He turned and headed back down the stairs, his carbine in front of him, trained on whatever got in his way. A stair at a time, gunshots going off all around him, above and below, his senses were sharp, his trigger finger ready.
On the ground floor, he turned into the hallway to find it empty.
Walker breathed out, relief flooding him.
The bar was directly in front of him. To his right, flashes made him dive through the doorway, but not before a bullet caught him in his right shoulder. He lay on the floor, the pain so intense he thought he might faint.
Behind him, Sarge was dealing with a mercenary. Walker used his right leg to try to close the bar door, but before he could, a figure emerged. With his MP5 in hand, he put six bullets in the guy, one bullet catching him in his open mouth.
In the doorway, the mercenary lay in a pool of his own blood.
For a moment or two, his brain forgot about the pain. It came back with friends once the danger was over. Walker groaned, holding his injured arm. “Sarge?”
To his left, Walker saw a mercenary take four bullets from Sarge, and collapse on the floor in a heap. Again, Walker breathed out deeply. “I’ve taken one in the arm.” He tried to stand, until his boss came and helped him up. “It’s okay, I can still hold a gun.”
“Here, take one of their Glocks,” Sarge said, handing it to him. “The MP5’s too heavy with one arm. And stay close, I don’t know how many are left.”
Walker compared notes with Sarge on how many they’d each taken out. He saw three bodies on the floor in the bar alone. “Do you hear that? Backup’s on the way. All we have to do is wait it out until these fuckers are surrounded.”
“Do me a favour,” the Sarge said, nodding at the window. “Go over there and tell me what’s going on outside, would you?”
Carrying the Glock in his good hand, he walked over to the window and stared out at the assortment of vehicles out there, from armoured vans, to his police car, the blue Fiesta and Rachel’s plain white Peugeot. “Not a lot. Looks like they’re all inside.”
“Hey, Luke!”
Turning round, Walker froze. Sarge, squatting in front of the mercenary he’d just shot, had the dead man’s finger on the trigger of a Glock 17, the pistol pointed at Walker.
“Hey, what the fuck, Sarge? What’re you doing?”
“You know this has to happen, right? You should’ve pulled the trigger, Luke. Now you’re a liability, probably thinking of how you can weasel your way out of this, huh? You see, Luke, you’re not one of us now; we can’t trust you. And I bet you told that bitch of a girlfriend of yours upstairs, didn’t you? Shame, you were one of the best cops I’ve ever worked with.”
Panic set in. Strangely, he wasn’t as concerned for himself as he thought he would be. The only person on his mind at that moment was Rachel. By the narrowing of the Sarge’s eyes, he intended to go ahead. “Rachel! It’s a trap!”
The last thing Luke Walker saw was the muzzle flash of Sarge’s pistol.
74
“Rachel! It’s a trap!”
Miller stopped. What was Luke talking about? She didn’t like the way she heard a gunshot immediately after he’d shouted it. “Luke! Speak to me, Luke!” she yelled down the stairs. His voice came from the ground floor; or at least she thought it had. Nothing. Taking the stairs one at a time, the carbine in her hands, all she wanted was to see his beautiful face.
With Marlowe behind her, she found herself on the ground floor, turned to her right and saw the bar door was open. Figuring it was the best place to search for Luke, she stepped inside. “Luke?”
At the front of the room, in front of the window, she saw Sarge cradling her Luke, who was covered in blood. The net curtains were red. Miller screamed, then rushed over to them. Without waiting for Luke’s superior to get out of her way, she took over cradling her dead boyfriend, tears streaming down her cheeks.
In the distance, sirens wailed. Miller didn’t care; she’d lost the one good thing in her life. She’d only been going out with him for a short time, but knew she loved him. Luke was perfect for her, and now he was dead.
“Miller! Look out!” Marlowe shouted.
Staring up, she was shocked to find Sarge pointing a pistol at her.
Tears stung her eyes, and a lump strangled her. “You? You shot Luke?”
In hindsight, she should have known, but considering there were mercenaries paid to execute them in the building, she hadn’t expected this. Rookie mistake.
At the rear of the bar, Miller noticed Vodicka enter.
“Wait! Let me do it, Sarge,” Vodicka said, walking up to him, putting her hand on top of his pistol and pushing his arm down. “I want to take this snooty bitch out.”
“Make it quick! Backup’s on its way,” Sarge replied.
Having no time to think, Miller let go of Luke, ready to lunge when Vodicka was within reach. “I want to see what you’ve got, Vodicka. Let’s see if you’re as tough as Luke says. Come on! One on one; how about it?”
Vodicka smiled. “It won’t take long.”
In the background, Marlowe sidestepped towards Sarge.
Getting to her feet, Miller stepped towards Vodicka, as her opponent slid a knife out of its sheath. “A believer in fair fights, huh? You fucking coward! Let’s have it, then.”
With no warning, Vodicka took a swing at her with the knife.
Miller ducked, the blade missing her by mere millimetres.
Having a long arm reach, she punched Vodicka on the
