Contagion Option. Don Pendleton

Чтение книги онлайн.

      CHAPTER THREE

      Salt Lake City, Utah

      Special Agent Rachel Marrick pulled her car to a halt and took out her cell phone again. She brushed aside her silken brown hair and put the phone to her ear. Her soft, hazel eyes scanned the street under a furrowed brow as she tried to reach her partner. “Kirby, you bastard. Where are—”

      “Is that any way to talk to your partner?” Kirby Graham said over the other end of the phone.

      “So, you finally decided to pick up?” Marrick asked.

      “I was halfway down the side of the mountain when I got your first call. What’s up?”

      “A Korean street gang just hit a bank and took hostages,” Marrick told him. “Where are you now?”

      “On the road from Park City. SLC SWAT in place?” Graham asked.

      “Yeah,” Marrick answered. “But it doesn’t look like anyone’s going to move for a while yet.”

      “I can be there in a half hour,” Graham responded.

      “I keep forgetting your trunk is loaded with SWAT gear,” Marrick responded. “Be careful.”

      “You want me to be careful, or do you want me to get there in time for the festivities?” Graham asked.

      Marrick rolled her eyes. “Just don’t kill any other drivers.”

      Graham chuckled. “On my way.”

      Marrick sighed and checked the .40-caliber Glock in her hip holster, and was about to double check the backup .38 she wore underneath her armpit when the windshield starred violently. The woman crouched deeper into the driver’s seat and stared at a fist-size hole in the glass. The driver’s door opened, and she nearly drew and fired when she saw a policeman in full uniform.

      “They’re shooting at everyone who drives up,” the big, brawny black cop said. “Sorry we didn’t get a chance to warn you.”

      Marrick looked up the side of the building.

      “We tried to spot the sniper, but there’s either more than one, or he moves quickly,” the cop explained. Marrick noted that his name was Cage. “They’re playing with us until the hostage negotiator gets here.”

      Marrick grimaced. “Sounds like a fun party. We got all the entrances sealed?”

      “Alleys and the rooftops are covered. No way they can escape,” Cage said.

      Marrick crawled out of her seat and slammed the door, joining the cop behind cover. “Anyone hurt?”

      “Security guard’s corpse was dumped outside. They left his .38 in its holster. They didn’t need it,” the police officer replied. “Tore the shit out of my car and my partner’s got two bullets in his legs.”

      Marrick took a deep breath as she saw the carnage wrought on the Salt Lake City squad car. It was perforated hundreds of times, and both front tires were flat. The hubcaps had been torn off by the brutal salvo that had crippled the vehicle. Smoke poured from dozens of holes. “What the hell weapons do they have?”

      “I didn’t have much time to see what they were cutting loose with,” Cage answered. “But it didn’t sound like anything American.”

      Marrick tilted her head.

      “I was a SAW gunner in the Gulf war,” Cage replied. “I know what an M-249 sounds like, and an M-60, too. This wasn’t either of those, and it sure wasn’t an M-16.”

      “Russian?” Marrick asked.

      Cage shrugged. “We’ve got the two bullets from my partner’s leg. Maybe you could make it out better.”

      Cage guided Marrick across the street to an ambulance that had parked out of view of the five-story bank. The windshield of the vehicle had been pockmarked with several slugs, but the paramedics had pulled it out of the line of fire.

      “No respect for medics,” Cage mentioned. “These are just punk kids.”

      “Punk kids with enough firepower to make the front end of a Crown Victoria into a screen door,” Marrick corrected.

      “Luke?” Cage asked, looking in the back.

      A blond police officer lay on a cot. His leg was swathed in bloody bandages, and a saline bag was draining into his arm.

      “Hey, Danny,” the wounded cop muttered. Marrick read his badge name. Rand. He looked her over and smiled through his discomfort. “Who’s the cutie?”

      “Special Agent Rachel Marrick, FBI,” she introduced herself. Her ears burned under her shoulder-length cape of hair, as she hated being called a “cutie.” She’d have thought that her position as an FBI agent, complete with the business-suit look would have commanded respect. She didn’t mind being hit on as a petite, sweet young thing in her off hours, but this was work. “Danny told me that you got a couple souvenirs from your first contact.”

      Rand nodded. “Roy’s got them.”

      A dark-haired paramedic handed her a plastic bag. “He told me to save them.”

      Marrick nodded and took the bag. “This is evidence.”

      “Yeah. Still, maybe I’d like to get ’em back someday,” Rand explained.

      Marrick looked at Cage.

      “It’s a cop thing,” the black cop replied. “You wouldn’t understand.”

      “Oh. СКАЧАТЬ