passenger aimed low to follow his target, but the SU’s recoil lifted the muzzle as it spat out a cyclic rate of over five hundred rounds per minute in a wild uncontrolled spray because the shooter wasn’t braced in a proper firing position.
Bullet holes appeared in brickwork, tables, diners, kitchen cabinets and even the ceiling.
The roar of the gunshots drowned out the screaming.
Victor rolled onto his back as Leeson lay face down with hands over his head as if those hands could stop bullets. Victor squinted to protect his eyes from the fragments of masonry and brick dust that peppered the air and the blood that misted above him. He counted off the seconds – one – because he knew on continuous fire – two – the SU would unload its thirty rounds in—
Three.
He jumped to his feet and drew a bead on the Jeep’s passenger as he released the spent magazine and fumbled for a new one, but he didn’t shoot straight away. The man was twelve metres away, blurred by gun smoke and shadow, presenting a narrow side-on profile, fifty per cent of his body concealed by an SUV’s door that might as well have been armour plating to a low-powered .22 calibre round.
Victor waited until the SIG’s tiny iron sights were perfectly aligned and squeezed the trigger three times.
The man jerked and slumped in his seat. Blood splashed across the driver’s face.
The Jeep’s tyres squealed and smoked as it sped away.
‘Move,’ Victor said to Leeson.
THIRTY-SIX
When he didn’t move, Victor grabbed him by the collar and wrenched him to his feet. He shoved the empty SIG into his hands.
‘Put this away and follow me.’
Victor pushed and shoved his way through the crowd of cowering and wailing diners. He vaulted over the stone counter and into the kitchen. The tiles were slick with a lake of blood from the guy shot in the neck. At about six feet tall and two hundred pounds he should have had nine litres of blood in his body. About half of that was spread across the floor. As Leeson followed, awkwardly climbing over the counter and dropping down the other side, he slipped in the blood and fell onto his back.
There wasn’t time to search the corpses, but Victor patted underneath the armpits and around the waist of the first dead Georgian, finding nothing. He did the same with the second and found a pistol tucked into the back of his jeans. It was a Daewoo DP-51.
‘Get up,’ Victor said to Leeson.
He thrashed and fumbled on the blood-slick tiles, horror etched into his young face, his tailored wool suit soaking up blood.
Someone in the kitchen screamed at Victor in Japanese. He ignored them, released the Daewoo’s magazine to check the load, shoved it back into the grip, pulled the slide, and gun leading, hurried to the open back door through which the two Georgians had appeared. It didn’t lead directly outside. A corridor lay on the other side. It was narrow and bright. Closed doors lay to his left. They would lead to walk-in cold cupboards, storage, maybe a small office or toilet. Another door at the end of the corridor hung open. Victor saw an alleyway on the far side.
Leeson scrambled to his feet and scooped up the first Georgian’s shotgun.
‘Take the other one,’ Victor said.
‘This has more shells, surely.’
‘But we know for certain the other one works.’
Leeson swapped weapons and edged up behind Victor, who had the Daewoo trained on the open doorway at the end of the corridor.
‘More?’ Leeson asked.
‘Only one way to find out.’
Victor walked quickly along the corridor, gun out before him. Leeson followed, cradling the Mossberg with whitened knuckles.
‘Keep your finger outside the guard,’ Victor said, glancing over his shoulder.
‘But—’
‘If you squeeze the trigger while you’re behind me you’ll shoot me in the back. Then who will get you out of this?’
Leeson nodded. ‘How are we going to get back to the car?’
Victor ignored him. He kicked open the first door to his left. There was a small toilet on the other side. He kicked open the next door. It was a pantry, full of boxes and shelves of non-perishable food and kitchen supplies. He glanced around, gaze fixing on cans of chopped tomatoes. He grabbed one and tore off the label to reveal the bare metal beneath. Leeson watched but said nothing.
Back in the corridor, Victor made his way to the doorway leading to the alley beyond. He listened. Nothing from the left. A dead end.