds in silence, she said, “We aren’t getting intel from Moscow or from St. Petersburg. It’s just us out here, fending for ourselves. You wanted Gentry, Anya tracked his Audi here from his apartment in Spandau. The only thing we knew about that factory was that Gentry was there. I told you that before you left the car.”
Akulov slammed his head back against the headrest now, then touched his rib cage again, once more grimacing from the pain.
“Are you hurt?”
“I’m fine. Gentry’s vehicle. Is it still stationary?”
“It is. With all the sirens, we have to assume that if he is still alive, then he has left the scene. Maybe he left with Zakharova in her vehicle.”
The Russian assassin looked out the window as police cars raced by towards the lake behind him. Finally he just nodded to himself.
“We know where to find him.”
“His apartment?” Inna asked.
“No. If Sem were here, I’d try it. But Gentry will have all sorts of defenses at his safe house. We need to surprise him at the other location. Let’s just hope when he is there, he thinks to bring Zakharova with him.”
The dark gray Toyota turned onto the highway to the south, heading in the direction of Berlin.