Search and Destroy by James Hilton Page A

against the floor. The windscreen held firm despite the countless rounds Clay and the gunman had put through it.
    “Lie down here.” Danny gestured between the rear seats, and Andrea did as she was told, cradling her laptop bag in her arms. He pushed down the cushions from the seats, arranging them to provide a meagre degree of shock absorption. They certainly wouldn’t stop a bullet but they would help to prevent her being tossed around when the going got rough. Her eyes were glassy and they kept flicking to the weapon in his hand. She must be wondering what the hell kind of men they were.
    Clay’s gruff baritone echoed down the galley. “We got lights coming up fast.”
    * * *
    Dust and grit spread in a plume behind the ATV. Mark hung on grimly as Luke powered after the target vehicle. Suddenly the bike slowed—bodies in the road. Luke steered towards the nearest and leant over, foot braced on the blacktop. Mark heard a sharp intake of breath, then a torrent of syllables. Mark’s grasp of Québécois was meagre at best but his companion’s tone was unmistakable. Swearing sounds pretty much the same in any language.
    “Both of them?”
    “Both.” Another stream of curses.
    “We gotta kill these motherfuckers and end this mission now!”
    Luke was still swearing in his native tongue but he nodded in agreement. The powerful Kawasaki engine roared like an injured cougar as he opened up to full speed. Soon the RV was back in their line of sight.
    Twenty feet behind the Winnebago, Mark aimed his weapon at the rear right tyre. It was big and wide: an easy target. The heavy rubber was no match for the 9mm projectiles and in seconds the rear of the vehicle had dipped awkwardly.
    Luke slewed the bike to the left and Mark repeated the routine on the left wheel. Now the whole rear of the Winnebago dropped and bounced as it fought for traction, its tail sending up intermittent showers of sparks.
    “Kill the driver!” yelled Luke.
    Mark tucked the weapon tight into his shoulder as they drew level with the cabin of the RV. “He’s already dead, he’s just too dumb to realise it.” He looked into the wide eyes of the driver—a big man with close-cropped blond hair—his finger hovering over the trigger.
    Then the bulk of the bus lurched into a tight arc towards the bike. Mark grabbed onto Luke’s back as the wheels of the Kawasaki passed momentarily under the scarred aluminium body. He felt rather than saw the bike break free with a shriek of grinding metal. He heard shots and Mark felt a heavy calibre bullet pass dangerously close to his head and steadied his own weapon as best he could. A tight three-burst round succeeded in reducing the right wing mirror to a twisted spur of metal. He aimed along the weapon’s stubby barrel.

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    Danny was thrown off balance as the Winnebago slewed from side to side, its suspension worse than useless, every minor bump in the road making it lurch and shudder. The stream of enemy bullets was keeping Clay on the defensive and he could see his brother constantly overcorrecting his steering. The RV was fishtailing in ever-widening arcs; it seemed only a matter of time before they crashed or Clay was shredded.
    Danny shouldered open the rear window in the dining area. He could now see their pursuers: two men on a high-powered quad bike. Using the window frame as support he shot with the MP5K. The gunman riding pillion turned, scowling at the new threat. He leaned back and sent a flurry of rounds at Danny, who dropped to his knees, then rose to return fire. Both men unleashed staccato bursts of lead. Neither was successful in hitting their mark. Then the front rider pulled his own sub-machine gun and fired a burst. From his vantage point Danny could not see the shots hit home, but the sudden jerk of the RV nearly knocked him flying. They had taken out the front right tyre. The crippled vehicle skidded a quarter turn and with a squeal of metal, shuddered to a halt.
    There was a roar as the