Defender(87)
Dave Sutherland appeared from nowhere.
With his left knee strapped tight, barking commands on his radio and choking back the pain of barely healed surgery, the former US Navy SEAL flew into action the moment the news of a gun battle blasted across the police radio waves. There was no way he was about to leave Morgan out there without him, and there was no way he was about to let Cornell slip through their fingers either. Cornell was their prize witness, INTREPID's only hope of untangling the network that they now knew included Lundt, and were certain, included Johnson. Sutherland was under no illusion that despite cooperating to date, Cornell would do anything to extract himself from the centre of it.
Cornell saw he was heading to the underground railway station sign posted MUSEUM. If he could get onto a train, he'd be rid of them all.
The clamour of the gun battle receded into the background, overpowered by the sound of Cornell's own breathing and the thud of his feet jarring into the wet ground. The rain was falling now, heavily. Cornell had to blink away the raindrops from his eyes in order to see.
* * *
A short distance away, Alex Morgan's gaze fell upon the scene. Time came to a standstill. His limbs felt heavy, but his every instinct catapulted him forward, towards Victor Lundt.
"Lundt!" Morgan bellowed, tearing his SIG Sauer P226 from the holster concealed beneath his jacket. He sprinted toward Lundt, desperately trying to secure a fixed aim at him. Hitting any of the civilians now fleeing the area was unthinkable. "Lundt!"
Lundt looked around for a second, confused by that voice. Morgan? No, couldn't be. He has to be dead. Then there was a movement nearby. A sudden movement. Itwas too close. No mistakes. No room for error. With the cold economy of a professional killer, Lundt instinctively spun toward the movement and fired without provocation at a young man, the wrong man, no more than a teen, who in all the confusion made the fatal mistake of getting in the way. Lunde fired three rounds at point-blank range and the kid fell dead upon the soft, green grass. The dark eye of Lundt's gun stayed on target, and for a macabre instant Lunde was hypnotised by the stunned expression frozen upon his victim's face as the body crumpled to the ground. Not Morgan. Too bad.
"Jesus!" Morgan exclaimed, raising his weapon to aim upon the retreating figure of Victor Lundt. Morgan was a blur of rage hurtling headlong for Lunde. There was no way he could shoot without risking others. He was too far away.
Morgan's heart was exploding in his chest. He couldn't contain the fury he felt at witnessing this latest killing, or his memories of Malfajiri and Lundt's chilling admission as he left Morgan to die - 'I was the one who got these savage bastards to put your mate out of his bloody misery. Watched 'em cut his throat and feed him to the dogs'. The sheer enormity of Lundt's cold-blooded disregard for human life drove Morgan on.
The intermittent crack-crack of exchanged gunfire continued through the park. Sprinting after Lundt, Morgan registered that there were three groups going head-to-head: the police, a group with Lundt, and the Malfas. The Malfas seemed more intent on engaging Lundt and his crew than the police.
Still running, an almighty thump slammed hard into Morgan's right shoulder. The sudden impact spun him viciously on his axis and sent him cartwheeling into a heap. Morgan felt the air burst from his lungs as his left hand grabbed at a bullet wound. Blood spilled through his fingers. Momentarily dazed, he cursed and searched for the shooter. But there was no sign.
Morgan struggled back to his feet, right arm hanging by his side. It felt like the bullet had only skimmed the muscle, his bones and shoulder joint were still intact. That was a blessing, but the pain would come. Until then, he had to keep moving. He had lost sight of Lundt. It was all happening too fast.
* * *
John Stojakovic saw Lundt murder the kid, too, but now he had him.
He could feel it.
Lundt was visibly slowing, exhausted by the unexpected effort of the chase. He was heading straight for an escape vehicle. Stojakovic saw a Land Rover moving fast along Elizabeth Street to meet up with Lundt at the edge of the park. They were now clear of the main fight. If he could get to Lundt before he reached the Land Rover, Stojakovic knew he could take him. The desire to get the bastard was overwhelming. The man showed no remorse, no hesitation, absolutely no regard for the consequences of his actions. If anything, it looked like he'd enjoyed killing that kid. To Stojakovic, a career cop who'd seen it all, this guy Lundt had no right to draw breath.
Stojakovic felt his chest tighten. He hadn't had to run like this for a long time, but he knew he had more left in him, more than Lundt. How could this have gone so wrong, so suddenly? The escape vehicle was closing on Lundt. Soon he'd be away and lost in the traffic, but just another 30 feet and Stojakovic would be on top of him.