Bolan tucked the HK into the small of his back and grabbed everything, tucking the spares into the pockets of his suit jacket. Then he ran back to the couch and got the scientist on his feet.
“Time to go, sir.”
“If you say so.” Keeping one of the TMPs ready, Bolan had slung the other one over his shoulder and used his free hand to support Dae-jung as they headed for the door. The doctor pasted a smile on his face and addressed the group. “I thank you all for coming, and suggest that if you don’t want to be here when the police show up, you should leave immediately.”
“Two minutes after we’re gone.” Bolan added, seeing several of the guests edging toward the door. One look at him and the lethal-looking submachine gun in his hand, and they all stopped in their tracks.
Bolan kept moving the Korean toward the door, stepping around the motionless Samoan. Dae-jung gasped when he saw the huge body. “Felipo’s dead?”
“Afraid so. If it makes you feel any better, he died saving my life.” Bolan pushed the double doors open and used the one closest to the elevator as a shield, peeking around it to scout the hallway.
“Akira, what’s the security situation?”
“You sure stirred up a hornet’s nest, Striker—”
“I didn’t bring the guns to this party, but I’m damn sure gonna use them to clear the way out. What’s the best route to get to the garage?”
“They’re putting men on every elevator. Can you take the stairs?”
Bolan glanced at Dae-jung, whose head lolled on his shoulders as he stared at his rescuer. “Negative. Target is in no condition to run down fifty-four flights.”
“Then you’ll probably want to ambush the two guards coming out of the first car, and grab that one. They’ll be there in about fifteen seconds.”
“This job just keeps getting better and better,” Bolan gritted, hauling the scientist toward the elevator.
He’d just reached the alcove when he heard the soft chime indicating the car’s arrival. Bolan propped the doctor up against the wall. “Stay here.” The Korean waved at him weakly as Bolan ran into the alcove, passing the door to stand on the other side. He got there just as the doors opened and two security guards ran out, hands on their holstered pistols. Bolan stepped out and aimed his subgun at them. “Freeze!”
Both men whirled, then raised their hands when they saw Bolan had the drop on them. He pointed at the ground. “Lie on the ground, hands on your heads!”
The two men complied. “Better hurry, Striker—a lot more are coming.”
“Going as fast as I can.” Bolan ran over to them and removed their pistols, tossing them down the hallway. Grabbing Dae-jung, he hurried the man into the elevator, making sure the guards’ eyes were staring at the polished marble floor. Bolan stabbed the button for the garage. “I hope you’ve overridden all the security on this cage.”
“Of course. What did you think I’d been doing while you were rubbing elbows with the high and mighty? You should be reaching the lowest level in approximately twenty seconds.”
“Got it. Hey, are you all right?” he asked Dae-jung, who was leaning against the elevator wall, breathing rapidly. His face was pasty, and a sheen of sweat had broken out on his forehead.
“I don’t—I don’t feel so well.”
“Given how much booze you put away, I’m not surprised. We’re going to a vehicle in the garage, and from there to the airport, where a plane is waiting to take you back to the United States. Just a half hour or so, and we’ll be in the air.”
“I’ll believe it when I see it.”
“You will soon enough.” The elevator dinged, and Bolan grabbed Dae-jung’s shoulder and supported him as they exited, walking out into a nondescript corridor. “What the hell, Akira? Where’s the garage?”
“Those elevators don’t go directly to the parking levels. You’ll need to turn right and go approximately forty yards. There will be a door marked like the one on your smartphone that should give you access to the garage level.”
Bolan began jogging down the hallway, half-carrying, half-dragging the semiconscious scientist along with him.
“Turn at the next door on your right.”
Bolan did so and was rewarded with the bare concrete minimalism of the hotel’s garage.
“The vehicle is on this level, Bay C halfway down the aisle, a green Toyota Harrier SUV,” Tokaido said.
“Good, I have a feeling I might need the room.” Bolan checked for any movement or active vehicles on the level before hauling Dae-jung out with him and crossing to the closest concrete pillar. He had just reached it when the roar of a motorcycle shattered the silence. The driver revved his engine, the echo making it almost impossible to tell where it was coming from.
Bolan looked around for a map, and saw he had reached Bay B. “Doctor, we have to go a little further to reach my car. You still with me?”
“I think so…unless I throw up first…” The Korean scientist’s face had taken on a gray pallor, and his eyes had become even more unfocused.
“It’s just a few more yards. Hang on a bit longer and then you can rest. Here we go.”
Still supporting the semiconscious man with his free hand, Bolan kept the MP-9 ready as they started to cross the next bay. The moment they passed the immaculate black Bentley on the other side, a bright light turned on, illuminating Bolan and his charge in its halogen light. Before he could blink or aim, the light leaped forward as the motorcycle shot straight for them, the helmeted driver extending a pistol to shoot as he zoomed by.
Chapter 3
If he’d been alone, Bolan would have moved to intercept the motorcyclist and take him out, but his first goal had to be protecting Dae-jung.
He whipped the other man around, shielding him with his body as he drove him to the floor. At the same time, he brought up the MP-9 and fired a burst in the bike’s general direction. Bolan wasn’t expecting to hit anything, but he figured the surprise of finding out his prey was armed might spoil the rider’s aim.
He was right. The gunman’s nerve broke as Bolan’s weapon spit rounds near him. Swerving, he almost lost control of his blue-and-white street bike, the back wheel fishtailing on the smooth concrete floor, but pulled it out at the last second and zoomed around the ramp. His pistol shots, however, went wild.
As soon as the biker was completely past, Bolan hauled Dae-jung to his feet. “We’ve got to move!” Even as he said that, however, another single headlight lit them both up, and the garage level reverberated with the roar of the motorcycle coming at them again.
Before Bolan could even think about crossing the few yards of empty space between them and the next lot, the biker was on them, his pistol spitting bullets.
Bolan did the only thing he could do—he heaved Dae-jung over the hood of the Bentley and dived
