Emily powers into the hallway behind Safa with an instinct urging her to attack. She spots the man going down and sees his pistol in Safa’s hand.
No time to think. No time for thoughts. Everything on instinct and gut reaction. Safa pulls the gun from the holster in the small of her back as she spins, and throws the pistol taken from the man to Emily.
Emily snatches it from the air as she steps through and drops to a knee, aiming at Safa.
A split second as Safa’s eyes go wide on realising what she just did. A mistake made. An awful, terrible mistake in the heat of the moment, brought on by growing too comfortable with a woman who is a prisoner, not a friend. Her own pistol has too far to travel to aim at Emily. There are armed men behind her. Everything taken in within the blink of an eye.
Miri saw the pistol being thrown. She saw it as she surged up the steps. She catches a glimpse of Emily aiming at Safa, and four armed men moving quickly. The thrill inside. The thrill of the game. Are the roots strong enough?
Emily aims and fires. She doesn’t hesitate. She is a trained agent. The bullet leaves the pistol, spinning through the air at a velocity too fast to see. Safa tries to move, but the round whizzes millimetres past her ear to strike the closest one of the four men bringing his aim at Safa.
‘DOWN,’ Emily shouts.
Safa drops to her back, aims up and fires into another with a double-tap to his centre of mass that sends him flying back off his feet. The men return fire with wild shots.
Miri fires once from the doorway into the man Safa hit on the way in as he tugs a secondary pistol from a holster on his belt. She kills him outright. Emily fires twice more into the third man in the room. Safa rolls to aim and shoot into the last.
‘Two down,’ Emily reports.
‘Two down,’ Safa calls out.
‘One down,’ Miri shouts.
Silence. Ears ringing.
‘Clear the house,’ Miri orders. ‘Less than two minutes.’
‘Cover me.’ Safa surges up to her feet and strides forward into the room. Emily at her back, covering the points of danger.
‘Shit,’ Safa hisses. ‘The woman’s dead.’ Safa drops to check and be sure, but she can see the position of the entry wounds in her back means the rounds would have gone through her heart, spine and lungs, killing her instantly.
‘All dead,’ Emily says, checking the other bodies in the room.
Safa moves across the room to the doorway at the end that leads into the kitchen. Emily stays close, but leaves enough reaction space while factoring for crossfire, angles, escape routes and points of potential attack.
‘Clear,’ Safa says, sweeping through the kitchen with her pistol held double-handed as she tracks round.
‘Upstairs,’ Miri says.
‘Go,’ Safa says to Emily.
Emily takes the lead, sweeping back through the front room to the hallway and over a bloodied corpse to mount the stairs. Everything on instinct. Everything on gut reaction. No time for thought. No time for thinking. She aims as she rises. Safa close behind her, but leaving space for reaction while instinctually factoring for crossfire, angles, escape routes and points of potential attack.
‘Three rooms. One ahead. Two to the right.’
‘Covering,’ Safa says, aiming towards the two doorways on the right at the top of the stairs. Emily goes forward to the one ahead.
‘Bathroom, clear.’
‘Proceeding,’ Safa says, moving to the first door on the right. She kicks it open and surges in. ‘Bedroom, clear.’
‘Proceeding,’ Emily says, moving on to the last door as Safa comes out and covers the hallway. ‘Bedroom, clear.’
‘House clear,’ Safa calls down.
They move swiftly down the stairs to Miri in the front room standing over the dead body of Clara Jacobsen. ‘Silly girl,’ she says quietly, almost sadly.
‘You get her phone?’ Safa asks.
Miri holds it out, or what remains of it anyway. ‘Destroyed.’
Safa takes in the device, smashed and broken from a stray shot. ‘Not our day then,’ she mutters.
‘These are Chinese and Russian agents,’ Emily says, holding passports taken from the pockets of the dead men. ‘Looks like they were arguing over the woman.’
Miri looks at her, then round at the bodies. ‘Clearly,’ she states.
‘Chinese, Russians . . . the Yanks we walked past,’ Safa says. ‘How many people are after us?’
‘Everyone, by the looks of it,’ Emily says.
‘Exfil,’ Miri says, glancing at her watch. ‘One minute twenty.’
‘We might be able to retrieve data from that phone,’ Emily says. ‘Keep it.’
They run from the house into the street, using a burst of speed to create distance. Safa and Miri re-holster. Emily tucks hers into the front of her waistband and pulls her T-shirt out to cover the bulge. ‘See it?’ she asks.
‘Looks like a big willy,’ Safa says.
Safa starts smiling. She tries to stop, but can’t help it. She coughs to clear her throat. Emily stares ahead, the corners of her mouth twitching. She looks to Safa, who suddenly snorts a laugh and covers her mouth while looking away. Emily grins, then tries to stop grinning.
‘Big willy?’ Emily asks as Safa snorts again.
They get into the alley, one older woman wincing from the pain of running and two younger ones trying not to giggle.
Miri knows their reactions are caused by endorphins and adrenalin kicking in. To anyone else, it would look cold, callous even. A lack of care for human life. It isn’t that at all. This is normal to the people in her world. People just died, but Safa and Emily are highly trained professionals doing what they have been trained to do, and what’s more, they did it very well.
Very damn well.
As the first drones whir overhead, fitted with tiny flashing blue and red lights, so they reach the alley and run down to stop at the blue, shimmering light. As they slow down, Emily pulls the pistol out, pops the magazine, slides back to empty the chamber and holds it all out to Miri.
‘Thank you for your assistance,’ Miri says, taking the gun.
‘Anytime,’ Emily says as Safa walks through the blue light then sticks her hand back out with her middle finger sticking up again. Emily snorts a laugh, then covers her mouth in embarrassment. ‘Sorry. She is funny though,’ she says.
‘Safa is unique,’ Miri says quietly, studying the agent. Emily looks back at her, at the cold grey eyes that are impossible to read.
Miri nods at the blue light. ‘After you, Tango Two. Perhaps you could make me a coffee.’
Twenty-Three
Ben drums his fingers on the table. Harry turns a page. Ben stares at the door and continues drumming his fingers on the table.
‘Miri doesn’t do anything without a reason.’
Harry looks over the top of his book, then goes back to reading.
Ben drums his fingers. Harry turns a page.
‘She’s doing something.’