Alien in Chief (42 page)

CHAPTER 81

W
E LINKED UP,
mostly to use Siler's blending when we might need to. Then we took off, with me providing the hyperspeed.

Raced us across the catwalk—knocking assassins off as we went by—and went down the same stairs that Dier and the others had.

Felt the tingling that meant we were blending as we slowed down. Had to slow down because there was a lot of ruckus going on down here and we didn't want to hit the wrong people.

White and Reader were back-to-back and surrounded. On the plus side, there were so many assassins here that no one was shooting. On the not plus side, there were a lot of assassins here, and they were all happy to fight as a group.

Looked up at the other catwalks. That no shooting rule wasn't going to last. These guys were hitmen and lots were up on good vantage points. By now, everyone's eyes would have adjusted to the dark. Meaning we had snipers.

“Taking care of the peanut gallery,” I said to Tim and Siler. Let go of their hands and body-slammed through the nearest assassins, got to a ladder on the other side of the room and ran up.

My music changed to “Extraordinary” by Liz Phair, presumably because Algar was giving me an Atta Girl.

There were three main catwalks. One that ran along the long back wall—which was what Siler, Tim, and I had already been on—one that ran along the long front wall, which I was on now, and one that ran along the middle. There were shorter catwalks that connected these to each other, but they didn't go all the way across.

The shorter catwalks were to allow workers to get to big vats and bins or other things hanging from the ceiling. If you knew what you were doing, this setup probably made a lot of sense.

For me, it was like I'd been dropped into the new videogame,
Uncharted: Mastermind
, in the Orlando Factory Level, complete with enemy fire and a maze that looked simple but would turn out to be really complex to survive and which I had to work correctly in order to finish this part of the level. Only I sucked at mazes, in this game there were absolutely no do-overs, and my friends and I weren't going to heal up just by my waiting out a fictional clock.

Took off down the catwalk and knocked the guys on it over the side. So far, so very easy. Fully expected the difficulty level to increase exponentially.

Which was good, because it did. While I'd distracted the snipers from shooting at the people on the ground, they'd all seen their buddies fall off both catwalks, and the smarter among them had figured out that someone was probably on the side where the bodies were currently falling.

The smarter snipers started shooting at me, or at least where they thought I was. The dumber ones caught on and did the same. Technically I was at the speed where I should be able to dodge bullets. But it was dark, there were a hell of a lot of bullets, and I wasn't willing to bet that every bullet was going to miss me.

I was near one of the perpendicular catwalks, so I ran across it in a crouch, which was a first for me and hyperspeed. Clearly I was going to need to discuss Christopher's training oversight with him. Presuming I lived to do so.

There were two guys on this shorter catwalk and I was able to knock them down before they hit me. Of course, this alerted the rest to where I was, and also of course this catwalk dead-ended at a large metal tub. Decided not to find out what was in it—it was warm and I was willing to bet that whatever was inside wasn't going to be good for me to swim in.

As I spun around, still in a crouch, I slipped. Thankfully I didn't fall off, because as I went flat onto my face I got a good look at what was on the floor below. A big pot of molten metal was under me. Oh goody.

Naturally there were vats of molten metal and bins filled with sharp metal objects and all other manner of Deadly Things To Drop Into down below. And also naturally absolutely none of the Cuban snipers we'd knocked off the catwalks had landed in any of them. Some of them weren't moving, but far too many apparently had catlike reflexes, because there were more up and aiming for me than down and not moving. Always the way.

The issue with a body at rest is that hyperspeed is meaningless. I was in all black, but they were all looking where I was, and my face, which was on the latticed catwalk, wasn't covered.

Bullets started flying at me from the catwalks and the ground. Pulled up into the blocks position and took off.

Ran onto the front side catwalk and headed for where the others were. Only there were now more snipers up there. This really was a videogame level. Once again, time “wasted” in college was going to come through for me. Hurray.

Made a sharp left and was on a shorter section that connected me with the center long catwalk. There was one sniper on this section and he was standing next to a big vat that was hanging on my right. Ran up to the sniper.

The problem with adrenaline is that, after the first huge rush, it wears off. For me, the problem was that the adrenaline wore off now. Maybe it would have lasted longer if I
hadn't been doing everything at hyperspeed, but hindsight was always crystal clear.

Just like that I was back to tired, feverish, and now kind of feeling like I was a little stuffed up and going to sneeze. Which I did. Right in the sniper's face.

The element of surprise is a wonderful thing. Surprise combined with something that grossed most people out—someone else's sneeze and snot—was an even better thing. Chose to take advantage of my stunning the guy in front of me by slamming him against the vat he was standing by.

The back of his head slammed into the vat, hard, and he went down. One down. So very many to go. Time to use the guns.

Pulled the rifle off of my back and took a look around. My back was protected by the vat I was next to, meaning that I couldn't see two-thirds of the room. I could see where I'd been, both the first short catwalk, part of all three long catwalks, and the room where Siler had been.

Spotted two guys on the front wall catwalk, one on the middle, and two on the back wall catwalk. Didn't waste time—I might have five targets, but they only had one.

The guy on the center catwalk was closest to me. Dropped onto one knee to make myself a smaller target and also to get some extra stability. Aimed, made sure he wasn't someone I knew, and fired.

Winged him because I was still shaking from the adrenaline even though the main positive effects were gone. Didn't let it throw me. Aimed and shot again, even as he shot at me and missed, and winged him again. Got him on my third try as bullets hit the vat behind me.

Reminded myself that I had a semiautomatic for a reason and decided to stop trying to be fancy and precise and just channel
Scarface
. Even more fitting here than it had been on Planet Colorful, because all these guys actually
were
Cubans.

Stood back up, pointed the rifle in the general direction of the guys on my left, and let loose with a barrage of bullets in the sweeping pattern so beloved by gangsters and people on a rampage everywhere. Didn't scream out anything about my “little friend” because I wasn't feeling anywhere near confident enough to risk giving the cosmos a chance to really play a joke on me.

This was effective in that I hit both of them and they went down. It wasn't, perhaps, my best choice, because I ran out of ammo fast and it encouraged the rest of them to follow suit.

Hit the catwalk as a tonnage of bullets headed toward me. Then they stopped. Looked up and around. The two other guys were down. And certainly not from my gunfire.

Guns were still going off and it was clear that a gunfight was going on around where I'd left the others. But around here, I appeared to be alone. Looked about some more and stood up slowly. Nope, just me. Considered what I knew and looked way up. A hand waved from the crawlspace between the top of the room that Siler had been in and the roof.

Adriana was in a really good spot. She was hard to see and harder to hit. So one of us was smart.

Left my empty gun and took the one from the guy I'd knocked out. It was a gun I could shoot one-handed. Got my Glock into my other hand. Then looked back at Adriana.

She held up three fingers then pointed to my right, her left. Two fingers and pointed to my left, her right. Two fingers and pointed to the middle. Then two and one, and made a chopping motion. Then one and one and a chopping motion.

It was easy to understand her signals, at least for me. Had no idea if White, Reader, and Tim would have gotten them, based on my experience from a little earlier, but I was clear.

Pointed to my right and nodded as “Afraid to Shoot Strangers” by Iron Maiden came on. Hopefully my signal was clear—I was going to head down the middle catwalk.

Meaning I'd be a moving target for, if I'd counted Adriana's signals correctly, twelve snipers.

Or, as we called it, routine.

CHAPTER 82

N
ATURALLY,
the vat I was next to was in the middle of the catwalk. Tried looking carefully around it—couldn't see any targets. Always the way.

Took a deep breath and ran to the middle catwalk and made a right. Saw two guys ahead of me, one closer, one farther. Assessed that they were not anyone I cared about, and started shooting.

They started shooting, too, of course. As did the two guys on the catwalk to my left, though those two had vats on either side of their catwalk they could use for protection.

The vat I'd just left provided a bit of protection from those on my right, aka the front wall catwalk, and the two vats on the left-hand short catwalk blocked me from those on the left long catwalk. But that still left five guys shooting at me, because there was also a catwalk on the right, a little farther away than the one on the left, and there was someone on that, too, and he had a clear shot at me.

The positive about being a moving target was that I was hard to hit, and I ensured that I was bobbing and weaving as much as I could.

The negative was that it was hard to shoot accurately while bobbing and weaving, let alone running, and they didn't have to move to shoot at me.

Which worked out as the two in front of me went down.
Then the one on the catwalk to my right. Adriana was a great shot, for which I thanked God and Olga.

Reached the left catwalk, ran onto it shooting like I was at the O.K. Corral. Meaning lots of bullets and not a lot of hitting anything. From the two guys there and me. So, at least we were all consistent.

Body-slammed the guy on my left and sent him against the side of that vat. Shot my Glock at the guy on my right. Winged him. Hit the guy on my left with an elbow to the face as he bounced off the vat. Shot him with the rifle as he went down.

As the guy I'd winged aimed for me, told myself I was my mother's daughter and if I could hit an A-C running—and I could—then I could damn well hit a Cuban assassin basically just standing there.

Aimed and fired, using the rapid-fire technique I'd learned. Fortunately for me I shot him in the head with the first bullet, because that was actually my last bullet in the clip.

Had a moment without someone shooting at me, so dropped the rifle and reloaded my Glock. Shoved extra clips into my front jeans pockets.

Considered grabbing another rifle from the guys I'd just taken out and decided I was probably better off with my Glock. I was more used to it and I wasn't really hitting brilliantly with the rifles.

I was still between the vats so I couldn't see Adriana from here. Based on what I could remember, the next short catwalk was only accessible from the left-hand long catwalk. So, after taking a look and, as per usual, not being able to see any targets, ducked low and headed for the next part of this gauntlet.

There were three guys in front of me, but they were close together—they'd had time to get closer to the action. For whatever reason, me bounding in front of them seemed to shock them. Guessed they weren't used to suicide missions.

Which gave me time to unload my entire clip into the three of them. The one in front was down fast, the one behind him dodged, and the guy in the rear took the rest of the bullets. While I ducked to avoid the last guy's shots, I dropped the used clip, reloaded, and, still crouched down, put that clip into him.

Reloaded on the run. Still heard gunfire and the sounds of fighting elsewhere. Could see the guy on the last catwalk on the side. He could see me, too. Ducked low so that he had a harder shot.

Which was wise. He was sending a steady stream of bullets at chest height for me. Rounded the corner onto the catwalk and flipped into a somersault. Had learned this years ago in kung fu and still had what it took. Rolled three times, and came up shooting. Was rewarded to see the guy look really surprised as he died.

There were suddenly a lot of bullets coming toward me again, even though I was blocked by the vat that was this catwalk's dead end. Looked to my left to see Adriana do a spinning leap off of her perch and land perfectly on the catwalk. Couldn't see her for a bit, then she came running down the catwalk bent low.

Grabbed the dead guy's rifle and shot wildly around the vat. Wasn't sure if I was hitting anyone or helping, but gave it the old college try. Adriana made it to me and I pulled back.

“Are you hit?”

She shook her head. “The Crazy Eights are on the catwalk that lines the opposite wall. Lowe sent gusts of air at me, so I figured I'd better get down and get to you.”

“You were amazing as always. Did you see the others?”

“Thank you, and I believe they're still on the lower level. Wruck is here.”

“Let's try really hard not to kill him.”

Adriana reloaded her rifle. I had no idea where it had come from and chose not to ask. She also took the dead
guy's gun from me. “I think I'm better with these than you are.”

“No argument at all.”

“Can you shoot a pistol with both hands?”

“Yes.” Well, I'd managed with a rifle and a Glock, so my answer was yes.

She pulled another Glock from her back and handed to me. “The clip is full and the safety is now off. You ready?”

“Fight Till Death” from Slayer came on my airwaves. “I'm ready, Sundance.”

She grinned. “Grandmother loves that movie. Let's do it, Butch.”

“Out and then where?”

“To the left. We need to cross over to the middle in order to get the others.”

“So, we're running right at the Crazy Eights?”

“Yes.”

“Wow. We really are Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid, aren't we? Let's hope we get a better ending.”