X
It was the scope of Rieper's sniper rifle that was reflecting the sunlight into my eyes. Despite our distance, I could tell what kind of rifle he was using, the make and model of it. It was a PGM Hecate II rifle. A very deadly, very heavy weapon, indeed. It used seven-round magazines of .50 BMG rounds; whatever it hit would be lucky if it remained in one piece. It literally had the power to blast a full-grown man in two. That much told me the desperation 47 was in to put me down permanently. He wasn't fucking around anymore. Wasn't holding back.
I gave out a slight chuckle at how my plan to mess with his head worked. When he killed Bristow, he reeked of professionalism. I wasn't expecting him to change too far away from that mindset. Mongoose had heard my quiet laugh and threw me an angry look that wasn't quite the scornful stare she gave me only seconds ago.
"Does this look like a laughing matter, Nikita?" she hissed.
"Sorry," I said, losing the laugh but keeping the smile.
Mongoose looked away and reached into her jacket, pulling out a small point-to-point radio.
"47 is here," she spoke into it. "The roof of our ambush point. Open fire."
There was no reply from the other line. Instead, our ears met with the loud sound of heavy gunfire. I looked around us to see it. The twelve men Mongoose had among the crowds had all exposed themselves, readying machine guns and shotguns, making the transformation from the dawdling business-suited civilian to the deadly seasoned combatant. Their rifles were all out and aimed at the corner of the abandoned building, which was just across the street from Mongoose and I, in a direct line from the tree we were using as cover. Half of it had been blocked out of sight by a building to our right. I had no line of fire towards Rieper. No need to get out my rifle just yet. Instead, I just watched the mercs as they poured a diagonal hellfire onto the building's roof. Onto Rieper's perch.
The sight of the big people with big guns had scared the formerly oblivious bystanders into fleeing the area, screaming their lungs out. Their attempts were pretty much futile. They kept running into each other and knocking every other person down to escape. It was total bedlam.
Cautiously, I peeked from the cover of the tree and looked up at it. Rieper wasn't there anymore. Five of Mongoose's men had quickly approached the edge of the sidewalk across from the condemned site, keeping at least eight meters of distance between them. The second they got there, they opened fire on the passing cars, aiming for the windows and tires of each. The bullet-ridden vehicles all came to screeching halts, swerving out of their lanes and blocking up the road. Most of them ended up facing sideways, taking up two lanes at a time, a few of the cars' engines revving loudly. There was no worry of the cars shooting forward and running anyone over; there were no tires to carry them forward. Just smooth metal against rough asphalt.
The five men had all spread out among the now immobile vehicles and ducked against them for cover. The remaining seven had scattered around, taking cover and looking around at their surroundings. Then a booming roar sounded from the condemned site. A monstrous muzzle flash accompanied it, lighting up the fourteenth floor, one floor below the roof of the building almost entirely. Not even a second after, I heard the screeching of metal and the crackle of breaking glass. I looked in the direction of the sounds. A parked car's roof was caved into its passenger's side and smoking. The glass from the windshield and that side's windows had all broken and were completely destroyed. And beside the car was a fallen body with half a head. Rifle at its side.
The four remaining mercs had opened fire, strafing 47's new perch. The concrete on the building's side, on the floor 47 was on, was quickly wearing away under the rapid impacts from the hot lead. It was like watching a re-run.
Then Murphy's Law kicked in. I saw at least five black-suited men wearing Kevlar coming down the street, from the mercenaries' right side. They did not belong to Mongoose. The shiny badges marked 'CIA' hanging from the breast pockets of their jackets made them stand out. Dumbasses. These guys had to be fresh out of the academy. Pros would check their targets and not have a need to wear their badges on their chests. They were like shiny invites to shoot at their wearer.
"Check your three!" I called to the mercs.
Two of them looked off to their right, then got their guns up towards the approaching agents, spraying bullets at their general direction. Two of the suits went down, covered in blood just as fast as the shooting started. The other three were scurrying off for cover behind the nearest cars they could find. They were quickly overwhelmed with fire from the mercs, who were unaware of the danger I saw they were in. I heard screeching tires coming from the direction of the building that blocked the sight of half the condemned site 47 attacked from. Then commotion and gunfire. The agents had brought some back up. Boxed us in.
"Your nine!" I yelled. "More suits!"
Five of the seven men that had scattered around the area taking cover had joined the four in the agents' line of fire, pouring a metal storm onto the incoming men. In the confusion, I looked up to the condemned site. On the thirteenth floor. Scanned around quickly across it. 47 came into sight, looking around for another target. Looking for me. I got out my FN2000 and fired in his direction. Just a short burst. It was enough to send him back into cover, but not quite enough to do much damage to him. Pity.
I used the little time I had earned and rushed away from Mongoose and the cover of the large tree and over to the mercs suppressing the incoming agents. Kept my head down as I ran. I crouched next to two of Mongoose's men and took cover next to them.
"I need some cover fire," I said. "You're goners with 47 keeping the high ground! Distract them with enough fire to get me across the street, okay?"
I was given no reply. That is, apart from the heavy sound of loud gunfire echoing down the street towards the agents.
"GO!" one of the mercs yelled. "We've got your back!"
I nodded an aimless nod to them and dashed in a semi-crouch over to the other side of the street, diving to the nearest car to take cover. I stayed close to the parked cars, hugging their sides with my back, dashing across the few openings between them until I got to the front entrance of the abandoned site. I rushed into it.
The second I stepped into the dark, worn building, the hellish war zone turned into a series of nothing but loud pops. I could already smell the death in the stench-filled air here. The seven men Mongoose had stationed here were dead, no doubt. An academic fact spelled out clearly by the two bodies sprawled on the floor near the entrance. One had died of a bullet to the head. The other, by a pair of shots to the spine. Suppressed, no doubt. The shots weren't without a sense of surgical accuracy. Pools of dark blood were under the two corpses. They were probably dead for at least fifteen minutes. That would have been long enough for Rieper to kill not only the remaining five mercs in the building, but to also get his position and rifle set up. The timing all made sense.
He would not have left the building yet. Too much going on outside, and the most obvious reason for him not leaving: I was still alive. I was what he came here for. And I was not going to disappoint him. Not now. After all, he'd worked so hard to get to his goal.
I moved around through the floor until I reached a door leading into a stairwell. Took the stairs up to the twelfth floor. Slow, cautious steps all the way up. I couldn't afford to have him spot me so quickly. I'd heard stories about him. About his heightened senses. He was said to have enhanced hearing and awareness. Like a sixth sense. Like Spider-Man or some shit like that. Usually, anyone with such senses depended heavily on their mental states for said senses to work.
A prime example of that was when in the ICA building, he didn't notice me hiding in Clera's office. No, his head was way too clouded in confusion and the incredibility of an enemy agent wishing to confront him. Now, he was the one doing the confronting. But his weapon choice said a lot. He wanted to just put me down, permanently. So he'd be alert and aware. Looking out for the little things. The smallest details that could get me killed. I couldn't allow that.
I reached the door leading out of the stairwell to the twelfth floor and waited by it. Pressed my back gently against the wall and kept my eyes fixed on the open slit on the bottom of the door. Took slow, silent breaths. Kept the FN2000 ready in my hands.
The shot came. The .50 BMG's deafening explosion lit up the entire floor outside of this stairwell the same way it did the other floors above it. And a strip of that light got through the slit in the door I kept my eyes on. I spun off of the wall and kicked the door open. 47 was holding his Hecate out of the window, aiming it at the street. He heard the bang of the door and sprang around, dropping the smoking rifle and aiming another silver-plated AMT Hardballer .45 at me. I smiled.
"Go on," I said. "Shoot me. Kill Clera's hopes of surviving."
He shook his head that that.
"You won't fool me twice, Agent Wolfram," he said.
"Who's fooling?" I replied, pulling out a cell phone with my left hand, keeping the rifle aimed at him with my left. I hit its "SEND" button twice and put it on speaker mode. "Put her on."
"Talk," I heard a female voice order on the other line.
"4-47?" Clera said.
He didn't get to hear more. I hung up before Clera could say anything else and put the phone back.
Rieper's jaw nearly dropped open. His blue eyes went wide with disbelief.
"Tell me where she is," he said. "Tell me or I'll kill you."
"You have to ask me nicely, 47."
He didn't ask me nicely. What he did next wasn't even polite. He fired a shot at the floor next to me, the concrete exploding under the impact and leaving a crater. My eyes stayed fixed on it.
"Huh," I said. "Not quite saying 'please', is it?"
"Tell me," he said. "I'm not going to ask you again."
"Freeze!" A voice shouted from behind me. "Put the gun down, Wolfram!"
CIA. Couldn't have been anyone else. They had to have seen me reach the building. Their presence made Rieper turn and run. He probably figured he could take me in Langley.
There were the sounds of footsteps that ought to have belonged to two people headed my way. One set was heavy, the other one lighter. A male agent and a female one. Probably partners in a unit. No way I was going to shoot at them myself. I relented, tossing the gun to my side, turning to face the two. They came towards me slowly, USP pistols out, aimed right at my head. The male reached me first. Pulled out a pair of handcuffs. Grabbed my left hand and turned me around, twisting my arm up my back. And that was when I lashed my leg out behind me and caught him on the back of his knee with my shin. Made him kneel and let my hand slip from his. The handcuffs fell to the floor. I sprang around and grabbed him by his collar with one hand and his gun arm with the other. Pulled him up in front of me before the female agent could shoot me. Then I rushed forward towards her with the agent still in my hands and pushed them into each other. The two both fell backwards, dropping their guns.
I reached at the small of the female agent's back, getting her handcuffs. Got one cuff on her ankle, and the other on the other agent's arm. No way were they following me now.
I turned around, pulling out my Bernardelli and rushing out in the direction Rieper ran off to. He couldn't have gotten too far. At least, not as far as I couldn't go. I kept running about the thirteenth floor, until I saw an open window. I ran up to it. It had to have been his only method of getting off this floor. I was standing right in front of the stairwell entrance, and there were no working elevators.
I climbed through the window as best as I could and ran up the fire escape. He couldn't have left the building just yet, for the same reasons I figured earlier. And he couldn't have been on any of the floors above or below, either. None of the other windows were open. So he was probably back on the roof. I rushed up to it. Approaching the area, I went more slowly. Peeked up over its edge. I was met with a gunshot. Ducked out of the way of the sound and aimed my pistol over the ledge. Fired a few times. Didn't give the silence time to settle and looked up again. 47 wasn't in sight. Probably went back into cover. The only cover that was here was the door leading from the roof down into the stairwell.
I climbed up onto the roof and ran across to it. Pressed my back against it and sidestepped my way across to the other side. Peeked around the corner as I got to it. No one there. I moved around the corner to the other side I faced. Peeked around it as well. No one there this time, either. There was only one place left that he could be hiding here. I snuck along the walls to the door and peeked around its side. No one. Then I walked across to the door. Turned and faced it. Slowly approached it and grabbed its knob. Then it flew open and threw me backwards. I landed on my back, my gun flying out of my hand from the impact with the roof. As I looked up, I saw Rieper looking down at me from the doorway, shiny HardBaller .45 in his hand.
--
"Where is Clera?" I demanded, aiming my gun at Wolfram.
"Go to hell," he said, jumping to his feet.
He dashed out of my line of fire, running and zigzagging away from me, confusing my aim. I followed him. He ran right back to the fire escape, climbing down it. I followed him. Saw him open a window and go through it.
By the time I got to it, I cautiously aimed my gun around the area that was in my vision through the window. I wasn't going to rush in recklessly. There was no one around the semi-dark space. Quickly, I climbed through the window, searching for my target as I got in. Then I turned around. Wolfram was rushing right at me. He grabbed at my gun arm and turned inwards, his back facing me. Stuck his right leg out and pulled me forward into it. Tripped me to the floor and tried ripping the gun from my hand. I didn't let go. I just tightened my grip and kept it aimed at him, at his stomach. He tried forcing it out of his way, but I kept it aimed towards him. Then I fired. I emptied the gun's magazine into him. His jaw dropped open and his eyes went wide behind his jet-black lenses. A gout of blood appeared on his shirt, quickly spreading all around. He fell to his knees. Then to his side. His hand slid from my gun. His blood began to pool under him. By the time I got up and aimed the gun at his head, I had noticed that the gun had clicked empty. I had no time to stick around, though. If the two CIA agents that had nearly captured Wolfram were in the building, there were bound to be more. Even still, I breathed a sigh of relief. Wolfram was now no longer a problem. I used his cell phone's camera to take a photo of his corpse.
I found Clera later that day through Wolfram's cell phone and the help of a phone book. She was in a warehouse, guarded by two female mercenaries. Two mercenaries who were now very much dead. She had been blindfolded the whole time. That only helped my anonymity.
It was exactly two days later that I was in a comfortable hotel in London, resting from the whole ordeal. Chasing Wolfram and Clera took up a lot of my energy. Enough of it to the point where I wasn't planning on running around the country like that again. Even still, the ICA hadn't been considerate enough not to contact me. The blue glow of the laptop's screen had the words: "MESSAGE WAITING" going across it. I opened it with a few clicks. It turned out it wasn't from the ICA per se, but from Clera herself:
To 47,
Thank you for what you did. I don't know what I could do to repay you, but I've kept my end of the deal we arranged while you were in Orlando. The ICA has no knowledge of your witness, nor that you even had a living one. You've nothing to worry as far as that goes. Your reputation is safe, and your fee of 1,000,000 USD has been sent to your usual Swiss bank account. Furthermore, I've turned in my resignation from the Agency. Diana will be your controller from here on out. Ms. Burnwood is a better operative than I am. She'd never be captured like I was and cause you so much trouble. And I don't wish to be so close to death ever in my life again.
Though, there is some news that I think you'll find rather troubling. Do you remember I mentioned an interrogation that Agent Wolfram was supposed to undergo prior to his escape from the CIA? It turns out that it was for the murder of several CIA agents in Moscow during the late 80's. He's been cleared of all charges, the mercenary Rebecca Amoretti having been found guilty for the crimes carrying a million dollars worth of Russian blood money directly involved to it. Normally, I'd not bring that up to you, but that discovery brings me to another one, which the contact in the CIA brought to our attention: Wolfram has not yet been listed as Killed in Action. His current status is still MIA.