Rogue Ops Rising (The Shadow Wars Book 8) by Lusher S. A

Author:Lusher, S. A. [Lusher, S. A.]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Publisher: 1440 Fiction
Published: 2015-04-05T04:00:00+00:00

* * * * *

By the time they reached the maintenance door that was tucked away in a level below the night club, the shooting had already started. They heard it overhead as Trent punched the code into the dirty, barely-lit keypad besides the gouged, soot-stained metal door. The staccato bursts of machine gunfire, the lighter pop-pop-pop of an SMG, the heavy shots of a pistol, the occasional explosion from some low-gauge shotgun. Twice they heard a real explosion. Trent sighed as he tried once more to punch the code in.

“What's taking so long?” Drake whispered.

“My fingers are too big,” he muttered back.

“Oh for god's-move!”

“No, wait, I got it.”

The door slowly ground open. Both men waited impatiently, their pistols now out, safeties off. Trent went in first as soon as the door was open enough. He found himself in a tall, narrow, grimy tunnel. The walls seemed to be made mainly of pipes and heavy black wiring stapled clumsily to every surface. The pair silently made their way down the corridor, pausing once to double-check the map and make sure they selected the appropriate hatch and didn't climb up into a firefight. They continued walking, making a few turns, then stopped.

“Here,” Trent said, slipping the infopad back into his pocket.

“You sure?” Drake asked.

“Uh...yeah, pretty sure.”

“Pretty sure? What the hell kind of answer is that?”

Trent laughed. “Best kind of answer, my friend. I'll go first.”

Trent began climbing and Drake went up after him. They ascended two stories, passing the first hatch that would likely let them out in some back room of the club, and came to the second story, which should have let them out in a bathroom not far from where the red indicator was. Trent hit the access button and the hatch slid open. Sure enough, he was at the back of a white-tiled, well-maintained bathroom. He waited a moment.

There didn't seem to be anyone in it.

“Come on,” he whispered, hauling himself out of the opening.

He pulled his gun out once more and quickly checked the stalls while Drake got out. Each one was empty. The pair moved to the door. The gunfire had intensified downstairs. Trent opened the door and waited a second. Two men in blue suits ran past. Drake stepped out, towards them, while Trent stepped out facing the opposite direction. He heard twin gun blasts behind him and two dull thuds as the corpses hit the floor.

“Clear,” Drake said.

“Clear,” Trent replied. “Let's move.”

Drake turned to face Trent and they hurried down a corridor of tan wall panels and smooth, creamy plush carpeting. A door up ahead opened and a man stepped out. He held a case in each hand, turned to look directly at Trent and froze up, their eyes locking. For a long moment that seemed to stretch on into forever, neither man moved.

Then Trent aimed and fired, putting a hole through his forehead.

The pair stepped over the body, came to the end of the corridor and pressed themselves up against the wall next to the corner.

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