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Rolling through the gravel, I take cover behind a metal exhaust fan. My gun is immediately out.
“What happened?! Are you alright?!” I can hear Maksim shout from the cell phone I dropped a few feet away.
“I’m fine!” I shout. “But I just got shot at. Be careful when you approach the brownstone, obviously there are Greeks—”
The rude fucker who shot at me isn’t about to let me finish another sentence. Before I can get my final word out, a bullet rips into my phone, tearing it apart and sending it careening through the gravel until it tumbles off the side of the rooftop.
“Fucking hell,” I grumble to myself, checking to make sure my gun is primed and ready for a shootout.
These bastards are serious. Who the hell takes a shot like that in an area surrounded by police?
Terrorists, that’s who. They want everyone to know that they’re here and ready for violence. It’s probably how they’re planning on sneaking Sophia out. Another distraction. This one isn’t a bluff though.
Fuck.
I won’t let them take her from me. Bullets be fucking damned.
Slinking around to the other side of the exhaust fan, I look for the glint of a sniper scope—no one takes shots that accurately with an ordinary handgun.
But the sun has long since set, and that makes it harder to see anything. Fortunately, we’re in New York, and there’s just enough light pollution that I swear I can see the faintest glint of something in the darkness two roofs down.
… Is that my sniper?
It’s all but confirmed when a bullet rips into the front of the exhaust fan that I’m hiding behind. One more tears over my head just before I can lunge back behind my cover.
This is my chance to move. The fucker is probably reloading now.
Taking a deep breath, I jump out on the other side and race towards the nearest fire escape. Somehow, I make it just before another bullet can only nearly miss me. I’m not on my way to the ground, though. This isn’t a moment to run. That sniper needs to be neutralized.
So, instead of following the creaky metal staircase all the way to the alley floor, I wait until I’m about midway down, then I climb up on the railing.
Across the alleyway, there’s another fire escape. Tucking my gun into my pants, I jump.
Even with my bad leg, I manage to make it, and with plenty of room to spare.
But that doesn’t mean a new jolt of pain doesn’t flash up from my thigh. Biting down on my tongue, I do my best to ignore it.
Climbing up to the next roof, I keep a low profile as I head towards the patch of darkness I saw that glint come from.
No more bullets meet me, and I’m able to jump over the next roof without any incident.
He should be here.
Come out to play, you piece of shit.
With my gun drawn, I stalk through the darkness, listening for anything that might give the bastard away.
… And then, I hear it.
A cough.
Coming from just behind a pillar up ahead. Slipping my gun beneath my belt, I pull out my knife. It takes extra care to move quietly towards the dead man. Every step threatens to crunch the gravel beneath my feet.
Still, I manage to get so close that I can nearly smell the bastard.
… But then my foot lands on something a little crunchier than gravel. It almost sounds like a fucking candy wrapper.
Fuck. That’s the oldest trick in the book.
