To The Lions - 02 (54 page)

“Someone’s
shooting!” Angelines yelled.

“Then
get down!” Gage yelled back, struggling to maintain his hold.

In
Gage’s weakened condition, and with his freshly broken leg, he didn’t have the
strength or leverage to control Xavier.
 
The Spaniard yanked Gage to the side, spinning him, giving Gage an
unfortunate glimpse of his grotesquely broken leg—the one that appeared to have
a new knee at mid-shin.

As
Gage tumbled to the sand, Xavier burst from an opening in the parachute, a
glinting blade in his hand.

“Gage!”
Angelines screamed, grasping Xavier’s right hand before it could plunge
downward.
 
Holding the mobster’s arm,
Angelines lurched forward, her mouth opened wide.
 
Like a vampire, her clamping mouth found his
neck, eliciting a screech from Xavier.

A
hundred and fifty meters away, the sniper angled for a shot.

Worse,
however, was the man on the ground, racing forward with an outstretched pistol.

* * *

They must be communicating by an
open radio line
, the man in the wheelchair
realized.
 
He knew this because the man
on the roof was openly speaking English, telling the one that had just jumped over
the wall what he was seeing through his scope.

The
man in the wheelchair reached down with his massive arm, finding the object
that had rolled away from the dead Russian.

As
he’d thought it was, indeed, a hand grenade.
 
He took a quick glance at the grenade, appraising it as the same NATO
variety grenade he’d been armed with in the Gulf.

After
crossing himself, the man in the wheelchair, feeling as alive as he had since
losing his legs in the Persian Gulf War, gripped the grenade in his right hand
and pulled the pin.
 
He let the spoon
fall into his lap and counted to two.
 
Then he lobbed the grenade over the massive umbrellas, listening with
satisfaction as the half-kilo hand-bomb plunked on the roof.

There
was a chirp of a shout—it was cut off by the explosion.

The
man in the wheelchair watched with fascination as the sniper vaulted forward,
briefly illuminated by the flash, tumbling onto the umbrellas below him.
 
The man fell to the patio, his torn body
silent and unmoving.

But
more important to the man in the wheelchair was the rifle that tumbled down to
the patio.

* * *

It
was a primal scene.
 
Angelines remained
connected to Xavier like a snapping turtle.
 
Despite his writhing, thankfully, she never let go.
 
Back up at the street, a flash of light was
soon followed by a calamitous boom.
 
Gage
instantly recognized it as a grenade report.
 
Though his heart briefly sank as he feared for Justina, he saw the
oncoming silhouette of a man, a pistol held out in front of him, zig-zagging in
a fast crouch.

Gage
tapped his chest, unaware of what had happened to the AutoMag in the
collision.
 
To his left, in the low surf,
was Gennady.
 
Blood bubbling from his
mouth, Gennady unsteadily held a pistol outstretched.
 
Despite the agony of his leg twisting over
its splintered fracture, Gage propelled himself to Gennady’s outstretched hand
by clawing the wet sand.
 
He jerked the
pistol from the Russian, whipping it around and firing the semi-automatic as
fast as he could pull the trigger, unleashing four rounds at the rushing
person.
 
The man had been approaching in
the manner of a person who wasn’t expecting to be fired upon.
 
He was wrong.
 

The
jacketed rounds struck the man in his torso, cutting through him like a sharp
pencil puncturing a thin sheet of paper.

Though
the rest of the onrushing man had stopped working, curiously his legs managed a
few more wobbly strides.
 
But that soon
ended as the man fell facedown, his face burrowing to a stop in the sand.
 

Gage
turned back to the fray, watching as Angelines opened her mouth and finally
released the screaming Xavier.
 
The
mobster’s hand, having long since released the blade, shot to his neck.
 
Unfortunately, for him, his trademark tattoo
was now missing a chunk of skin the size of a muffin top.

Angelines
struggled to a standing position while Gage checked his rounds and surveyed the
beach for threats.
 
The lights at the road
showed twin shadows, one tall and one short.
 
Gage squinted at the images, watching as the tall shadow dropped to its
knees, burying its head in its hands.

Justina
…

Refocusing,
Gage dragged himself to Xavier.
 
The
impact from his parachute had left the Spanish gangster in bad shape, made
worse by Angelines’ bite.
 

Gage
didn’t care.

Reminiscent
of what Xavier had done to Camilo, his narcotics lieutenant, Gage grabbed the
gangster’s hand, twisting it and pulling the pinkie finger all the way back.

“Who
else is out there?”

Xavier
spit at Gage, clawing at his eyes.
 
Despite his leg’s twisting, Gage fell flat on the parachute with Xavier,
striking him with the pistol.

Xavier
cursed Gage in three languages.

Both
men greatly weakened, chests heaving, Gage resumed his grip on Xavier’s hand,
pulling his pinkie all the way back to his wrist.

It
sounded like a hard pretzel snapping.

“Who
else is out there?” Gage growled.

“No
one!”

Gage
pulled the Spaniard’s ring finger back, snapping it also.

“Who
else?”

“I
swear on my mother it was only the two gunmen,” Xavier blubbered.

“He
wanted to kill us, Gage!” Angelines yelled, her mouth still dripping with
Xavier’s blood.

Still
holding Xavier’s arm, Gage twisted it so the Spaniard would have to roll to his
stomach.
 
Keeping the arm in the center
of Xavier’s back, Gage positioned himself on top, so he could control the man
without much effort.
 

“Yeah,
he was going to kill us,” Gage agreed.
 
He turned his eyes to the road now seeing Justina and Señora Moreno
staggering toward the boardwalk.
 
With
them was—

“Do
it, you twat!”

 
Gage turned, seeing that Angelines had moved
to the right and had found the AutoMag.
 
She gripped it in both her hands, aiming it at the Spaniard’s head.

“Angelines,
wait!” Gage yelled.

“I
don’t care what the repercussions are,” she said, her glinting red smile broad
and scary.
 
“This man is pure toxin.”

“Go
ahead!” Xavier yelled, jerking his battered body under Gage.
 
He twisted his head back to Gage,
maniacal.
 
“You better letter her do it,
coño
, because I’ve killed a million men
and I’ll kill a million more and I’m starting with your ass.
 
I’m the law in Spain!
 
You got that?”

Gage
slid back off the man.

Xavier
rolled over, opening his arms wide, beating his own chest, still ranting in a
demented monologue as he sat up.

“Just
today, I proved what kind of man I am,
coño
,
when I resisted my urge and I spared your two women but destroyed a woman I was
close to.
 
I didn’t want to kill her but
I went through with it.”
 
Using sticky
blood from his neck, he swept his hair back, smiling proudly.
 
“You know why I killed her?
 
You know why?
 
For preservation of my kingdom,
capullo
!”
he yelled, gesturing his arms all around.
 
“That’s right!
 
Not Navarro’s
kingdom.
 
Not King Juan Carlos’ and damn
sure not your kingdom, motherfucker!
 
This bitch is all mine!
 
Every
house—every business—every man, woman, and child!
 
And unless you kill me now, I’ll be walking
these streets by sundown tomorrow with you and your fat whore first on my—”

A
long tongue of flame emerged from the wide barrel of the powerful handgun,
sending with it the death shot that struck the mobster in the back of his head
and exploded from his right eye.
 
Xavier
twitched before falling backward, his body benignly accepting two more of
Angelines’ gunshots squarely in his crotch.
 

She
spit on him afterward.

Having
seen, and acted upon, such rage before, Gage understood.

He
turned to Gennady, now lying still as a trickle of blood exited his mouth in
the low surf.
 
There was no rise and fall
of his chest.
 
Gennady’s pistol, Gage
realized, had saved them.
 
Still
uncertain of what other threats were out there, Gage clawed his way back to
Gennady and found another full clip in the Russian’s pocket.
 

Growling
in pain, Gage again reset his leg.
 
Sitting there with the Mediterranean’s tide rushing in around him, he
held the pistol at the ready as his mind replayed all that had happened.
 
Xavier had surreptitiously positioned a
sniper on the roof to kill all involved once he had the bearer bonds.
 
Gennady and Gage had anticipated something of
the sort—that’s why they had stationed Dmitry at beach center, hiding him back
behind the first row of buildings.
 

Gage
assumed Dmitry had killed the sniper with the grenade.

But,
Gage reasoned, if that were the case, then where was Dmitry?
 
Perhaps Xavier’s backup man, the one Gage had
just shot, wounded or killed Dmitry.
 
Gage hoped not.
 
Certainly these
Russians knew they were getting into a dangerous situation, but it was not
Gage’s intention to lead them both to their death.

“You
okay?” Gage grunted.

Angelines
had fallen to the sand next to Xavier, her again-bleeding leg outstretched, her
body shuddering with tears.
 
She was
covering her face with her hands and, through her tears, nodded.

“You
can take that cash and go, Angelines.
 
The cops are going to be here any second and I can delay my explanation
under a shroud of shock.”

She
lowered her hands, wiping her eyes.
 
“No,
Gage.
 
I’m staying.”

“Thank
you for your help.
 
You saved me.”

“No…you
saved me,” she said.
 
“Because no matter
what happens, I’m free now.”

As
she spoke, Justina and Señora Moreno approached, trudging to the end of the
boardwalk behind a man in a wheelchair.

Even
through his considerable pain, Gage remembered the man.
 
He was another soldier, Gage’s worldwide
brotherhood.

Justina
stepped around the wheelchair, staggering to where Gage sat.
 
She knelt beside him, lowering him to the
sand and finger-depth surf.
 
And, as was
her habit, she ran her fingers through Gage’s hair.

Their
smiles turned to relieved, warm laughter.

She’s still alive
,
Gage thought, the joy overriding any agony his physical body was enduring.
 
Thank
God, she’s still alive
.

“Are
you okay?” he asked.

“I
am now.”

Angelines
and Señora Moreno staggered up to the man in the wheelchair while Gage and
Justina remained in the water.

“Is
Dmitry dead?” Gage whispered.

“We
thought so but—”

Movement
catching his eye, Gage lifted the pistol, aiming it at the brawny man
staggering around the trio, his hand clamped over his shoulder.

Dmitry.

He
trudged forward, eyeing the scene, focusing on Gennady.
 
When Gage realized Dmitry meant no harm, he
lowered the pistol.
 
“Gennady’s dead.”

Dmitry
just stood there, seemingly in shock.

“Spain’s
yours for the taking,
priyatel
.
 
I’d suggest you haul ass and get busy.”

Recognition
flooded Dmitry’s face as a weak smile appeared.
 
Bolstered, he turned and hurried away.

Gage
fell back and closed his eyes, his hand again finding Justina’s face.
 
“I just want to hold you,” he said, pulling
her on top of him.