Page 75 of Edinburgh Escape
Hunkering low, he sprinted, tucked the submachine gun into his belly and dove behind the crates as bullets splintered the wood over his head. He came up on his knees and aimed toward the source of the bullets, letting loose a burst of fire.
Behind him, his team added to the gunfire, giving Callum the chance to make it to the next stack of crates, several feet from the forklift.
“Moving forward. Right behind you,” Fearghas said. “Keep going.” His guys laid down suppressive fire.
Callum ran for the next stack of crates and ducked behind them.
A man dressed in back leaned around the stack.
Callum was ready. He unloaded another burst of bullets.
The Russian slid to the floor.
Callum burst out into the open, running full tilt for the forklift.
Gunfire rattled around him, the sound so loud it was almost a roar echoing off the rafters of the warehouse.
Bullets ricocheted off the metal casing of the forklift as Callum leaped up onto a ledge and dove into the driver’s seat. He ducked low, his hands feeling around the controls in the semidarkness to find the key. He twisted it, and the engine chugged for a second and died.
“Start, you bloody pile of junk,” he yelled and twisted the key again.
The engine chugged and then roared to life.
Callum shifted the gears, sending the forklift lurching forward. He dared to look up long enough to aim the tines of the machine toward the van at the center of the conflict and moved slowly forward.
His team had moved close enough to provide some suppressive fire as the forklift closed the distance to the van.
As he neared, he slowed even more and slid the tines under the chassis right before the forklift bumped into the back of the van. He increased the speed, pushing the van faster and faster toward the overhead door. If he could get it going fast enough, the weight of the van, combined with the speed at impact, should allow it to burst through the sheet metal out into the open, free of the showdown between the warring Russian mobsters.
That was his plan. It wasn’t a great plan, but it was all he had. A bullet whizzed past his head, bounced off the metal roll bar and hit his shoulder.
Callum barely winced. Hyped up on adrenaline, he had one goal in mind: get the hostages out of the middle of the Russians’ gunfight.
He glanced up in time to see that the van was nearing the overhead door. He increased the speed for one final burst of velocity before he’d have to stop the forklift to let the van smash into the door and push through with its own forward momentum. If he tried to push the van through with the forklift, he risked smashing the back of the van where Maggie and Bryce were likely held, killing them in the process of an attempted rescue. For a split second, doubt consumed him. He quickly brushed it aside and continued moving forward.
Suddenly, a man appeared near the overhead door. He slammed his palm against a big button on the wall, and the overhead door rose upward. The man who’d hit the button jerked, twisted and fell to the ground as bullets cut him down.
Though the door continued to rise, it wasn’t quite fast enough for the van to clear it. The front of the van slammed into the door, catching it in the middle of the windshield and shattering the glass, but not crushing the body of the van.
The sheet metal of the overhead door crumpled, allowing the van to keep moving forward.
Callum stayed with it all the way out into the street, even managing to turn it slightly, taking it further away from the warehouse and closer to where they’d parked their cars.
Ramsey and Dax jogged alongside the forklift, weapons at the ready.
When Callum was far enough away from the firestorm, he slowed to a halt, backed the forklift away from the rear of the vehicle and shut down the engine.
Sirens sounded nearby, growing louder.
With Ramsey and Dax providing cover, Callum dropped down from the machine and ran toward the back of the van. The rear door was smashed in enough that he couldn’t open it. He pounded his fist against the metal. “Maggie! Bryce! Please tell me you’re in there.” He leaned his forehead against the cool metal and prayed.
“Callum?” Maggie’s muffled voice sounded through the door. “Callum? Oh God, Callum. I knew you’d come. I knew it.”
“I want to go home,” Bryce called out.
“The door is smashed. I’ll need something to pry it open.”
“Are you safe?” Maggie asked. “We heard gunfire. Some of the bullets came through the sides of the van.”
