scurried back to his team, assuring Dorian would leave once he had tied his shoes.
“Everyone in position,” he whispered loudly. “And remember, shoot to kill.”
One of the agents indicated their objection to the order with the drooping of their firearms, but Henry’s steely eyes said, Don’t argue. That’s an order.
JOHN GRAVAGLIA
• 61 •
The rookie exhaled, steeled himself. “You heard the boss,” he said to his comrades, “let’s saddle up.”
The agents spread out in positions along the roof. Henry, naturally, had chosen the spot where he could fire the first fatal shots at the enemy.
They’d know the stakes now.
“I have a valid target,” Henry announced, leveling his sniper rifle.
Dorian whipped his binoculars to his eyes and brought the approaching figures into focus.
“You’re cleared to fire,” Dorian said, and immediately a resounding boom filled the train yard around him, so loud he couldn’t help flinching.
The shell didn’t hit its target; it never came close. The rest of the team opened up, and Dorian was surrounded by the sound of spent casings rattling off the walls and floor. Every man here was a crack marksman, and this was point-blank range. The only pause in the murderous volleys was when someone had to replace an empty magazine. In the space of a few frantic minutes, they expended better than half their munitions…
…and found themselves with absolutely nothing to show for it.
A team in full body armor—it was hard for Dorian to tell who was who, there were so many of them.
Too astonished to be scared, the troopers gradually stopped firing. A couple looked to Dorian, hoping for a Plan B. In the
DORIAN GRAY
• 62 •
countless number of times he’d played this scene out in his mind, it had never gone quite this way.
Dorian was hoping the hostiles hadn’t made a radio call, either for reinforcements or to alert headquarters to the presence of the insertion team. But he knew that was a prayer that would likely go unanswered…
Henry and Dorian ducked low, still holding their drawn weapons, trying to shield themselves from the onslaught as all hell broke loose around them.
“Henry,” Dorian shouted over the gunfire, “with me!”
Not waiting for an answer, Dorian crawled to his left, the enemy gunfire following him almost as closely as Henry, bullets whistling through the air, hitting the walls.
Henry asked, “What the hell are you doin’, bro?”
“I thought you said you liked it hot,” Dorian said.
“Bikini women hot,” Henry said, “umbrella drinks on the beach hot—not have bullets flyin’ around my head hot!”
“I just can’t take you anywhere. All you do is bitch, bitch, bitch.”
With bullets whistling overhead, Henry was up to his chin in the mud. Feeling movement to his right, Henry glanced over to see Dorian ready to spring into action.
“You gonna move?” Dorian asked.
Another burst of gunfire shrilled past their heads.
“Actually,” Henry said, “It’s pretty cozy right here.”
Bullets tore up the mud in front of them, flecking their faces with thick brown teardrops.
JOHN GRAVAGLIA
• 63 •
* * *
The enemy scout gasped when he saw through the lenses of his night-vision goggles. He positively identified the subject as Dorian Gray.
“Better have a look at this, sir,” he said to the aide-de-camp to the squad’s captain.
The captain looked over the officer’s shoulder at the horizon and recognized the face—it was indeed the man they all feared.
“I’d say he has a lot of nerve coming here like this,” the captain said.
The aide-de –camp frowned. “I don’t like it. The man is a menace.”
The captain cocked his rifle. “Then let’s do something about it.”
Henry nodded, fixing the target in his mind. A second burst of weapons fire came. The instant it stopped, he was moving, the barrel of the gun coming up, his finger tightening on the trigger as he stepped forward again.
“Time to go, Dor,” Henry said, replacing the magazine. But he didn’t hear any reply. “Dor?” Henry called again. He turned his head to see Dorian charging at their assailants. “Crazy bastard.”
Dorian broke from the shadows, sprinting after the two men in black, raising his gun and sighting down the barrel even as he ran, nothing that something about one of the attackers.
DORIAN GRAY
• 64 •
Then someone ran into him from behind.
The impact stunned him—his weapon flew from his hands, and he hit the ground hard with his chest, managing to turn just enough at the last second to catch the ground with part of his shoulder, too, so that he could use the momentum to roll to his feet.
As he turned to face his attacker, he heard the gunfire begin.
While his opponent was distracted, Dorian executed an arm bar and judo flipped the masked trooper. The enemy pulled out his sidearm in a last ditch effort to take out the most dangerous man alive. As soon as Dorian saw the gun, he grabbed the barrel and jerked it sideways, making the restrained commando shoot himself.
After scavenging the slain assassin for ammo, Dorian climbed up a service latter to get a bird’s eye view on the rest of the hostiles. He was careful on not being spotted and made sure the light didn’t catch his shadow. Dorian finally made his way to the top of the tower to see the melee being played out right below him.
Looking down, he saw five people dressed in all black and wearing face-covering masks. They were loaded for bear. Each of them carried at least two guns that Dorian could see, and a variety of other pieces of equipment he couldn’t make out—it was all black on black.
Looks like I made it to the party, Dorian observed grimly. Who’s got the soda and chips?
JOHN GRAVAGLIA
• 65 •
Deep in the shadows of the alley behind the building where the target was believed to be sighted, the security squad lined up behind their captain, waiting for the signal.
