Hitman vs Hitman - L.A. Witt Page 0,83
he’d brought a pair of goggles too. Once those were in place, he unclipped two more toys from his belt—a tear gas cannister and a flashbang.
The flashbang went first. Before it had even landed, Ricardo threw the tear gas, and he was already running as it started spraying the two stunned guards.
They didn’t stand a chance. Between the gas and the sensory overload, they couldn’t put up a fight beyond flailing and coughing. In seconds, Ricardo had both of them hogtied on the floor with zip ties. He couldn’t afford the weight of taking all their weapons, so he just took the magazines and cleared the chambers.
Neither man had a key to the locked room. He tried the key he’d made, which didn’t work. Instead of making another key, he just picked this lock, and when the tumblers finally gave and he kicked open the door.
Tendrils of tear gas followed him into the wine cellar—called it, Victor—and the sound of coughing snapped his head toward the left.
August.
Oh God.
He was alive, and he was there.
Ricardo hurried to his side and handed him a mask like the one he wore. “Here. Put this over your nose and mouth.”
August’s head lolled. He coughed again, and he tried to resist as Ricardo put on the mask, but he finally just let him put it in place.
Squinting and still sputtering, he looked up. “Ricky?”
Ricardo allowed himself an eyeroll. “We have to go. Can you walk?”
“Not… Not while I’m tied to a fucking chair.”
Well, he was apparently thinking clearly. That was a good sign.
Ricardo took out the knife and snapped the zip ties on August’s wrists and ankles.
August rubbed his wrists gingerly. “Oh my God. Fuck those things.” Then he peered up at Ricardo. “How the fuck did you find me? He took the tracker off—”
“He took one of them off.”
August blinked.
“I’ll explain later. Can we just go?”
With a huff, August rose, but he wavered a little and grabbed Ricardo’s arm. “Fuck…”
“What?”
“They drugged me. I’m still kinda…” He wobbled his hand in the air. Then he looked Ricardo up and down, and even with the mask on, the grin was evident in the way his eyes sparkled. “Ooh, now who’s dressed for—”
“Shut up.” Ricardo slung an arm around him to keep him upright—only to keep him upright, damn it—and guided him out of the wine cellar, leading with his pistol.
August winced as they walked through the still-dissipating tear gas. “Augh. Fuck.”
“Sorry. I didn’t have room for extra goggles.”
August made an unhappy noise, but then halted abruptly. “Wait!”
“What?”
“The rifles.” August clumsily grabbed one and slung it over his shoulder, but frowned at it. “What the fuck? It’s not even loaded!”
With an exasperated sigh, Ricardo tossed him the magazines he’d stolen.
“Ah, much better.” August loaded the gun and racked a round, and good God, was he the very picture of a deranged movie villain—gas mask, dirty and rumpled suit, and a menacing black rifle.
“Come on.” Ricardo nodded sharply in the direction he’d come. “They’re going to come check on these assholes sooner or later.”
“Okay. Let’s go.”
Satisfied that August was steady-ish on his feet, Ricardo led him down the hall.
Commotion behind them said they’d been discovered.
“So, uh…” Still wobbly, August stayed right on Ricardo’s heels. “What exactly is the game plan?”
“Get out of here.”
“Right. Right. And… How?”
“Without getting shot, ideally.”
August made an irritated noise that the mask mostly muffled. “Ugh, fuck this thing.”
“Keep it on,” Ricardo said. “We might have to use tear gas again.”
He didn’t catch what August said, but the mask stayed on.
They hurried down the corridors. The noise behind them was getting louder and more urgent. Boots on concrete came closer. Ricardo debated facing them, but this wasn’t the place to make a stand. They needed to get the fuck out of here. And he had a few ideas for getting out, but extractions always meant a certain amount of improvisation. Exit plans did not, in his experience, ever play out the way they were on paper.
Gunfire cracked. Bullets ricocheted off the concrete walls by their heads.
They ducked behind a corner.
August shouldered the rifle. Ricardo readied his pistol. They exchanged nods, then returned fire.
They weren’t stupid enough to jump out in full view, instead using the corner for cover as much as they could. It made it harder to shoot, but it was also harder to be shot.
Gunfire left him nearly deaf. He could hear the gunfire, hear August’s voice, but everything was muted.
Which meant he didn’t hear the footsteps behind him.
He didn’t hear a thing