Combat Machines. Don Pendleton

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СКАЧАТЬ Chapter Four

      Avenue des Champs-Élysées

      Paris, France

      Alexei Panshin drove the Renault sedan through the narrow streets with ease, staying within a few miles of the posted speed limit, following every traffic law, alert to the occasional uniformed police officer directing traffic through a particularly busy intersection. If he and his companions had been stopped, the officer doing so would have had a career-making arrest, given the various weapons and other illegal equipment inside.

      Assuming he survived the encounter, of course.

      As he drove, eyes flicking from one side of the street to the other, Panshin said, “You both have the plan and timetable down?”

      “Yes, Alexei, we will be there with plenty of time to set up what we need,” the slender woman in the passenger seat replied. Of a similar build and general appearance to the man beside her, the woman, Amani Nejem, also swept her gaze across their surroundings, missing nothing.

      Panshin looked into the small rearview mirror, and met the gaze of Nejem’s backup, Kisu Darsi, staring back at him. “Don’t worry about me, Alexei. I’m not even feeling any pain.”

      The team leader’s eyes flashed. “You’re just fortunate we were able to get the bullet out. You are certain you can complete this operation?”

      Still holding his gaze, Darsi raised his left arm until it was outstretched and level with his shoulder—something he shouldn’t have been able to do, given that three hours earlier there had been two bullets in his upper chest. But he evinced no sign of discomfort as he did so.

      “All right, then. You both know where you are supposed to be,” he said as he pulled the car over in a neighborhood of converted apartment buildings. “I will see you both there.”

      Panshin got out, and moments later Nejem was behind the wheel and the sedan was pulling away, heading toward the hotel that would host the state dinner. Casually looking around as he headed to a structure at the end of the block, Panshin made sure no one was taking any interest in him as he walked up the steps to a four-story apartment building and tried the electronically locked door. It didn’t budge.

      Panshin thought about trying to contact his target through the intercom, but decided against it, as he didn’t want to risk spooking him. Instead, he pulled a trick he had been assured would work in neighborhoods like these, filled with students and young, working-class professionals. He simply ran his hand down the entire line of intercom buttons.

      Within seconds, one of them buzzed the door, and he opened it and slipped inside. His target’s apartment was on the top floor, and Panshin took the stairs, not wanting to be seen by others in the building. He reached the floor quickly and started down the hallway until he found the door he was looking for. After glancing to the right and left to make sure no one was around, he knocked softly.

      The muffled sounds of movement came from inside. “Who is it?” an annoyed voice asked in French.

      “It’s Reynard,” Panshin answered, giving the name of one of the apartment dweller’s coworkers.

      “Reynard?” A chain rattled on the other side, and the door cracked open. A young man peered at him. “What do you—Wait, who are you?”

      By then it was too late. As the young man struggled to make sense of the man who was nearly a mirror image of himself, Panshin grabbed the edge of the door and pushed hard.

      It wasn’t a big movement, but it was enough to tear the chain from the wall and shove the boxers-clad man back from the door, sending him stumbling into the high-ceilinged one-bedroom apartment. His butt hit the stained Formica counter that framed part of the kitchen, and he winced even as he threw up an arm to try to fend off this unknown assailant.

      “Hey—” was all he got out before Panshin had closed the door and was on him, moving so fast his quarry appeared to be crying out in slow motion. One lightning-fast hand batted aside his upraised arm, and Panshin’s other hand, fingers curled into a tight ram’s head position, shot forward into the man’s throat, crushing his larynx.

      The effect was immediate. Gasping, the young man grabbed his injured neck as his windpipe swelled and closed, cutting off the flow of air to his lungs. Mouth opening and closing helplessly, he sank to his knees, face reddening as his brain became starved for oxygen. He grabbed at Panshin, who sidestepped him and let the dying man fall to the floor, where he thrashed helplessly and clutched at his throat before falling unconscious.

      A startled yelp alerted him to the presence of someone else in the apartment. Panshin looked up to see a young woman in a spaghetti-strap tank top and panties staring back at him, a look of openmouthed horror on her face. He cursed inwardly. All of their surveillance data indicated the target should have been alone today.

      As he started for her, the woman whirled and darted back into the bedroom, slamming the heavy door in Panshin’s face. He hit it with his shoulder just as she turned the lock. Stepping back, he raised a leg and pistoned it into the doorknob, smashing it apart, but the door still held. Cursing, he hit the same spot again, this time shoving the door open hard enough for it to fly into the bedroom wall and smash a hole in the plaster.

      Panshin shot inside and saw the open window in the larger dormer. Running to it, he saw the woman, now dressed in a leather jacket and combat boots, carefully moving across the roof toward the next building. A feral grin creasing his face, he stepped out and gave chase, cursing her for putting him behind schedule, knowing every second counted now.

      She had a decent lead, but for him, walking the three-inch pathway around the sloped roof was as easy as walking across a street, and he soon closed the gap. She glanced over her shoulder to see him gaining fast, and that knowledge spurred her to greater speed—straight toward the narrow alley between that building and the next. Fortunately, she was running too hard to draw enough breath to scream for help.

      Panshin ran faster as well, wanting to cut her off before she leaped, but he just missed her, his fingers brushing her jacket as she desperately soared through the air. She landed hard and rolled, losing one boot, but was up and running again within moments.

      He backed up a few steps, then accelerated to his top speed, easily leaping the three-yard gap with a few feet to spare. Unlike his quarry, he landed on his feet and kept running, easily catching up to her.

      When his right hand grabbed her neck, the woman opened her mouth to scream, but he quickly cut her off by the simple expedient of clapping his left hand over her mouth and nose. Already panting from fear and the chase, with her air cut off, she panicked completely, tearing and beating at his iron-like hands as he dragged her out of sight behind a large air-conditioning unit.

      Already her struggles were weakening, but Panshin didn’t let his guard down, and made sure she didn’t reach his face with her nails by using the hand that had been holding her neck to pin her arms—anything out of the ordinary now could interfere with the mission. He maintained his hold until she passed out, then carried her to the back side of the building and peeked over the side.

      As he’d hoped, it was a narrow backstreet filled with trash receptacles and piled bags of refuse. With a quick look around to ensure that no one was watching, he grabbed her by the legs and held her upside down over a section of alley that was clear of garbage, then let her go, not even waiting for the impact of her head on the pavement to reach him. Her death was a foregone conclusion.

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