The Alex King Series, A BATEMAN [good books for high schoolers .TXT] 📗

no plans of the building, nor information regarding its occupants. He knew that Romanovitch was married, but he did not know if there were children in the house. He hoped not, but he wouldn’t let that affect him now. Caroline was his priority. Romanovitch was a ruthless mafia boss who had lived his life, built his riches on other people’s defeat and misery. He didn’t care if the man was a father or not. He had already decided that Catherine was his best chance of seeing Caroline again, but it would cover all his bases if Romanovitch was taken out of the picture.

King reached the landing and could see the chaos below him through the window. He could hear gunfire, and now he could see men firing their weapons at the mountainside and the treeline beyond the perimeter. The were convinced that the IEDs had been grenades, fired or thrown from the top of the first slope. King checked behind him, then slipped off the rucksack and took out two of the taper-fuse IEDs. He used a cheap disposable lighter he had bought in a service station and lit both fuses. They burned fiercely, and King worked the catch to open the window, but it was stuck firm. He cursed his stupidity, should have opened the window first. He used the butt of the rifle to smash out the glass, but the glass was toughened. Cursing again, he fired two shots through the glass and used the butt of the rifle again. The glass gave way, but a few of the men had turned and were looking up at the window. King was cursing a little more fluidly as he lobbed both IEDs out of the window amongst the men. They looked at the burning water bottles, but the first exploded before anybody worked out what was going on. Mud, shrapnel and debris blew high in the air and two of the men were thrown backwards, the third man was obliterated by the blast. The explosion had sent the second IED high into the air, and when it detonated, it showered molten-hot screws across the garden, felling men and sending shrapnel into the side of the house. King ducked and felt the wave of heat, glass blowing over his back. When he looked back up the man was standing firm, the pistol aimed at his head. King dodged left and the gun fired. He dropped low, clawed for the AKU and got a couple of rounds off, both hitting the top tread of the stairs. The man fired twice more as he ducked back around the landing. King fired three more shots, smashing the banister spindles and taking chunks of plaster out of the wall. He had a better hold on the rifle, a better aim and he shouldered it and took the stairs two at a time. The man ducked out, the pistol held in a two-handed grip, he fired at the same time as King and went down squirming. King took another step, aimed and fired. The man’s head rocked backwards, and he didn’t have to stick around to know he was dead. He took a step forwards, turned the weapon sideways and reached to detach the magazine to check how many rounds he had left. His left arm wouldn’t move as fast as it should, and he felt a stab of pain. He looked down, saw the blood on his sleeve. He’d killed the man at the top of the stairs, but he’d gone down fighting. King had been hit by one of the 9mm bullets. He checked the magazine, wincing at the pain and pushing through the barrier to get the task done. He pivoted the awkward backward alignment of the Kalashnikov’s magazine and clicked it back in place. He estimated twenty-rounds remaining. He moved on, but as he passed the largest of the windows, a bay window with an area that had been turned into a reading corner with leather sofas and books piled high on antique wooden sideboards, he caught sight of lights and gunfire at the main gate. He watched as a digger, a JCB, he thought, crashed through the gates and drove up the driveway, part on the grass and part on the road, tearing up a line of privet hedge on its front grille. It lowered its front bucket and rammed hard into the Ferrari, smashing it into the Rolls Royce. As it met resistance, the Ferrari went further into the bucket, which was already rising. The digger swung out and then braked suddenly, and the Ferrari carried on, landing in front of the men who were lining up and firing at the digger. The wrecked Ferrari smashed onto the ground and rolled into some of them as they dodged in all directions trying to avoid it. The digger swung around, the bucket lowering and drove into the security hub, taking out a complete wall and making the roof collapse.

King shot out the glass and crouched down. He took out the last two electrical-timer IEDs and set them for one-minute a piece. He counted down in his head, then threw them both out, one left and one right, when he estimated fifteen seconds remaining. He did not wait to see what effect they had on the men down below as he headed for the first of many doors along the south wing of the building.

68

 

Rashid hadn’t driven a digger before, but the three-mile drive to Romanovitch’s property had given him plenty of scope. He wasn’t about to consider a second career, but he could make it move – much like any heavy vehicle – with gears and brakes and throttle, although the throttle was steering wheel mounted and he discovered the brakes could be split to turn on a coin. The front bucket went down and up and tilted accordingly by use of another lever. He hadn’t had the time to study