hint of a breeze.
He stopped in front of a broad sturdy door. He rested his hand against the wood.
Carter licked his lips.
‘You need me ,’ came the whisper of Kade’s voice.
I need nothing, Carter thought bitterly.
He pushed gently and stepped aside; the door swung free. Carter peered, then with outstretched weapon slid in. The room was dark and he swiftly switched on the light...
Empty.
Carter moved towards the window, which was open - a three-inch gap. He looked out, then down, saw a small strip of mud caught against the wooden sill - and suddenly realised that he was a clean target against the window ... He moved fast, as a .22 calibre sniper round smashed through the glass of embed itself in the plaster of the ceiling.
Carter rolled on the carpet, was up and running—
He screamed into his comm, ‘We have a breach, red floor, sectors 15 to 20 ... I repeat, we have a fucking breach...’
He spun out of the doorway and into the path of a surprised black-clad figure; the Browning 9mm slammed twice in his hand and the intruder was kicked from his feet, scrabbling at the holes in his throat as he went down hard.
Carter looked left and right. From somewhere in the house came the sound of distant screams and cries for help. He ran to the top of the stairs and a stream of silenced bullets spat wood from the rail. He dived, rolling against the wall with a bone-jarring thud. His gaze fixed on the bullets in the rail, the chewed wood and splinters - he judged the angle, popped his head round and fired off five rounds. Then, scrambling to his feet, he ran for the head of the stairs.
The silenced machine gun ate the wall behind him as Carter leaped, clearing the top flight in a single bound; his Browning slammed in his hand once more, six rounds that picked up the assassin and sent him spinning down the remaining stairs where he sprawled at the foot, blood soaking the plush pile, his chest caved in and slick with gore.
No guests ... no guests in the hall...
Fuck, screamed Carter’s brain.
He crept down the stairs and crouched next to the corpse, creating a smaller target. The comm vibrated in his hand. ‘Carter, Jesmar. I have Maria in the kitchens. Yellow, sector 34. There are six of them in the ballroom -they’ve herded the guests together. They are all heavily armed.’
‘I’ve taken out two,’ said Carter softly as he replaced the clip in his gun. ‘You stay there, I’ll come to you.’
The guests were silent in the lounge. Carter slowly eased his head around the corner; a black-clad assassin stood sentry with a silenced Uzi-K2. Carter fired three rounds and ran in the opposite direction towards the kitchen. As he spun through the door bullets tore the wood behind him and he sprawled across the tiles, sliding between stainless-steel cabinets on his belly. His boot kicked backwards, slamming the door shut.
‘Jesmar?’ he bellowed.
‘Over here,’ came the shout from one of the adjoining rooms.
Carter peered over the stainless-steel cabinets, strewn with bubbling pans and half-prepared dishes; discarded knives and chopped vegetables littered the worktops. There were no cooks visible. He moved carefully around the room and towards the adjoining chamber. Hairs prickled across the back of his neck.
‘I’m coming in - hold your fire.’
He stepped into the dimly lit room. It was a storage chamber filled with sacks and crates with stencilled lettering in German. He saw Jesmar, standing beside an ashen-faced Maria.
Carter met Jesmar’s stare and he knew—
Knew that something was wrong—
The gun rose and pointed at Carter.
‘I am sorry, my friend. It is your time to die.’
Carter nodded gently. ‘I think ...’ His Browning lifted, a blur, and smashed a bullet into Jesmar’s face; the bullet entered through the man’s nose and exploded the back of his head across a sack of vegetables. Jesmar toppled in a heap. ‘…somebody is playing a game with me,’ Carter finished.
‘Carter,’
He stopped in front of a broad sturdy door. He rested his hand against the wood.
Carter licked his lips.
‘You need me ,’ came the whisper of Kade’s voice.
I need nothing, Carter thought bitterly.
He pushed gently and stepped aside; the door swung free. Carter peered, then with outstretched weapon slid in. The room was dark and he swiftly switched on the light...
Empty.
Carter moved towards the window, which was open - a three-inch gap. He looked out, then down, saw a small strip of mud caught against the wooden sill - and suddenly realised that he was a clean target against the window ... He moved fast, as a .22 calibre sniper round smashed through the glass of embed itself in the plaster of the ceiling.
Carter rolled on the carpet, was up and running—
He screamed into his comm, ‘We have a breach, red floor, sectors 15 to 20 ... I repeat, we have a fucking breach...’
He spun out of the doorway and into the path of a surprised black-clad figure; the Browning 9mm slammed twice in his hand and the intruder was kicked from his feet, scrabbling at the holes in his throat as he went down hard.
Carter looked left and right. From somewhere in the house came the sound of distant screams and cries for help. He ran to the top of the stairs and a stream of silenced bullets spat wood from the rail. He dived, rolling against the wall with a bone-jarring thud. His gaze fixed on the bullets in the rail, the chewed wood and splinters - he judged the angle, popped his head round and fired off five rounds. Then, scrambling to his feet, he ran for the head of the stairs.
The silenced machine gun ate the wall behind him as Carter leaped, clearing the top flight in a single bound; his Browning slammed in his hand once more, six rounds that picked up the assassin and sent him spinning down the remaining stairs where he sprawled at the foot, blood soaking the plush pile, his chest caved in and slick with gore.
No guests ... no guests in the hall...
Fuck, screamed Carter’s brain.
He crept down the stairs and crouched next to the corpse, creating a smaller target. The comm vibrated in his hand. ‘Carter, Jesmar. I have Maria in the kitchens. Yellow, sector 34. There are six of them in the ballroom -they’ve herded the guests together. They are all heavily armed.’
‘I’ve taken out two,’ said Carter softly as he replaced the clip in his gun. ‘You stay there, I’ll come to you.’
The guests were silent in the lounge. Carter slowly eased his head around the corner; a black-clad assassin stood sentry with a silenced Uzi-K2. Carter fired three rounds and ran in the opposite direction towards the kitchen. As he spun through the door bullets tore the wood behind him and he sprawled across the tiles, sliding between stainless-steel cabinets on his belly. His boot kicked backwards, slamming the door shut.
‘Jesmar?’ he bellowed.
‘Over here,’ came the shout from one of the adjoining rooms.
Carter peered over the stainless-steel cabinets, strewn with bubbling pans and half-prepared dishes; discarded knives and chopped vegetables littered the worktops. There were no cooks visible. He moved carefully around the room and towards the adjoining chamber. Hairs prickled across the back of his neck.
‘I’m coming in - hold your fire.’
He stepped into the dimly lit room. It was a storage chamber filled with sacks and crates with stencilled lettering in German. He saw Jesmar, standing beside an ashen-faced Maria.
Carter met Jesmar’s stare and he knew—
Knew that something was wrong—
The gun rose and pointed at Carter.
‘I am sorry, my friend. It is your time to die.’
Carter nodded gently. ‘I think ...’ His Browning lifted, a blur, and smashed a bullet into Jesmar’s face; the bullet entered through the man’s nose and exploded the back of his head across a sack of vegetables. Jesmar toppled in a heap. ‘…somebody is playing a game with me,’ Carter finished.
‘Carter,’
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