as a Stribog—then pushed the muzzle of the weapon away from him while simultaneously kicking out, striking the man in the chest.
The stunned operator fell to his knees, but he didn’t go down because Court still held the business end of the rifle, and the rifle sling was wrapped around the back of the man’s neck.
Court kicked at the man’s face now, hit him with a glancing blow to his jaw, and then brought his foot back and kicked again, this time slamming the tip of his Merrell shoe into the rifle’s receiver. He was aiming for a particular part of the gun, but he missed his target, so he fired his foot out a fourth time while still controlling the muzzle of the gun with his left hand.
And this time he did it. His boot kicked the magazine release of the weapon. The mag dropped out of the mag well and onto the parking lot, and then Court used the bottom of his foot to push the weapon’s pronounced charging handle all the way back, ejecting the shell from the chamber in the same process.
The rifle was empty, so Court let it go.
But the man on his knees had recovered, and now he drew a pistol from his right side and began swinging that up and into play.
Court spun on his left foot, around the rifle held between himself and the enemy on his knees, and he executed a reverse roundhouse kick with his right foot.
His heel struck the gun just as the man raised it, knocking it away, and Court followed up with a kick to the man’s head, snapping it to the side.
The unconscious operator crumpled onto the dusty pavement.
And then a gunshot boomed in the enclosed space. Concrete exploded off the wall next to the metal door, and Court dropped to his knees, drawing his HK as he did so.
A second shot, then a third, both struck the wall near the first, but Court wasn’t concerned with the impact points of the rounds; he was concerned with the origin of the fire.
And then he saw it. A weapon’s flash all the way at the end of the row of vehicles, right where Court had parked his motorcycle.
He tucked lower, then moved behind a VW Golf parked near the stairs, hunting for concealment from the shooter thirty yards away.
And then, for the first time while in action, he felt his body failing him. Even with all the adrenaline in his system he could tell he was weakening considerably. His stomach retched, and he vomited against the passenger-side door of the Golf, then recovered, spit on the ground, and scrambled one vehicle closer.
He didn’t love the idea of attacking the man who had a better defensive position and a better weapon, but he knew with the shooting down here it wouldn’t be long before the lot was full of armed men, be they police or enemy.
He had to assault the man’s position now.
He moved between the wall and the grille of a Mercedes. He was still low, and he fought off another wave of nausea before he heard scuffling sounds near his bike ahead. This indicated to him that his adversary was repositioning. He was probably trying to find his target, unaware Court was working on a flanking maneuver.
When there were only two vehicles separating the two men, Court saw his enemy again. He was crouched behind the rear end of an Opel four-door that had backed into its parking space.
Court himself was knelt down behind the engine block of a little Fiat 500. He knew he could rise and get an angle on the man, but he also knew the man might have a subgun like his partner, and if Court exposed himself, he could have thirty bullets coming his way faster than he could fire four or five from his pistol.
He began to raise his weapon to try to shoot through the windows of both vehicles, when he saw the man’s head appear behind his suppressed weapon. The man fired first, bursting the window of the Fiat and narrowly missing Court.
Court dropped down hard onto his left shoulder, not just to avoid the gunfire but to also get a different sight line on his target.
The wound below his left collarbone spiked with fresh torment, but he remained in the fight.
Looking under the Fiat he could see the boots of the man just fifteen feet away, and Court aimed and fired, striking the man in the right