Death Metal

He cursed. It was an obvious precaution, and he should have expected it. Despite that, the tension still gnawed at him as he waited. Should he follow the first truck and risk discovery, even though the second truck may not move for some time?

He knew from what he had heard that the mercs were in a hurry. Their nerves would be cracking right now, and he figured that they were likely to move the second truck sooner rather than later.

* * *

RIPPER GAVE MILAN a puzzled look as the mercenary directed him to turn off the wide road and head down the narrow gap between two warehouses. The truck behind moved past them. In his side mirror Ripper saw Hades stare at them as he passed, with the same puzzled stare.

“Seb understands. Trust me,” Milan said.

“I don’t get it. We have to leave the same way as them,” Ripper muttered.

“Turn the lights out and take it slow,” Milan said, ignoring him. He fingered the MP5 in his grasp. Maybe he would need it.

“I can’t go any slower than this,” Ripper cautioned as the truck moved at a crawl.

“Suits me fine. We can catch up with them,” Milan murmured, his eyes narrowing in the dim light.

There was a maze of narrow roads between the warehouses that populated the docks. They were built in rough squares, so that each had some loading and unloading space to the front, with the narrow spaces between being purely for access. That made them hard to negotiate, and even harder to recon from within a moving vehicle.

“Got you,” Milan whispered to himself as they passed the far end of the narrow passage where Bolan had parked. He indicated to Ripper to back up.

“Who the hell is that?” Ripper asked as he put the truck into Reverse.

“Don’t know, don’t care, won’t ask,” Milan said softly. “Turn down there and hit full beam,” he added, racking the SMG. “Let’s flush him out.”

* * *

BOLAN CURSED WHEN he saw movement in the rearview mirror. It was a momentary darkening of an already black space, but it was enough to make him realize what the second truck was doing.

He had been certain that he had not been seen. Maybe his luck wasn’t as good as he’d thought.

Bolan opened the door, slipping out and letting it fall back so that it appeared to be closed. He moved in front of the vehicle, edging toward the wide ribbon of road. If nothing else, he was pretty sure that would now be secure.

He edged around so that he could see down the narrow alley as the black shape passed back again. The soldier racked the micro Uzi SMG.

Any moment now...

CHAPTER SIX

The night was rent by the sharp and deafening chatter of SMG fire as the headlights of the truck illuminated the car while Milan—having slid out of his seat and resting the barrel of his weapon on the doorsill to steady it—sprayed an arc that spewed glass and acrylic paint chips across the ground and the backseat of the vehicle.

As he ceased fire, the silence was oppressive, closing in suddenly as the SMG fire echoed swiftly away. Ripper and Hellhammer were transfixed in the truck, staring at the damage inflicted on the sedan.

“What the hell...” Milan left the cover of the door and moved forward quickly, MP5 held at waist level. He peered into the interior of the vehicle, gun barrel up and ready. He had expected to see his enemy, incapacitated if not dead. Instead there was just empty space.

He turned angrily as he heard Ripper laugh nervously.

“An empty car, man. No big deal.”

“Then what is it doing here? Why—”

“Hey, it doesn’t matter. Now come on, let’s get going before they get too far ahead.”

Milan gestured to the giant to be quiet, angrily scoping the ground in front of him. He couldn’t see anything, but he just knew that the car’s driver was out there. Waiting...

* * *

BOLAN PULLED BACK as the lights of the truck winked on brighter and heard rather than saw the barrage of fire. His gaze narrowed at the thought of being detected that easily.

It was no longer safe to be in the area. Gunfire in the open would attract attention, and he didn’t want to have to answer awkward questions and get tied up in red tape. One of the trucks was headed for the bunker. If it was the one he had fitted the tracker to, then things were good. If not, he needed to pick up the trail as soon as possible.

He heard the exchange between the Norwegian and the merc, and could picture their relative positions. He had seen two men in the front of the truck that had passed him. That meant one, maybe two more at most beside the pair he had heard.

Bolan stepped out across the line of the alley, snapping off three short bursts of fire before stepping back.

* * *

MILAN WAS DISTRACTED for one full second, yet it was enough. He knew that the enemy was close, but when he had heard Hellhammer mutter to Ripper, he turned back to silence him. It was an instinctive move and an error.

The merc’s head was turned away when Bolan appeared behind him. Milan had time to register Ripper’s expression, but no more, before the first short burst stitched him across the ribs and spine. By the time the second and third bursts had shattered the truck’s headlights and damaged the fender and open door, he was out of the game.

The return fire had panicked the two musicians. Hellhammer was yelling at Ripper to get the truck in gear and out of there. In his panicked state, the driver was grinding the gears, the truck jolting forward with a sickening lurch and crunching into the rear fender of the car before hitting Reverse and screeching backward with rubber burning smoke on the concrete.

Bolan moved down the alley, hurrying past the car and the prone mercenary, needing only the most cursory of glances to see that he was no threat. He snapped off another burst at the dark shape that the truck had become as it reversed and skidded sideways. He wanted to take out the windshield, maybe take down the driver. A burst of glass signaled that he had taken out the side window on the driver’s door, but the Norwegian must have ducked and got lucky as the truck continued on, skidding wildly across the confined space and smacking into the warehouse on each side, the front fender screeching and buckling under the impact.

The vehicle slowed, the agonizing sound of scraping metal betraying that the wheel well had closed in on at least one of the front wheels. But still it moved forward. The soldier could come out behind it and take out the tires, or he could go for a frontal assault, if he was fast enough.

He gambled that he was. Running back past the now useless car, he came out onto the main ribbon of concrete at the dock and ran hard. In his mind’s eye he could see the layout of the warehouses and the narrow alleys between the open squares as they were clustered.

The mercs were headed for the sole exit, and there was only one way they could get there. If Bolan was quick enough, he could get there before the enemy.

He cursed as he ran full-out into a straggling group of drunk and stoned metalheads who had wandered from their warehouse, attracted by the noise of the firefight. They were spread over the road, and Bolan would have to take evasive action to avoid running into them. That was rendered unnecessary when one of the women realized through her stupor that he was carrying a gun and screamed in fear. It had the effect of making them scatter, some of the young men grabbing women and pulling them away, sheltering them with their bodies.

The Executioner was past them, cutting across and down an unlit passage, when he heard an angry voice raised above the confusion. The owner of the car he had hot-wired had discovered its final resting place.

No time to worry about that now. The soldier had cut across an angle in the wide road as it took a curve at the dock and was now at a point where the crippled truck would have to come out if it was to head for the dock entrance.

In the gloom of the overhanging warehouse walls, Bolan could hear rather than see his prey as it approached. He could also hear distant sirens. One of the partygoers obviously had had sense enough to use his or her cell phone. He took a moment to reload his Uzi SMG.

It was time to bring this to a close, Bolan decided. As the dark shape of the truck closed on him, the shrieking of metal setting his teeth on edge, he aimed low and with two short bursts took out the front tires. Whatever control the driver had over the damaged vehicle was gone now, and it swerved wildly within the narrow gap, cannoning off the walls with showers of sparks where metal scraped concrete and more metal.

Bolan wanted to advance and finish the confrontation quickly, aware of the rapidly closing authorities, but he was stymied by the erratic progress of the truck. He didn’t want to risk being caught and pinned in a confined area.

The truck slewed to a halt, sliding around so that it became jammed at an angle between the two walls of the alley. It prevented anyone from exiting the back doors as they were constrained by one wall, but it did leave Bolan on the wrong side of one cab door if a person chose to run.

The soldier snapped off another burst, shattering the window of the driver’s door. He had wanted to take alive the men inside, so that he could question them, but circumstances altered that plan.

He closed in on the truck, micro Uzi SMG held at shoulder level.