Ballistic(150)

He wasn’t sure why any of this mattered, as the dozen dudes who had him in their sights would cut him in half if he made for any of the exits.

DLR said, “So, I will make you this one offer. You tell me where Elena is hiding; I will send my men there, and as soon as we get her, I will let Laura leave.”

“Keep me. I will tell you.”

DLR shook his head; he seemed almost weary with the discussion. “No deal.” He turned to Spider. “Are your arms getting tired?”

Spider kept them high over his head. “Sí, jefe.”

“It won’t be long now, my friend.” He looked at Court. “Your decision. Does she live or die?”

Laura’s big brown eyes looked up at Court. She was gagged with black cloth, but she chewed at it and tried to stand up. Spider held her down with one hand, kept the machete over her, ready to slice through the back of her sinewy neck.

Outside, in the distance, there was the unmistakable sound of a Kalashnikov rifle firing fully automatic. All bodies in the room stiffened at the noise. Another weapon kicked in a second later. They were a couple hundred yards away, but the volume of fire increased.

Car alarms in the neighborhood began sounding off.

“Who is it?” DLR asked Gentry. “Madrigal’s men?”

Court shrugged. He knew that it was, but the longer he could instill doubt the better. “Probably CIA. Outside chance it’s the Russian mob.”

Court knew it was los Vaqueros because he had contacted Hector Serna himself while in the grotto at Los Arcos. Court told him he could find Calvo at this address. Serna had screamed at him about the change of plans, but Court hung up before listening to much of the man’s anger.

DLR started to show concern as the AK fire continued. He barked an order to Spider. “Keep five here, send everyone else to the perimeter. Have the pilot ready my chopper.” Spider shouted an order to the men on the balcony and then another order into a walkie-talkie on his belt. All but five of the gunmen disappeared, and those who remained all moved to the eastern balcony. They kept their rifles trained on the Gray Man as they did so.

DLR had returned to the trunk from which he pulled Pfleger’s head. Now he retrieved a large gun belt. A pair of silver .45 automatic pistols hung from it. He buckled the belt around his waist, tied the holsters around the thighs of his black slacks, and looked back up at the Gray Man.

“You force my hand, fool.”

Court turned his gun away from Spider and back towards DLR. “You give the order to Spider, and I kill you first.”

Daniel laughed. “Typical cocky gringo. You are one man with a pistol. If I give the order to Spider, you won’t have a chance to shoot any—”

A loud explosion just outside the house sent small snowflakes of stucco from the ceiling. All heads turned towards the noise.

Except one. Court remained focused on his targets, even while his mind raced.

Dammit.

Court didn’t like his chances, but he saw no other option.

He had one trick up his sleeve, though, and he’d have to play it for all it was worth.

The gun in his hand looked exactly like a Glock 17, a common semiautomatic pistol. Surely DLR, Spider, and all the gunmen on the balcony had already identified it as such. But it was a Glock 18. The two weapons appear virtually identical, but the 18 is a rare handgun capable of fully automatic fire. Its ported barrel is able to spew 9 mm bullets at a rate of twelve hundred rounds per minute.

Court thought it over in an instant, working on a plan of attack.

Spider and his machete over Laura’s neck would have to go first; there were no two ways around that. The men high on Court’s left also wore Kevlar suits, just like their boss, and Court’s 9 mm rounds would not penetrate Kevlar, so he’d either have to sweep across all five with perfectly executed head shots or, at least, knock them back a bit with a round or two into their soft armor and then finish them off after reloading.

DLR wasn’t pointing a weapon at him, as were the sicarios on his left, but his two .45s would be in the fight in under two seconds. Court would have to execute an emergency reload of the Glock with perfect speed and precision, all the while avoiding the fire of any of the men with the M4s who’d survived his initial barrage.

Eighteen rounds of ammunition fired in full automatic mode at a rate of twelve hundred rounds per minute. His gun would be empty in a half second.

Oh yeah, there was one more factor Gentry knew he’d need to bring to bear. As soon as he started shooting, reflex alone would send rounds from the enemy rifles right where he was standing. In order to have any chance at survival, he’d have to execute all this precision while diving out of the way, moving his body as quickly as possible from where the five weapons were aiming.