Badge of the Death Game

Chapter 041

"Hold on," Soren said, as Howard's hand moved toward the ignition. "Let's see what this is first."

Out on the street, five vans had swung hard into the hotel's service road and braked along the curb in rapid succession. The doors burst open and more than thirty men poured out, armed with steel pipes and short blades, their faces set with the particular ugliness of people who had been paid to hurt someone and were looking forward to it. The one leading them was lean and wiry, a sleeveless black shirt showing the sharp definition of muscle built through use rather than vanity, a headband pushed back above a face full of cold intent. He pointed at the two Land Rovers and shouted something that carried even through the car windows.

The mob surged forward as one.

The two Land Rovers were caught in the worst possible position, bottled up at the entrance to the parking structure with a vehicle blocking the road ahead. The drivers threw them into reverse, trying to push back through the crowd and break free, but they had badly misjudged the ferocity of what was coming at them. A steel pipe came down with full force and the windshield of the lead vehicle exploded inward, safety glass spraying across the dash. The driver slumped sideways, knocked unconscious before he could react.

The bodyguards inside made their call in the same instant, drawing their sidearms. The first shot cracked out into the night air.

It was the spark that lit everything.

The mob had come prepared. Handguns appeared from waistbands and jacket pockets all along the line, and the street turned into a crossfire in seconds. The bodyguards were outnumbered, pinned inside vehicles with no room to maneuver and nowhere to take cover. It was over in under a minute — a short, brutal exchange that ended with every man in the lead Land Rover down.

In the second vehicle, Graham had folded himself into the footwell behind the front seat, phone pressed to his ear, dialing the local emergency number over and over. He didn't speak the language. He kept repeating the same words in a rising voice: "I'm being attacked. The Harborview Hotel. Someone is trying to kill me." The operator on the other end responded in calm, unhurried Sunvale dialect, apparently working through some kind of standard procedure that had no bearing on the situation outside.

In the Audi A6 parked under the trees a short distance away, Soren's eyes had gone still and narrow. His thumb moved, and the safety on the MCX Rattler clicked off.

"What's the call?" Evan asked from the back seat. He already had the drone in his hands.

"Balaclavas on. We're going out." Soren was already moving as he said it.

The rear doors opened on both sides simultaneously. Cody and Mark stepped out into the dark, their weapons up, suppressors threading the sound of the first shots down to something that wouldn't carry far. The gunmen at the back of the mob never heard them coming. Several went down before anyone in the group understood there was a second threat, and by the time they turned to look, the rest were already scrambling for anything that would put something solid between them and the incoming fire.

Soren came out of the vehicle and moved up to join them.

Two weeks of drilling had built something real between the three of them, and it showed now. They pushed forward in a tight wedge formation, using the trees and street furniture along the curb as cover, alternating their fire so that at least one weapon was always up while the others moved. The remaining gunmen, caught between the mob's own chaos and three automatic weapons pressing in from an unexpected angle, couldn't find a clean position. They kept their heads down and tried to survive.

Soren worked through them with short, controlled bursts from the MCX Rattler, two rounds per target, moving left to right across the line. Each pair of shots found its mark. In less than a minute, the armed element of the mob had been effectively neutralized — the ones still on their feet either running or flat on the ground.

The leader read the situation, shouted something to whoever was left standing, and the remnants of the group broke and ran for the vans.

Soren pulled a smoke grenade from his vest and threw it toward the two Land Rovers. It hit the asphalt and detonated in a dense white bloom that swallowed the immediate area around both vehicles.

"Reloading," Cody called out, dropping to one knee and swapping magazines with practiced efficiency.

Soren and Mark took up positions on either side, covering their respective fields of fire while Cody worked. When he came back up and signaled ready, he held the position and kept his weapon trained on the far end of the street. Soren and Mark pushed forward through the smoke, pausing twice to put finishing shots into men who were still moving, then reached the second Land Rover and pulled the door open.

Graham came out in a stumble, disoriented, not yet sure whether the people grabbing him were rescuers or a second wave. Mark steadied him and ran a quick check — there was blood on his jacket and shirt, but after a fast assessment, Mark was reasonably confident it had come from one of the bodyguards rather than from Graham himself. No obvious entry wounds, no labored breathing, no signs of shock beyond what the situation warranted.

Evan's voice came through the wireless earpiece. "Police units moving in from the east. Estimated three minutes to your position."

"Received." Soren tapped Mark on the shoulder twice.

They moved immediately, Graham between them, retracing their path back to the Audi A6 at a controlled jog. Soren dropped into the passenger seat and was already running a tactical reload on the MCX Rattler as he called back to Howard, "Go."

Howard didn't need to be told twice. He had the car moving before the last door closed, pulling out smoothly and accelerating away from the hotel district. Less than two minutes later, a pair of police cruisers swept past them in the opposite direction, lights going, neither one slowing.

Howard kept the speed even and let the distance grow.

When Soren finally turned to check the back seat, the picture was not dignified. Four grown men were packed into a space designed for three, all of them in tactical gear, with Graham and Evan wedged together in the middle looking equally miserable about it. Graham had gone quiet in the way people do when adrenaline starts to leave and the mind begins catching up with what just happened. He looked at the three figures in balaclavas around him and seemed to be running calculations about his immediate future.

Mark reached up and pulled his balaclava off, exhaling. "I genuinely cannot believe there were that many armed men on a Grayhaven City street. With actual firearms. What is happening to this city."

The moment one of the supposed threats removed his mask, Graham immediately dropped his gaze to his lap, apparently deciding that seeing less was safer.

"Fairly obvious they were there for our guest," Howard said cheerfully, glancing in the rearview mirror.

Graham caught his own name in the flow of Mandarin and looked up. "I don't care who you are or what you want," he said carefully. "If you don't harm me, I will personally ensure my company pays you a substantial sum. Whatever you're asking."

"We just pulled you out of that, Mr. Wilson," Mark said, switching to English with an easy smile. "Killing you would rather defeat the purpose." He let that settle for a moment. "It seems like tonight has freed up your schedule considerably. Plenty of time for that interview."

Graham stared at him. He looked at the face more carefully, taking in the faint scarring along the jaw, the particular set of the eyes. Something clicked. "I know you. I've seen your photo. You're the security contractor Mr. Palisade recommended — from Palisade Security."

"That's me. I apologize for the circumstances of the introduction. But you're safe now, Mr. Wilson."

________________________________________

It was past ten by the time they reached the training facility.

Graham sat on the couch with both hands wrapped around a mug of warm milk that Evan had put together for him, and the tension that had been locked through his shoulders since the street slowly began to release. He looked around at the group and shook his head. "I don't want to think about what would have happened if you hadn't been there."

"You have good timing on your side," Mark said. "And besides — you were already planning to hire us to handle your security. Tonight was just us doing the job a little ahead of schedule."

Graham absorbed that, and a small, knowing look crossed his face. He straightened up and set the mug down. "You're right, of course. I'll contact the company tonight and have them draw up the contract. We'll backdate the effective date to yesterday — does that work for everyone?"

He was sharp enough to understand exactly what Mark was doing, and experienced enough to recognize a fair exchange when he saw one. The contract gave Soren and the others a legitimate professional cover for the bodies they'd left on the street. It was a reasonable price for his life, and Graham was not the kind of man who quibbled over reasonable prices.

His gaze moved to Soren and Cody. "Are these two also with Palisade Security? They're good. Mainland Chinese, if I had to guess."

"We're not with the company," Soren said. "Call us independent contractors. Friends of Mark's, brought in for additional support."

"Ah." Graham nodded as if this confirmed something he already suspected. "Outsourcing to specialist freelancers. Standard industry practice." He seemed entirely satisfied with that explanation.

Soren let him settle into it, then leaned forward slightly. "Mr. Wilson, I'd like to ask you something directly. Does your employer, Mr. Alden Scott, have any existing business relationship with the Voss family here in Grayhaven City?"