Blood Vengeance

CHAPTER THIRTY FOUR

Drake pelted along the street, all thoughts of his own safety put aside, as the five-man terrorist team fell into disorder at the top of the Metro steps, right underneath the long metal and glass canopy that curved above the Foggy Bottom GWU Station. Some kind of internal battle was going on. One man tore away from the rest, ripped off his balaclava and started to shout.

“The President!” the team leader shouted. “Right there! That’s him!”

Drake took off like a missile, Dahl and Alicia at his heels. The rest of Team Bravo divided around them, spanning the street, and sprinted as if they were inches away from winning gold.

Which they were.

President Coburn wrenched himself away from the grip of a man and backed off. Another man ran at him, but Coburn punched him in the nose, stopping his advance with one blow.

Drake almost cheered.

The team leader screamed into the comms. “Send everyone! Coburn’s here! Send fuckin’ everyone!”

Drake raised his rifle. He breathed deeply, letting the habitual custom relax him. He ran at full speed, without compromising his skills, and felt the presence of Team Bravo all around. Ahead, the President swiped at another hooded figure, but this one stepped away and around the blow, showing practiced ability. The figure danced around behind the President and caught him around the throat, halting all his movements, then forced him roughly down the steps. The rest turned, firing a quick burst before following.

The team leader’s voice reflected his anger. “Hurry!”

Alicia was the first to fire back. Drake mentally kicked himself for not following suit. No one had shouted out a change of the original no-fire orders so he had just gone with it. Once a soldier…

But not Alicia. She had opened fire, probably hoping she took out Kovalenko and ended this whole clusterfuck. They hit the top of the steps just in time to see legs disappearing into the circular space of the station below, and started to leap down three or four at a time. The words Foggy Bottom — GWU Station shouted at him as he passed beneath a thick concrete roof. When Drake saw a rifle pointing up from the wide-open space below, he threw himself to the side, hitting the wall hard. A volley of shots passed among Team Bravo, striking no one, but slowing their pace.

Drake started down again, trying not to look at the shiny escalator sides. The team gained level ground, now standing in the surprisingly small entrance to the below-ground station. Ticket machines bordered the small space in a blue-and-silver half-circle. Yellow ‘Wet Floor’ cones lay scattered about. Through a wide opening Drake saw several barriers that led to the tracks and a couple of information-cum-guard stations. Large-scale maps dotted the walls amidst advertisements and electronic signs. The area was deserted apart from the five men they were pursuing, who even now were racing across the station at an angle to put as much distance as possible between them.

“Move!”

Alicia ran with her rifle tracking one of the fleeing figures. Drake watched her closely. “Be careful.”

Alicia tracked her enemy but didn’t fire. The men were too close together. Dahl pulled his trigger, but fired high, ruining a sign that read ‘Elevator to Street’. As the fleeing men slowed near the top of an escalator, a shout went up and all five of them turned.

And stopped.

Drake put the brakes on. One enemy gun was pressed hard against Coburn’s head. The rest of the rifles were trained on Team Bravo. Drake zeroed in on the man closest to the President. It was possible to kill a man so that his finger didn’t twitch on the trigger, but a millimeter to either side of the kill point and you risked a catastrophe.

And this was the President.

The team leader spoke rapidly into his comms. Drake stopped not eight feet from the terrorist group. Behind and above them, they heard vehicles screeching to a halt and the sound of many thudding feet approaching the station. Sirens wailed and the sound of military choppers landing was loud even down here.

The man standing in the middle whipped his balaclava off. Dmitry Kovalenko, the Blood King, faced the man who had become his nemesis.

“Matt Drake.” The guttural growl was hatred incarnate.

“Fuck you. Let the President go.”

“How are your friends? And young Ben? How’re his mommy and daddy?”

Drake tightened his finger on the trigger.

“Oh, and your army mates.” Kovalenko spoke in mock English. “Spiffy are they?”

One more ounce was added to the pressure.

“Don’t shoot!” the team leader cried. “Stand down!”

Kovalenko grinned devilishly. “Shoot me and your President dies.”

Drake gritted his teeth so hard he tasted blood. The arm holding his rifle shook. He heard Dahl whisper a quiet “hold,” and Alicia’s indifferent grunt, saw the mocking challenge in Kovalenko’s eyes, but it was the look in President Coburn’s eyes which stopped him.

The Blood King’s men removed their masks. The one holding Coburn was the dark-skinned African. The man’s quiet smile revealed a wealth of confidence.

“Gabriel here and his brother, Mordant, are better than you will ever be, Drake. Better than you all. They would take title—” Kovalenko laughed. “Oh, and Mordant, even now, has just crashed party at CIA safe house. Your friends die as we chat, dah? How nice.”

Drake’s finger twitched again. He concentrated solely on Coburn’s eyes, seeing the intelligence there, the calm confidence, but most of all, the tactical prowess which said this man was a heroic strategist, a player in their game, and was just awaiting his moment…

Tension flooded his body like never before. This was the game of games, and with a reward beyond imagination.

“Da best is yet to come.” Kovalenko grinned. “Your mistake was to ever know my name, Drake. Now, my Blood Vengeance will take everything you ever loved and drive it into ground.”

“Excuse me,” Alicia said. “Do you have a point to make? These boots are friggin’ killin’ me.”

“And your disgraced biker gang, Myles? Did they die well?”

“Funny thing,” Alicia said emotionlessly. “I ended up killing most of the bad guys. Can you guess what I’m gonna do to you?”

Kovalenko raised his own gun. “So I shoot you now, dah? You can’t shoot me. I have the President.”

The gun discharged point-blank into Alicia’s face. She had no chance. Her body fell backward. Drake fired at the African, but he had already slipped down onto the escalator, the bullet fizzing above his head as he pushed President Coburn before him. Kovalenko’s men whirled and jumped in the African’s wake, dragging Kovalenko with them.

“Whoops,” the Blood King smirked with open arms. “Never was the best of shots.”

Drake fell to his knees, cradling Alicia’s head. He was surprised to find her shocked eyes staring into his own.

“Are… are you okay?”

“Yeah. I think so. Bullet passed by my helmet. I think it even glanced off.”

Drake breathed deep. Thank you, God. Thank you. Thank you.

Dahl was by his side. “Don’t do that again,” he said sternly. “You gave me a goddamn heart attack.”

Alicia climbed to her feet. The team eased forward past the ticket barriers and stared down the giant escalator at the escaping terrorists. Dahl clenched his fists.

“Balls to the wall.” He grunted. “Live or die. Shall we go save the President?”

“Fuck, yeah.” Alicia sprang forward.

“This ain’t happenin’ on my watch.” The team leader jumped after her.

Drake slammed Dahl on the back. “You with me then, mate?”

The mad Swede simply leapt onto the middle of the escalator and threw himself headlong down the curved shiny surface, firing as he picked up pace.

“Jump on, Drake! It’s crazy time!”