The Swords of Babylon

CHAPTER TWENTY ONE

Drake and the team made ready. As the dawn’s gray light began to illuminate the eastern horizon, they were already driving steadily toward Tverskaya Street. Yesterday, they had observed the place, noticing how difficult access would be. The building itself was close enough to Red Square to get away with the extra security machinations, but also fronted by a private car park and surrounded by civilian offices and a few shops, not to mention the main thoroughfare that was Tverskaya Street. But this was the weekend. Many of those places would be unoccupied.

The traffic was sparse, most of the citizens and tourists still snoozing at this hour. Drake had spotted Zanko twice yesterday and two other men, but there had been no sign of Razin, although the man would most likely have a legitimate business or two in the area. The backpack between Drake’s legs was full of guns and ammo. It would not do to get stopped by the police at this point, even though the team’s ultimate purpose would explain everything away. The Russians were hardly known for their tolerance.

The professor was being held for the purpose of providing information indirectly linked to the tombs of the gods. That in itself was enough for Drake’s team to make a move, never mind that the information may have relevance to the doomsday device.

With this being a sensitive target, a dawn raid, and one that would undoubtedly meet resistance, they had decided to limit the strike force to three members. Drake, Mai and Alicia. The Englishwoman parked the car across the street. The three of them watched the door of their target building for a while, and the windows to either side.

“Yorgi,” Drake said over the car phone. “You had better be bloody right about this.”

“I will stake my reputation on it.”

Alicia grumbled, “Reputation? You’re a thief.”

Drake glanced her way. “So was Belmonte. And he died saving our lives.”

Alicia nodded. “So he did.”

After a moment, Drake hefted his pack. The three of them exited the car and shouldered the bags. They were dressed in jeans and large-size jackets to help hide the padding of a Kevlar vest. Alicia voiced their concerns as she negotiated the wide road.

“Do we look like tourists or undercover police officers? ‘Cause I can never tell the difference.”

Mai gave her a fleeting look. “All you need is your mask, Myles. Drake and I will hold your hand.”

Alicia snorted. “Yeah. Right after you let go of each other’s.”

Once across Tverskaya Street, the trio moved quickly into the car park that fronted Razin’s building. Ducking behind a pair of parked cars, Mai took out a small but powerful, hand-held spotter scope and studied the building.

“No movement,” she reported. “And sparse furniture. The front is likely a façade. The real action goes on in the back.”

“Helps the plan.” Drake stayed low as he ran across the car park, pausing briefly between another small group of parked cars to slip a balaclava over his head. “Ready?”

“It itches.” Alicia complained, rubbing where the material stretched across her forehead.

“I thought you would be used to them,” Mai said slyly. “Don’t Lomas and you…”

“Piss off, sprite.”

Drake caught their attention with a cough. “Ready?”

He moved before they could answer, weapon at the ready. They ran around the side of the building, hugging the wall, and stopped three feet short of a side door. Drake lacked the tact and subtlety that might have led him to investigate ways of bypassing the low-tech magnetic strip alarm system, and simply leaned forward, took aim, and fired two muffled shots into the lock. The mechanism twisted and dropped to the floor; the door inched open.

Shouting sprung up from inside.

Drake pushed his way inside, immediately surprised to find that the back of the house resembled a police holding area. Each one of the mini-cells was empty, but two more rooms attached to the back wall were spilling out tough-looking Russians. Drake heard distinctive American tones coming from the furthest room, then a sharp slap and a cry.

“He’s here.”

Drake fired constantly. Mai and Alicia fanned out behind him. The first Russian fell at their feet, the second pinwheeled into a row of bars, crushing his nose. The next two came up together, trying to overwhelm the attackers, but Mai and Alicia took them out from the sides. Drake threw a small flash bang grenade, then instantly hit the deck, hands pressed firmly over his ears. Even then the explosion, when it came, was louder and more effective than those he remembered from training. He blinked hard, fighting the disorientation, stood up, and was immediately hit by a body. Arms wrestled the gun from him. His sense of survival kicked in and he abandoned the weapon — if you allow an opponent to concentrate on his strongest point he will quickly reveal his weakest — and scrambled out from underneath. His attacker lay, a gun in each hand, unable to defend himself as Drake crushed his windpipe and his nose, then broke both wrists. He recaptured his weapon, whirling through the mayhem.

A man burst out of the nearest room, machine pistol firing. Bullets pinged and zipped off every wall, bouncing away from the solid steel bars and even ricocheting through his own men. Drake ducked low, raising his own gun and firing blindly in the man’s general direction. A rake of holes appeared in the ceiling, signifying that Drake’s effort had paid off. He raised his head, trying to peer through the second room’s open door.

So far, there was no sign of anyone he knew. Several men lay groaning or disorientated, some crawling across the floor, clearly at a loss as to which way was up or down. Alicia leapt for the door, hiding to the side with her back against the wall. Mai drifted toward Drake.

“Soldiers!” a voice cried out, all but quaking. “Soldiers stop! If you come further I put bullet through his head. You hear me? You have come for American, no?”

Drake motioned at Alicia to wait. He squinted hard. The flying bullets had punched several holes through the room’s plaster wall. If he could just…

A shot rang out. Drake’s heart sunk. No!

“That was warning. The next goes through brain! Now back off.”

“Alright,” Drake said. “Just cool yer engines, mate. We’re leaving.”

Through the holes he managed to piece together a patchwork puzzle of the scene inside the room. A man stood holding a gun over the professor who was seated, possibly even chained to a desk, but the man was standing beside the professor, not behind him.

“Just one thing. Look to the window behind you.”

Drake signaled to Mai, who raised her weapon. He pointed to the external wall, held up three, then four fingers and pointed to his head. He watched the man turn briefly, the gun swinging away from the professor’s head.

“I warned you—”

Mai fired three times, aiming between three and four feet from the exterior wall. Drake watched his body fly backwards, the gun drop, and the professor jerk against his bonds. He signaled to Alicia.

“Go.”

He and Mai covered the retreat as Alicia dragged the struggling professor out of the room.

“He’s a feisty one,” Alicia spoke up, grimacing slightly.

“You don’t understand,” the professor shouted. Drake saw signs of torture on his face and etched into both his arms.

“They have my wife! The bastards have my wife. They will kill her if I don’t cooperate.” The man burst into tears, still trying to drag Alicia back.

“Where?” Drake scooped up his other arm and took some of the weight.

“Pittsburgh.”

Drake stared at Alicia. “You’re kidding? Pittsburgh, America?”

“Please. Please save her. I will do anything you want. But my wife, she doesn’t know anything about this.”

Drake dragged the professor into the streets. “We’ll do our best to save her.”