Mystic Warrior

Green machine-gun tracers flitted from the helicopter closest to the building while the second craft circled at a wider radius.

“Who are these people?” Sabre asked.

“Professionals.” Gerard scowled through the windshield. “Messy professionals. This isn’t how you contain a situation. Law enforcement agencies are going to be all over this. The clock’s working against us now.”

Sabre silently agreed but knew that was both a positive and a negative. Police were doubtless on their way now, which took away time from whoever was after Krauzer, but that knowledge was going to make those men tracking Krauzer take even bigger risks.

“Police.” Dyson leaned forward and pointed to the right. “On our two o’clock.”

Glancing to the right, Sabre watched as a black-and-white patrol car, light bar flashing red and blue, pulled into the campus parking area. While it was still in motion, a rocket streaked across seventy yards and impacted against the patrol car’s grille.

The warhead exploded and knocked the patrol car’s front end up like a boxer taking an uppercut to the chin. The engine hood sprang open and a ball of fire engulfed the vehicle, spreading quickly.

Sabre doubted the driver had survived the immediate detonation, and when the flames leaped into the patrol car’s interior and the officer didn’t try to escape, he was certain of it.

Meszoly cursed and launched into evasive action, yanking on the steering wheel, almost avoiding the second rocket that sped toward them. Instead of catching the SUV dead center as the shooter had intended, the warhead slammed into the Mercedes’s right rear quarter panel.

Flames wreathed the rear of the SUV and the force knocked the vehicle over onto its left side. Heat filled the interior at once as Sabre jerked helplessly in the five-contact seat belt harness. The air bag blew out and slammed into his chest like a giant fist. The stench of cordite filled the air, and the detonation rang against his ears and stole part of his hearing. He tasted blood in his mouth.

“This is Black Legion One,” Sabre called over his headset. “We need assistance. Our vehicle has been disabled.” He slipped a combat knife from his vest, flicked the blade open and sawed through the seat belt. “Does anyone copy?”

“Copy, Black Legion One. Ten is on your six.”

Through the cracked windshield, Sabre watched as another SUV pulled in front of the one he was in, providing partial cover. The men in that vehicle deployed in two two-man groups and laid down suppressive fire.

Sabre gave up on trying to open his door. He drew his pistol and slammed the butt into the window, shattering the safety glass so he could pull it out. “Do you see the shooters?”

The radio crackled in response. “We have the shooters, One. Two of them at eleven o’clock. One of them is down. The other is running.”

“Get me some ID on these people if you can.”

“Roger.”

“These people are in heavier than expected.” Sabre pulled himself through the window and crouched, leathering his weapon and then extending his hand down to Meszoly. “Watch yourselves.”

“Copy that.”

Meszoly grabbed Sabre’s hand and allowed himself to be helped as he clambered up from the overturned vehicle. “This can’t be about Krauzer,” he said, then wiped blood from his split lips with the back of his hand. “That man is more self-indulgent than important. This is about something else.”

The Merovingian kings, Sabre thought. That’s what this is about. Still, so many years had passed since those days and the time of Matthias Corvinus. Something that had been lost for so long couldn’t just reappear. And who would be so interested in finding it?

Dyson broke through the rear passenger window as the heat of the burning vehicle swirled over them. Blood ran from two cuts on the side of his face and dripped from his chin. Still, he seemed steady enough as he reached back inside the SUV and hauled out the man he’d been seated with. Sabre helped Dyson because the other man was unconscious. Together, they hauled the man’s deadweight from the stricken vehicle just before the gas tank exploded and knocked them to the ground.

Rising again, Sabre told Dyson to stay with the unconscious man. Then he and Meszoly headed toward the target building, taking cover where they could. One of the men who’d wielded a rocket launcher lay bleeding on the ground and managed to pull his sidearm. Sabre shot the man in the face and leaped over the corpse. Behind him, two other police cars pulled into the parking lot, sirens howling. They rolled to a stop on either side of the burning patrol car.

“Black Legion Nine.” Sabre reached the next clearing and peered across the open area separating him from the next building. The helicopters continued circling above, but their attention was split between their mission goal and the arrival of Sabre’s people and the police. “This is Black Legion One.”

“Go, One. Nine copies.” Saadiya Bhattacharjee’s British accent sounded unflappable. She’d been born to a Sikh family in Telangana, India, and had finished her education in crisis communication at Oxford. Sabre had hired her immediately when their paths crossed three years ago, headhunting her from other corporations by promising her a more exciting career than patching political careers and spin-doctoring bad products put out by corporations.

“I need you to interface with the local police,” Sabre said. “Let them know we’re on the job.”

“Copy that.”

“And don’t get shot.”

Saadiya laughed, then said, “Ta.”

Taking his smartphone from his tactical vest, Sabre pulled up the GPS locator he had that connected him to Krauzer’s position inside the building. All of his clients were programmed into his locator systems. He and Meszoly were only 179 meters out and closing fast. He broke into a run with Meszoly following behind and to the right so they’d both have established fields of fire.

* * *

ANNJA HEARD KRAUZER before she saw him. Orta followed in her wake, crouched as she was. When she reached the door, she stood and peered through the small window beside the closed entrance. Inside, the soft glow of a cell phone revealed where Krauzer was.

The director knelt under a computer desk in a dark room and spoke in a hoarse whisper that carried. “Sabre! Where are you? I’m in trouble!”

Annja tried the door but it was locked.

“Allow me.” Orta stepped forward. “Most of the classrooms on this floor open with the same key to facilitate matters.”

She stepped back and allowed the professor access to the door. He took a set of keys from his pocket and started sorting through them.

Keeping calm in spite of the tension that filled her, Annja divided her focus between the hallway and the shattered wall of windows. She’d noted the second helicopter circling the building, as well, and kept expecting one or the other to sweep in. She still didn’t know what the explosions outside the building had been about.

After succeeding in unlocking the door, Orta opened it and entered. The yellow rectangle of the hallway lights fell into the dark room. He started to reach for the lights but caught himself before Annja pointed out that wouldn’t be a good idea.

“What are you doing?” Krauzer glared up at them. “Get out of here! This is my hiding spot!”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Orta turned away from him and faced Annja.

“They’re after me.” Holding the crystal between his knees, Krauzer waved his free hand at Orta, keeping him away. “You’re leading them right to me.”

“They’re after all of us.”

“Really? Really? You’re here every day, so these guys just happen to show up tonight to get you and I’m unlucky enough to get caught in the middle of that? Do you even hear yourself?”

“They’re totally happy to kill all of us,” Orta stated. “They want the crystal.”

Krauzer wrapped his free arm around the crystal and turned his attention to the phone. “You need to get here. Now!”

“You know, if they get him, maybe they’ll leave us alone,” Orta said.

“Wait.” Krauzer wasted no time thinking about that. He grabbed hold of the desk and partially scuttled out from hiding. “You can’t just desert me. We need to stick together.”

Shaking his head, Orta looked back at Annja.

She slipped her miniflashlight from her backpack, switched it on and swept the high-intensity beam around the classroom. It was larger than she’d initially thought, actually built like a small auditorium with stadium seating. The only other door out of the room was on the same side of the wall.

Voices echoed outside in the hallway, and she knew they were out of running room.

9

“Get down.” Annja switched off the miniflashlight as she closed the door softly and locked it behind her. The barrier was too flimsy to put up much resistance, but maybe the men looking for them would hurry on by. On the other side of the door, police sirens screamed and the whop-whop-whop of the helicopter rotors was somewhat muted.

“Up there.” She pointed Orta to the highest seat. “Stay away from the windows and hide in the corner—otherwise you’ll be skylined against the outside lights.”

Clutching the manuscript case to his chest, Orta sprinted up the long steps and hunkered down behind the curved row of tables. He disappeared in the inky pools of shadows, and Annja hoped that he would be safe during the coming confrontation.

Sliding back under the desk, Krauzer drew his legs farther into the darkness, but the phone’s light illuminated his face.

“Turn off the phone.” Annja slid the machine pistol out of the backpack and readied it.

Reluctantly, with a last whispered command to whoever was listening, Krauzer broke the connection and pocketed the phone. He held on to the crystal with both arms, and Annja didn’t know if he was trying to protect the object or hide behind it.

Quietly, breathing evenly, Annja put her back to the front wall, where both doors were, staying away from the gleaming whiteboard behind her so she wouldn’t be easily seen. She waited, willing herself to be calm.

Out in the hallway, the voices quieted. Annja didn’t know if the men looking for them had passed or if they were listening on the other side of the locked doors. A moment later, the door handle on her right twisted with a soft metallic click.

The gunman pushed the door open with a foot, letting the light from the hallway into the room. His dark shadow shifted slightly.

Annja waited, resisting the impulse to shoot the man in the foot, even though he was dressed like the other men they’d encountered. Wounding the man while they were trapped in the room wouldn’t help. A wounded man could call out for reinforcements, and if he was the only man, once she put him down, they might be able to get free.

The other door opened more, letting Annja know the attack was going to come from two fronts by an unknown number of attackers. She kept calm, knowing everything was going to come down to split-second reaction time.

A whispered conversation she couldn’t make out took place in the hall. Then the first man shouldered his way into the room with his weapon tucked in close to his shoulder. The noise outside became louder immediately.

As soon as the gunman breached the entrance, Annja opened fire, aiming for the man’s shoulder and letting the machine pistol rise until the rounds hammered the man in the neck and the side of his head.

Dead, dying or unconscious, the man dropped as the second door exploded open.

Annja whirled, trying to cover the second entrance and knowing the gunman there had seen her muzzle flashes reflected in the dark windows on the other side of the room. He would know where she was standing. She whirled, but the man was already firing. At least one of his bullets struck her machine pistol and tore it from her hands, while the others dug into the wall behind her with jackhammer impacts.

Deserting her position against the wall, Annja slid and dropped behind the desk at the front of the room. As she came up again, she reached into the Otherwhere for the sword and instantly felt the hilt, sure and steady in her hand.

The sword looked plain and simple, three feet of double-edged steel forged in a simple cross pattern. The weapon was a warrior’s instrument, designed to kill and maim, meant to be carried onto a battlefield.

Annja rose on the other side of the desk while the gunman searched for her. His eyes hadn’t gotten used to the gloom trapped in the classroom, and he fired again, missing her by inches as she raced at him. The heat of the bullets burned across her cheek and the muzzle flashes lit up his hard face, hiding him in the sudden intense illumination.

Holding the leather-bound sword hilt in both hands, Annja slashed at the machine pistol as the gunman tried to correct his aim. The blade sliced through the weapon, cutting the suppressor and barrel from the machine pistol and knocking what was left from the man’s hand. He reached for the pistol at his hip but didn’t get to it before she put the sword’s point through his throat.

Bleeding, frantic, the man fell back into the hallway and tried to stem the wound in his neck.

“Annja, look out!” Orta called from the back of the room.

She’d already caught a peripheral glimpse of the third man coming through the door the first man had, and she took shelter in the door frame. Bullets drummed a lethal beat on the door, tearing through the wood.

The gunman, in a Kevlar mask and body armor, fired a couple bursts toward the back of the room. The windows there shattered and Orta cried out in pain. More of the outside pandemonium poured into the building.

“Get up, Krauzer!” The gunman kept his weapon pointed in Annja’s direction as he spoke to the director under the desk at the side of the room. Annja thought she detected a French accent, but her hearing was cottony from the noise in the room. “You can carry that crystal or I can take it out of your dead hands!”

“I’m coming! I’m coming!” Krauzer climbed out from under the desk on one hand and his knees. He carried the crystal in the other hand.

Annja glanced at the back of the room but she couldn’t see Orta. Frustrated, she watched as Krauzer joined the gunman in the hallway. She thought briefly of trying to reach the doorway but knew that she would be cut down by gunfire before she got to the man.

The gunman yanked Krauzer to one side. The director followed his captor’s snarled directions as they pulled back out of the room. Lifting the weapon in front of him, the gunman fired at the second door, driving Annja from her hiding place and back into the room.

Sliding into place beside the door, availing herself of the scant cover, Annja watched helplessly as the gunman pulled Krauzer farther down the hallway. Trusting that the director was safe for the moment, she turned her attention to Orta. The illumination from the open doors revealed where the machine pistol had landed after being ripped from her hands. She scooped up the weapon on her way back to the professor.

As Annja approached, Orta tried to raise himself from the floor, but his hand slipped in the blood that had gushed from the wound in his abdomen. His lips trembled and his eyes were wide with fear. He held his free hand to the wound.

“Lie back.” Placing the machine pistol to one side and letting the sword return to the Otherwhere, Annja put her hands on his shoulders and pressed him back against the carpeted floor.

“They shot me.” Orta pulled his hand from his wound and tried to examine it, but blood soaked his shirt.

“It’ll be okay.” Annja ripped his shirt open, searching for the wound. She slipped her miniflashlight from her pocket and switched it on, then clamped it between her teeth as she angled the beam on the gunshot. “You’re going to be okay. Do you hear me?”

“Yeah.” Orta nodded, but he was shaking and his eyes unfocused and refocused as he fought the onset of shock.

“We’re going to stop this bleeding and the paramedics will be here soon.” The warm blood gushed over Annja’s fingers as she shrugged off her short-waisted jacket and the green pullover she was wearing. The jacket material was too coarse, but the pullover was soft enough to work as a compress.

“Sounds good.” He seemed to be on the verge of sleep.

“Stay with me, Vincent.”

“I will. I’m just going to close my eyes.”

“No. You need to stay awake. I’m going to roll you over for just a moment.”

“Sure.”

Putting her free arm under the man, Annja rolled him onto his unwounded side briefly. His back was whole, letting her know the bullet was still inside him. Having only one wound to control was better, but there was no way to know if the bullet had bounced around inside and torn through other blood vessels.

She hoped help arrived soon. Concentrating on her patient, she kept the compress in place and reached for her sat phone.

* * *

ON THE TOP FLOOR of the building, Sabre sprinted as fast as he dared, aware that a gunman could be around the next corner. So far, though, the only men he’d seen were dead. Someone with Krauzer knew how to shoot.

According to the GPS signal on Sabre’s phone, he was only forty-three meters from Krauzer, but that didn’t indicate which floor he was on. Sabre had followed the trail of violence to his current position.

At least two men lay sprawled in the hallway ahead of him, coming out of both doors. One man’s feet lay in the way of the door. Another man had fallen out into the hallway, visible from his head to his knees. He lay on his back and the slash in his throat no longer fountained blood, indicating that his heart had stopped pumping. Both of them were in the same uniforms and armor that the other men had been wearing.

“Watch out!” Meszoly’s hand fell heavily onto Sabre’s shoulder and drove him down.

They hit the ground just as a helicopter outside the building opened fire. Heavy 7.62 mm rounds chopped through the glass and left fist-size holes in the wall and tore the display cases to pieces, spilling books and artifacts across the tiles.

Rolling onto his side, Sabre brought up the machine pistol and aimed at the helicopter’s gunner, centering on the muzzle flashes spewing from the weapon. The machine gun fell silent almost immediately and Sabre pushed himself to his feet, his ears ringing.

Looking through the empty space where the window had been, boots crunching on shards, Sabre dropped the empty magazine from his weapon and reloaded. He knew without looking that Meszoly had his back. Holding the machine pistol steady, Sabre fired bursts into the pilot, watching the glass around the man flare out around him.

The helicopter went out of control, diving and listing, coming around in a slow semicircle into one of the buildings.

“Get down!” Sabre turned from the window an instant before the rotors struck the building.

Meszoly threw himself down and rolled toward the outer hallway wall, seeking shelter. When the rotors struck the building, they turned into a screaming cloud of shrapnel that peppered everything around them. The helicopter exploded in an orange-and-black fireball that cast wavering light into the hallway.

Getting to his feet, Sabre checked the doorways in the hallway and saw no new movement. He checked the GPS and saw that the distance separating him from Krauzer hadn’t changed. The movie director was either down or he was in the stairwell.

Not wanting to leave anything to chance, Sabre ran to the darkened room and halted at the wall beside the dead man. He flicked on the miniflashlight clipped to the side of the machine pistol’s barrel and scanned the room. He stopped on the half-naked woman pointing a machine pistol at him while on her knees in front of a man lying in the corner of the room.

The woman didn’t flinch and Sabre respected that about her. She held his gaze easily and looked capable.

“I’ve got a wounded man here who needs medical attention.” She spoke calmly without taking her eyes from Sabre.

For a moment, Sabre thought she was talking to him. Then he spotted the phone glowing on the floor beside her.

“He’s been shot in the stomach and is going into shock.” The woman described where she was.

“Are you in danger at the moment?” a man asked over the phone’s speaker.

The woman waited, staring at Sabre.

He lifted the machine pistol and held his other hand up, as well. “I’m looking for Krauzer.”

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