Anaheim Run

Chapter Twenty

“That was Blade, wasn’t it, guv?” Charley asked as they rounded the northeast corner of the hotel and headed for the front entrance.

Kraken, in the lead, nodded.

“Why didn’t we waste him, mate?” Charley inquired.

Kraken looked over his right shoulder. Charley was behind him, followed by Nightshade and Leftwich. “Because we were too close to him when we first saw him. We would have had to unsling our Darters, and his hands were almost touching those Bowies of his. Besides, he had an M-16 over his shoulder. We could have killed him, but he might have taken one or two of us with him, and we can’t afford to lose a single man at this stage of the game.”

Nightshade raised his left arm and pointed straight ahead.

Kraken saw them too. A pair of guards outside the front entrance. He continued moving toward the glass doors until he was 15 yards from the soldiers, then he stopped and motioned for the others to gather closer.

“This is it,” he told them. “We go in shooting. Stay close to me and kill everyone you see. I know the layout. The Federation leaders could be in the lobby or the conference room. They won’t be hard to find.”

“How many soldiers do you think are inside?” Leftwich asked.

“Perhaps two or three dozen,” Kraken answered.

Leftwich whistled.

“The soldiers will not pose a problem,” Kraken assured him. “Our Darters are fully loaded with thirty darts apiece. That’s one hundred and twenty rounds. We can handle a few dozen inexperienced soldiers.”

“Just say the word,” Charley said.

Kraken started to turn, then paused. “I stand corrected. There is one person we should avoid killing if possible.”

“Who’s the exception?” Leftwich inquired.

“Our employer has an undercover agent at the summit,” Kraken disclosed. “A woman. Blonde. About five eight. I was provided with her description but not given her name. To play it safe, don’t kill any blonde not wearing a uniform.”

“Got it,” Leftwich said.

“Unsling your Darters,” Kraken ordered, facing the entrance and taking his rifle from his shoulder. He knew the conference room was on the ground floor, and he would have preferred to try and ambush the delegates from outside. All he would have needed to do was locate the appropriate window. But the Darters’ singular deficiency had dissuaded him from the course of action. The explosive darts detonated after penetrating whatever they hit, so the first rounds fired through the window would detonate just inside the window pane, far short of the leaders, alerting them and allowing them to seek cover while the security forces came to their rescue. An ambush through the window might succeed in slaying several of the leaders, but his employer wanted all of them dead—Plato, Toland, and Melnick at the very minimum. To guarantee the success of the assignment, Kraken was compelled to take the direct approach.

A frontal assault.

Kraken flicked the safety off on his Darter. “On me,” he said, and jogged toward the front entrance.

The two soldiers outside the doors were gazing at the foursome in evident perplexity. “What’s up?” one of them inquired as the quartet came abreast of the entrance.

“Just this,” Kraken said, and shot both of them, once each in the chest.

He pushed through the glass doors, scanning the lobby. Emery had mentioned the conference room was on the righthand side of the lobby, but had not pinpointed its exact location with reference to the front entrance. Kraken had hoped to find the Federation leaders gathered in the lobby, but instead there were about a dozen troopers and perhaps an equal number of bureaucrats. His gaze alighted on a pair of Flathead Indians standing next to a closed door, and all at once he knew.

Charley, Leftwich, and Nightshade came through the glass doors.

Some of the occupants of the lobby were staring at the four dripping newcomers in confusion.

“Kill them and follow me!” Kraken commanded, opening up with the Darter as he sprinted in the direction of the Flatheads.

Charley, Leftwich, and Nightshade began firing as rapidly as targets presented themselves.

Bedlam ensued. The Darters downed soldiers and civilians with indiscriminate abandon. Faces exploded outward, heads ruptured, and torsos were racked by the lethal darts. The silent Darters were an eerie counterpart of the confusion and clamor they generated. Men and women screamed as they died. Some of the bureaucrats attempted to flee in a screeching panic but were shot in the back of the head. Blood sprayed over the carpet and the furniture. Bodies littered the floor.

Kraken saw the two Flatheads charging toward them. He snapped off a shot, his dart catching the younger of the Indians in the head. The older Flathead stopped and fired his M-16, and Kraken heard someone grunt behind him. He sent a dart into the second Flathead’s face, and the Indian’s nose and forehead erupted like a miniature volcano. Kraken looked over his left shoulder.

Charley had been creased on the left side of his head. His curly hair was matted with blood. He grinned and hefted his Darter. “Just a scratch, mate!”

Kraken headed for the conference room door just as a dozen more troopers appeared at the rear of the lobby and surged forward. The assassins concentrated their fire on this new threat, blowing apart soldier after soldier. A few of the troopers managed to return the withering barrage, but their shots were wild and ineffective. In the space of seconds all of the soldiers were dead or writhing on the floor in their death throes.

An elevator door opened on the left side of the lobby, disgorging three men. One was a diminutive frontiersman in buckskins, armed with a Winchester. The second was a man with a beard, dressed all in black, carrying an M-16. The third was a nondescript type, also holding an M-16.

Three of the Federation delegates! “There!” Kraken shouted, swiveling and shooting.

Charley, Leftwich, and Nightshade did likewise.

The nondescript delegate was the first to fall, half of his face splattering the carpet.

The bearded one in black toppled over next.

Undaunted, the feisty frontiersman kept coming, levering the rounds into his Winchester and coolly sighting before squeezing the trigger.

Leftwich was knocked backward by the impact of a slug striking his right shoulder, but he retained his footing.

Kraken and Nightshade fired simultaneously, and the frontiersman flipped onto the floor, convulsing.

“Did it penetrate your vest?” Kraken asked Leftwich.

Leftwich shook his head.

“That door!” Kraken yelled, pointing at the conference room. “Kill everyone inside!” He raced toward the door, confident of success. No more soldiers had appeared. Nothing stood between them and the completion of their assignment!

But Kraken was wrong.

Two men burst through a door at the rear of the lobby, on the right side. Both men wore buckskins, and both were armed with a pair of revolvers. One was blonde with a moustache, the other had long brown hair and was cleanshaven. Both wore the determined expressions of men out for revenge.

Hickok and Boone!

“Take cover!” Kraken bellowed, diving behind a sofa. He knew better than to expose himself to the two pistoleers. Their reputations as shootists were well deserved.

Nightshade ducked in the shelter of a large mahogany chair.

But Charley and Leftwich foolishly charged the gunfighters, prompted by their desire to resolve the conflict quickly, both believing their marksmanship equal to the occasion.

Kraken happened to look to the rear, and his eyes widened as he saw Blade barreling through the front doors. The Gild had lost the initiative.

Fulfilling the contract was no longer feasible. Surviving was the issue.

Surviving to try again another day. Both the front and the rear were blocked by exceptionally skilled adversaries, and reinforcements might arrive at any moment. There was one recourse open, and that was to retreat.

The elevator door was still open.

“Follow me!” Kraken shouted, dashing toward the left side of the lobby, keeping doubled over, weaving among the furniture.

Nightshade kept pace with his chief.

Kraken reached the elevator and scooted inside, glancing hack and seeing Hickok down Leftwich with two shots to the head even as Boone’s Hombres thundered and Charley was captapulted into a potted plant.

Blade, his M-16 in his hands, was racing on a course to the elevator.

Kraken punched the button for the first floor as Nightshade slid inside.

The elevator doors shut and the car began climbing. He realized Blade would be in hot pursuit, and Kraken grinned as his fertile mind concocted an escape plan. What was the room his employer’s secret agent was in?

Room 103! That was it!

Nightshade motioned with his hands.

“We’re not out of the woods yet,” Kraken agreed. “But I can get us both out of here if you’ll buy me the time I need.”

Nightshade grimly nodded.

“Good. Here’s what I want you to do…”