The Spirit Banner (7 page)

Faced with certain death, Annja did the only thing she could. Like a runner going for second base, she dropped into a slide, legs extended, sword held in a striking position, using her own momentum and the highly polished wooden floor to carry her closer to her target.
The move took her opponent by surprise and she slid under his line of fire, bullets streaming past over her head, and then she was up close, right there at his feet, surging to her knees, her sword thrust upward with all the momentum gained in her rush down the hall.
The gunman never stood a chance.
The blade caught him low in the gut, just under the edge of the Kevlar vest he was wearing, and rammed him back against the door, pinning him in place.
He stared at her in disbelief, looked down at the two feet of steel sticking out of his gut, then died without saying a word.
Rather than trying to pull her sword free, Annja simply released it into the otherwhere.
The gunman's body dropped to the floor with a heavy thud.
In the silence that followed, a voice called her name softly.
Annja turned.
The bullets had missed her, but that didn't mean that they hadn't found a target. John Davenport was kneeling in the middle of the hallway, cradling the badly wounded body of his security agent, the other man's neck stained a deep crimson hue.
Annja met Davenport's gaze. The slight shake of his head said it all; there was nothing they could do. The man in Davenport's arms sucked in a last breath, stared beseechingly at Annja and then joined his killer in death.
A loud crash from the other side of the door pulled Annja's gaze away from the duo.
Get the journal. At least make his death count for something, she thought.
She had to get inside that room.
As far as tactical situations go, it wasn't the best. She had no idea how many men were waiting for her on the other side of the door, nor how they were armed. She was going to have to trust that her instincts and her speed were going to be enough.
She pictured the room in her mind, noting the position of the furniture as it had stood when she'd been working there earlier, paying attention to what might provide adequate cover and what would not. When she was ready, she took a couple deep breaths to draw as much oxygen into her bloodstream as possible, drew back her right leg and kicked out with all her strength.
The door swung open. As it did she dove through the gap, tucking herself into a roll the second her hands touched the floor and letting her momentum carry her several feet to the left where a large island work area was built into the floor.
Gunfire filled the room, bullets chasing her across the floor and slamming into the island, sending chips of wood and metal flying, but the structure was thick enough to protect her and she made it through unscathed.
She peeked around the opposite side, looking for the gunman. The table where she'd worked all day was directly across from her and she could see the shattered remains of the glass case that had held the diary littering the floor at its base, but there was no sign of the intruder.
Nor was there any sign of the diary.
She scuttled over to the other side and peeked around that edge, ready to jerk her head back at the slightest sign of movement. The gunfire had come from somewhere. The door she'd come through was the only exit from the room and she knew that no one had gotten past her to go through it.
Where on earth did they go?
She heard a grunt from above and looked up just in time to see a dark-clad form disappear through a hole cut in the ceiling.
Annja stood, intending to chase after them, only to be forced to take cover on her knees behind the work area again as the intruder stuck his weapon back down through the hole and sprayed the room with a full clip of ammunition.
She waited several seconds after the firing stopped to be certain the shooter wasn't just changing clips. When the shooting failed to resume, she rose to her feet and raced over to the rope that still hung down through the hole.
She was betting that the intruders would be more concerned with getting out of there as quickly as possible and wouldn't have posted anyone to stand guard at the top. She grabbed the rope and shimmied up as quickly as she could, knowing that if she'd guessed wrong she was a sitting duck.
Luckily, she hadn't. When she poked her head out through the hole in the roof, she saw three figures running away from her across the rooftop, headed for the wing closest to the outer wall of the property.
Annja pulled herself onto the roof and gave chase.

* * *

M
ASON LED HIS MEN
through the house and gathered them together in the underground garage, where they assembled into two squads, one to be led by him and the other to be led by his second in command, Jeffries. He'd chosen the garage as a staging area for two reasons. First, because it provided immediate access to the side of the estate where Katter and Davis were on duty and was therefore the closest point of egress to that location, and second, because of what it contained. There were two emergency evacuation vehicles standing ready at all times in the garage in case Davenport had to be taken to safety on a moment's notice, and Mason intended to put them to good use. The SUVs were armor plated and came equipped with reinforced steering, puncture-resistant tires and bulletproof glass throughout. They were adequate protection against just about anything short of a rocket-propelled grenade and would provide good cover while they crossed the estate grounds and tried to get a look at whoever it was that had breached their security.
The men climbed into the vehicles and Mason gave the signal to move out.
Lights from the outdoor floodlights that had been triggered by the alarm flooded into the garage as the gates were opened by remote from inside the vehicles, and then they were climbing the sloping driveway up to ground level, engines roaring.
They came under fire almost immediately. The bullets made odd thunking sounds as they impacted against the armored plate, but Mason ignored them, secure in that fact that the armor would hold up to the task. Still, the driver did what he could to avoid taking too many hits, throwing their vehicle into the evasive action pattern that he'd be taught to utilize, and Mason nodded his approval.
Given the fact that they were being fired upon, it didn't take a rocket scientist to figure out why Davis and Katter had dropped off the grid. The fact that he had two men down, condition unknown, bothered him, but Mason was too good a commander to give in to the urge to move right to their side. His first order of business was to protect Davenport and secure the property. His men would have to hold on until he could get to them.
Mason was glad that he had ordered Davenport into the panic room. Despite its comfortable furnishings, complete with a kitchenette and a minibar, Mason knew that the room was designed to withstand just about anything an enemy could throw at it. Blast-reinforced concrete, four feet thick, surrounded it on all sides; even with explosives at their disposal it would take an intruder quite some time to blow their way inside, and hopefully by then those hiding out would have used the secured lines inside to call for help.
With Davenport safe, Mason could concentrate fully on repelling the attack and securing the estate.
Katter and Davis had been assigned to patrol the east side of the property and when Davis's panic button went off, its GPS signal put him out in front of the house near the wall. An access road ran around the inside of the fence line, but time was of the essence now and the driver knew it. He cut directly across the front lawn, his tires tearing long furrows out of the grass. They'd worry about the landscaping later; right now they had to know just what they were dealing with.
Muzzle flashes could be seen along the wall and in the tree line just beyond, and Mason made note of their position, then relayed that information to those in the backseat. They would be in range in just another minute or two and he could feel his troops getting themselves ready, their desire to give back a little of what they were getting coming through in the set of their shoulders and the grim determination on their faces.
You picked the wrong team to screw with, Mason thought with a smile.
As they drew closer, their headlights picked up a dark shape on the grass and soon it resolved itself into a man's body. Mason pointed it out to the driver and snapped off a quick set of instructions. While he wouldn't go out of his way to check on his missing men, there was no sense in driving right by one of them if they could provide help without endangering their primary mission. The driver did as he was told, skewing the vehicle to a stop angled between the downed man in the grass and the line of fire coming from beyond the wall.
No sooner had the vehicle slammed to a stop than Mason was slipping out the door and rushing over to the unmoving man's side. Simultaneously, the men on the other side of the SUV opened the doors and crouched behind them, using them as cover as they returned fire at the enemy beyond the wall, giving Mason the time he needed to check on their companion.
Mason's men were all armed with HK MP-5 submachine guns, capable of spitting out 800 rounds of 10 mm ammunition per minute, and they hosed down the top of the wall and the trees behind it with deadly accuracy as Mason himself slid to a stop beside his wounded teammate.
The red hair told him right away that it was Katter. He reached for the man's neck and checked for a pulse. Thankfully he found one; strong and steady, too.
But when he went to remove his hand, it brushed up against something sticking out of Katter's neck.
Mason rolled the man over and let his head loll back, revealing the object sticking out of the side of Katter's throat, just below the ear.
Tranquilizer dart.
The sight of it froze him in place for a moment, his mind whirling with this new piece of data.
What on earth were they doing using a dart gun? he asked himself. And why switch from that to real firepower? It just didn't make sense.
Unless…
The gunfire was just a distraction. Something to keep he and his men occupied while the enemy went after something else.
Mason spun around, looking back at the house, and was just in time to see a group of figures running along the peak of the roof.
A moment later, the lithe figure of Annja Creed climbed out onto the roof after them and gave chase.

The roof was relatively flat, which made movement easier, but the tiles were worn smooth from years of summer rainstorms, and more than a few popped free beneath Annja's feet as she took off after the intruders. The crack of the tiles as they split and slid down the roof alerted the others to her pursuit. Annja saw the last man in the group glance back in her direction, but he didn't stop moving forward and neither did she.
Gunfire split the night air. Annja could see Mason and his men working their way across the lawn toward the south wall, using two large SUVs from the motor pool as cover. Return fire was coming at them from the tree line but so far it looked pretty ineffectual. Annja didn't know if that was a product of the enemy's weapon skills or just a ruse to suck the team in closer where more damage could be doled out. She was momentarily glad she wasn't on the ground with them.
The intruders had reached the edge of the roof and were starting to make their descent by the time Annja reached the edge of the south wing. One of them looked back in her direction, saw that she had closed the distance between them and decided she'd come far enough.
He snatched up his gun and fired.
Annja's danger sense had gone off the moment she saw his hips begin to move and so she dove to the left, rolling across the tiles, as bullets stitched through air where she had been seconds before. By the time she scrambled back to her feet, two of the three intruders had already disappeared over the edge, headed for the ground below. As she watched, the last of the trio took hold of the rope and got into position for his own descent.
Annja knew she wouldn't reach them in time to prevent them from getting away.
The assault team leader must have realized it, too, for he gave her a jaunty smile and a wink before starting down the rope.
She put on a final burst of speed and then flung herself forward, her arms outstretched. As she struck the rooftop, her momentum carried her forward, her hand dipping over the edge as she sought to keep herself from hurtling over the side by dragging her feet behind her.
It worked. Just as her feet caught on the edge of one of the tiles behind her, stopping her slide, her hand bumped into something down beneath the lip of the roof and she snatched at it.
Gotcha!
She ended up with her head extended over the edge of the roof and, looking down, she saw that she'd caught the leader's wrist just as he'd been reaching for a new hold on the rope. His gun was slung over his shoulder and his other hand grasped the rope to keep from falling to the ground.
He was stuck.
Or so Annja thought.
As she struggled to pull him up toward her, however, he did something totally unexpected.
He let go of the rope.
Annja's arm nearly popped out of the socket from the sudden weight and she was forced to release her grip on the tiles beside her and grab his arm with both hands.
Now the only thing keeping them both from falling off the roof was the narrow lip of a tile under which she'd jammed the edge of one foot.
Grinning, her opponent dipped his free shoulder, causing his rifle to slide down into his hand.
Annja couldn't believe it. What was he going to do? Shoot her? If he did, he'd fall, which, when you thought about it, wasn't the smartest move. While the distance might not kill him, it would more than likely break both his legs and would certainly put a damper on his getaway attempt.
Apparently, he didn't see it like that. As she watched, he got a better grip on the butt of the weapon, stuck his finger on the trigger and swung the muzzle up in her direction.
Whatever his intent might have been, he never got the chance to carry it through. The sudden motion shifted their weight a fraction to one side, not more than an inch, maybe two, but that was enough to cause Annja's foot to pop free from the tile under which it had been braced.
Over the edge they went.
Thankfully, the long drop she'd been expecting never came. She tumbled only ten feet or so before crashing onto the balcony jutting out below them. Her opponent lost his weapon in the fall, but managed to land on his feet. He didn't give her time to recover but rather moved in immediately and delivered a violent kick to her midsection.
It hurt, but the sudden pain also had the effect of helping to clear her head, so that when he wound up to deliver another blow, she was able to respond.
She blocked the second kick with both hands, catching his foot in the process, twisting it savagely to one side in an attempt to throw him off balance.
Rather than toppling to the ground as she'd expected, the assault leader turned in the direction of her throw, twisting his body in midair and coming back at her head with the side of his other foot.
Annja had no choice but to let go as she leaned back to avoid the strike. As they separated, she scrambled to her feet and was ready when he waded in a second time, fists and feet flying.
They exchanged a flurry of blows, neither of them managing to land anything damaging, until he overextended himself on a spinning side kick and she was able to drop beneath it and sweep his feet out from under him.
As he fell to the ground, she sprung back to her feet and closed in, intending to force him to tell her where the journal was headed, but then he did the unexpected—again. Rather than getting to his feet, he placed both his hands flat on the ground and shoved his body upward and out, slamming his feet into her chest and sending her stumbling backward.
As her arms pinwheeled with an attempt to regain her balance, the backs of her knees struck the low railing running around the edge of the balcony and her momentum kept the rest of her body in motion.
Over the balcony's edge she went.
This time there was nothing between her and the ground.