Page 27 of Skull

GQ grunted a quick laugh at Boomer’s words and shouted, “Frag out!”

Throwing a crash-bang toward the approaching men, he and Boomer ducked behind some crates. The sound grenade exploded with a loud, disorienting blast of noise that caused the men to cover their ears. GQ opened fire, while Boomer was heading toward the men blocking their exit. He took out the cluster of men peering down the alley, unable to see him moving toward them like a juggernaut.

Once they were dispatched, he looked up, his mouth tightening as he saw that several men now chased Eva across the rooftop. “GQ, they’re after her. I’m going up. Cover us from the ground.”

“Copy that,” GQ said, moving toward him as Boomer grabbed an awning, flipped himself up and onto it, then gripping the side of the metal, climbing as fast as he could. Reaching the flat roof, he hauled himself up and started after the fleeing woman with three assailants on her tail.

Their stances were aggressive,but Hummingbird could see they weren’t leveling guns at her head. Not exactly. They wanted her alive. That was their first lethal mistake.

Her mind raced. CIA training was so ingrained that she immediately scanned for Tasers, batons, or other less-lethal devices. Either way, the result would be the same if she let them close in. She’d be out of the race for her HVT, and capture and torture was never on her agenda.

She drew her suppressed sidearm and aimed center mass at the closest figure. His eyes flicked to it, yet he continued forward, slow and steady, as though challenging her to pull the trigger. That was his second lethal mistake, not recognizing that she was his grim reaper. In the green light of her NVGs, she saw the outline of a baton in one attacker’s hand and the faint glint of a stun device in another’s.

They were forming a ring, herding her into an open courtyard of packed earth flanked by corrugated metal walls, pushing this no-holds barred gladiator into a showdown with a pack of lions…an arena of sorts.

One man muttered something in Spanish—“Tranquila. We just want you to come with us.” Another tried to close the distance from behind. They were creeping in carefully, cautious of her drawn weapon. “You can’t shoot all of us.”

She exhaled, forcing her mind to stay analytical. Seven steps to the east side. A stack of wooden crates could be a good advantage or a barrier. Over there, an overturned cart might offer fleeting cover, but it trapped her in a corner. If she ran, they’d close ranks, but if she stayed, they’d outnumber her within seconds.

A sudden commotion from her left caught her attention. Bones’s guttural snarl sliced through the air, followed by a sharp yelp and the sound of splintering wood. She risked a glance—the snarling Belgian Malinois bounded into the courtyard. Skull was nowhere to be seen, but she heard a faint shout echo down an adjacent alley. The word wasguard. That maddening man had sent Bones after her to protect her. Her heart softened, then hardened again. There was no time for weakness or emotions.

For half a second, the men froze. Their formation faltered—none of them had expected an MWD to explode into the scene. Capitalizing on their confusion, she fired two quick rounds into the nearest attacker’s chest. He tumbled onto his rear and then fell over.

That broke their containment. She wheeled toward the next closest threat. He lunged with the baton in a wide arc, and she ducked underneath, letting his momentum carry him forward. Stepping into his side, she rammed her shoulder into his ribs and gripped the wrist that held the baton. A quick twist—a seasoned move that she used in countless fights—and the baton slipped free into her hand.

Before she could pivot to face another attacker, she heard Bones again—a furious bark, the scrape of claws on dirt. One of the men raised a Taser toward him, but the dog sprang. It caught his arm, latching on with a snarl. The man’s shout drowned out the rest of the scuffle.

She whipped around, baton in hand, just in time to block a stun rod someone tried to jab into her side. Sparks crackled. Her arm went numb where the rod grazed her, but she held on, slamming the baton across her assailant’s forearm. He cursed and staggered back. She brought up her weapon and shot him.

Still outnumbered, she felt the tension in her chest tighten. Bones was a mad, snapping wild card—he held one attacker at bay, but there were more trying to circle behind her. Shots rang out in the distance. Skull? Something in her softened for a moment, grateful for the possibility of his backup.

A new attacker slid in low, likely trying to tackle her from the waist down. She jabbed the baton down at his shoulder, and he yelped, but his arms locked around her legs. They both hit the ground hard, dusty earth grinding against her face. She lost hold of the baton, scrabbling for anything to brace herself.

Her attacker tried to pin her, but she wriggled her elbow free and smashed it into his nose. A sharp crunch—he reeled back, blood spurting as she shoved him off and rolled away, reclaiming a strong, balanced stance with the possibility of moving in any direction. Her pulse roared in her ears. She raised her gun and fired. His face went blank, and he fell.

Bones barked again, baring his teeth at the last two men standing in front of her. One of them hesitated, uncertain whether to rush her or fend off the snapping canine. That moment of indecision gave Walker the upper hand. She lunged forward with a swift strike to his throat, powering it with her entire body weight. He collapsed, gasping. She finished him off.

The final man had enough sense to turn and sprint, presumably to regroup or call in reinforcements. She was about to aim and eliminate the threat, but Bones, trained impeccably to take down any fleeing suspect, gave chase. She let him do the heavy lifting, leaving him to Skull. Her body ached, but she wheeled around and started for the HVT, praying that he hadn’t made it to the vehicle.

Heavy footsteps sounded from the corner of the alley—finally. Skull, dirt and sweat-streaked and gripping his weapon at the ready, skidded to a halt. Relief washed over his handsome face at the sight of Bones harassing the struggling victim of the dog’s relentless protective instincts, and the fact that she was alive and kicking.“Thanks,” she muttered, though she wasn’t sure if she was thanking Skull or Bones, and while Skull shot the fleeing man, Walker took off again toward those retreating blobs.

9

Once Boomer wasup onto the roof, he started after Strekoza, his night vision painting the shantytown in shades of green and black, but it was clear enough to see her sprinting across the precarious terrain just ahead of him.

Through his earpiece, he caught a faint burst of Strekoza’s breathing, followed by muffled gunfire echoing over the tin and plywood structures. Boomer pressed his back against the crumbling ledge and peeked through the dusty scope of his rifle. From his vantage point on the half-collapsed shack roof, he kept his sight on her in full flight—sprinting across a sagging corrugated rooftop about thirty yards away. In the flickering glow of a lone streetlamp, she looked deceptively slim. But he had seen that CIA operative in action before, and she was anything but fragile.

Gunfire erupted from the alley below. GQ was on the ground, picking off targets with crisp bursts from his M4. Through Boomer’s earpiece, GQ’s calm voice broke through. “Got two tangos behind the green shack, Boomer. They’re aiming for Strekoza’s flank.”

Boomer shifted position, leveling his rifle in the direction GQ mentioned. Two men in ragged clothing slunk into the open, trying to angle a shot at Strekoza. He squeezed the trigger. One shot, then another. They dropped behind a metal crate, no longer a threat. “Tangos down,” he muttered under his breath.

A shout from the rooftop snapped Boomer’s focus back to Strekoza. Two assailants had managed to corner her near a small cluster of tattered tarp canopies. She couldn’t get around them—so she went straight at them.

Damn, that woman never hesitated, and he rose and started after her. They needed to get out of this section of the town, get back to their teammates, and end this goat fuck.

Boomer watched her move with lethal grace, driving an elbow into one attacker’s throat while simultaneously hooking his wrist and slamming him onto the tin roof. His pistol clattered away. The second man lunged with a switchblade. Strekoza pivoted, letting the blade’s momentum slide past her torso, then cracked a sharp kick into his knee. He staggered. She finished him with a well-timed strike to the temple—an efficient, professional takedown, then she executed a headshot.

“She’s pinned by more on the right,” GQ called out, his breath ragged. He must have been sprinting through the alleys to keep up. “I’ll try to draw them off.”

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