Water still pouring from the fire suppression system and bullets now raining down on their position, Chris grabbed Louisa’s arm and dragged her behind his overturned, granite-topped table; the dense rock cracking as round after round embedded in it.
“Carl!” said Chris, above the din. “Can you see a shooter?”
However, Carl was not listening. He was knelt over Dave, cradling the man’s head in his lap, oblivious to his mortal danger.
Damn. “Justin?” said Chris.
“Here colonel.” said Justin, curled into a ball behind another table.
Because of the heavy barrage, the table’s wooden frames were splintering, their edges already beginning to disintegrate. Whoever the shooters were, they knew they would not provide cover long.
“You have to get upstairs and retrieve anything that could be used to identify us from our suites.” said Chris, as lumps of shattered granite sprayed between them. “I take it you can fire a handgun?”
“Yes colonel.”
Chris tossed Justin one of his Berettas and returned his focus to the gunfire. “I’ll give you cover, get ready to move.”
Chris poked his head out and waited for the onslaught. His poured his concentration into the moment, his world slowing as the spray of shattering marble dusted his face. He watched the shards head in two directions: One up and away from the floor, the other low and flat. He returned to his shelter, the knowledge required gained. He drew his remaining Beretta from behind his jacket and waited for the gunfire to pause.
As soon as the noise ceased, he stood. The gun in his hand flashed sideways, its line tracking to where his brain told him the first shooter perched. His arm locked and he fired, unloading a burst of bullets. Without pause, he swung his arm to the next location and his trigger finger began pulling at the light mechanism.
“Go! Now!” said Chris, as Justin darted across the lobby to the service stairwell behind the concierge desk and Chris ducked back below the table’s edge.
“Are you all right?” asked Louisa, looking over.
“I’m ok. You stay here. I’ll go check the bad guys are gone.”
As Chris went to move, he looked down at Dave. Now the barrage of gunfire had stopped, it was possible to make out what was happening.
Dave was struggling through his last moments of life, blood drooling from his mouth and green issuing from the wounds in his abdomen. He had seen injuries such as these many times in his career. Dave was as good as dead.
“You have to... rescue the Ark… Havilah... Templar’s Dollar...” said Dave, clasping the back of Carl’s head and pulling him close. “Yeshua’s followers... the twelve… never lost… disc and tablet… security cameras…” His words gargled from him, his body arching upward with the stress of his efforts. “Hidden place... don’t follow the copy… God buried him... don’t be fooled...” Carl tried to hold him, as he screamed in agony with one last convulsion, before an inky acceptance descended. “I hope... you’re wrong... about him…”
Carl involuntarily closed his eyes and bowed his head in prayer, as he cradled the lifeless form of Professor Edwards.
“Get Carl back with us.” said Chris, turning to Louisa in exasperation. “I need him in the here and now. Not pining the loss of a guy he didn’t even like.”
Unable to linger any longer, Chris moved swiftly over to where the first shooter should be.
The scene was gruesome, even for a trained killer. A trail of holes ran the edge of the wooden reception desk and ended in the slumped form of a body, propped limply at its far edge. The felled man wore a black combat suit and carried a military issue assault rifle. A single bullet hole visible through a pair of visors, allowed the contents of the socket to drool out into the mask.
One down, Chris thought, as he moved for the main staircase and the location of his second target.
The sweeping, grandiose staircase ran up one side of the foyer and he jogged over vigilantly, carefully striding upward and keeping his back to the wall.
The top of the stairs was a mess. His bullets had not hit their intended target; its wood and steel construction etched with impact marks.
Cautiously, Chris made his way along the corridor to a junction and looked out. To his left, the main stairwell continued its way up through the building and to his right, a long corridor extended down toward the floor’s rooms. People were beginning to look out worriedly, awoken by the thunderous noises echoing throughout the building.
Then, just on the edge of his vision, a glint of steel made him twist. Two men, hidden in the shadow of a nearby doorway were preparing to unload weapons.
Chris bridged the gap to them in a flash, instinctively folding his body, as two more bullets ripped by. He raised an arm as he ducked, threading it through the first man’s outstretched grip, and pulled as hard as he could. The man’s arms were locked to absorb the recoil of his weapon and he could not relax them fast enough to stop being yanked off his feet. He flew sideways, clattering into his colleague, their heads slamming together with a heavy thud. As the first man tried to shake his daze, he grabbed him by the back of his shirt and rammed his face into the wall, the thick bone of his forehead crunching against the unforgiving marble.
Before the second man could react, Chris grabbed him by the neck, spun him round, and bent his head back against his shoulders. He lifted him into the air, the weight of his body held only by his neck. The man struggled for a moment, before Chris snapped his head sideways, disassociating the bones with a juddering crack.
As Chris allowed the body to drop to the floor next to his colleague, Justin came jogging down the staircase to his side.
“I’ve got our things.” said Justin, clearly disturbed by the corpses.
“Any resistance encountered?”
Justin shrugged. “None.”
Glad there was no more danger to be found in their vicinity Chris motioned for Justin to follow and charged down to the lobby. Ignoring the throngs of people running everywhere, he went over to Carl.
“We have to leave.” Chris said, sternly. “Now!”
“This is insane.” said Carl, his movements slowed by his thoughts. “Why the hell has the Vatican just killed one of their own? Surely they need us alive to find what they are after.”
Chris knew Carl was right. Meaning only one possibility remained. “It might not have been them.” he said, pulling Carl to his feet. “I think we have more players involved than we thought.”
“So, we are now on the run from the British military, the Vatican, and an unknown third group?”
“We?” asked Chris, pausing.
“Too damn right its we.” said Carl, straightening himself out. “You think you can find the Ark without me?”
Once again, Chris knew Carl was correct. He was here for the duration. “The professor is going to have to stay. We need to find a safe exit.”
“You can’t leave him here!” said Louisa, outraged by the suggestion.
“We can’t be dragging load. We’ve got to clear this area as soon as we can.” said Chris, already trying to find a way out that was not crammed with civilians.
“The service stairwell has a ground floor exit to the kitchens; I saw the door when I went to get our bags.” said Justin, heaving the duffel carrying their possessions over his shoulder. “You would expect they have their own exit to the street.”
Chris grabbed Louisa by the arm and pulled her in the direction of the door. Still protesting, he found himself surprised by the strength she possessed.
The stairwell was heaving with guests, all scrambling for the main exit. After forcing their way through the flow, Justin led them to a door marked ‘Restricted’ and into a sterile kitchen area beyond.
The room was busy with activity. Chefs and waiters darted round long, steel tables, gathering their belongings and making their way toward the rear of the space.
“Follow the herd.” said Carl, pointing.
Chris moved quickly down the narrow service galley to
ward the preparation tables, two hutches topped with lamp heaters laden with exotic foods sat before him. Their size obscured view to the rest of the area and he found himself craning his neck to get a clear sight of any potential exit.
As Chris arced round the hutches and into the rows of gas cookers and prep tables that lined the rest of the space, a goggled figure darted out from his hiding place and slammed into his chest.
The pair crashed into the back wall, as another three men stood from behind the hutches and began to point rifles, barking orders to desist as they advanced.
Carl lunged across the serving tables, his head inches from the scorching lights, sending plates of food in every direction. He flew forward, widening his arms and wrestling two of them to the floor.
The last man yelled, re-aiming his weapon at Carl and preparing to fire, as Justin vaulted a hutch and kicked him in the head. The impact sent the man flying into a stockpot, boiling water and vegetables spraying out in an arc with the impact.
Louisa looked on in horror. Chris was struggling, the wind knocked from him. The man holding him down withdrew a knife, and with no time to think, she sprung forward, grabbing him from behind and trying to restrain his arm. The man spun, striking her across the face with an outstretched hand, and began to raise his weapon again.
Louisa had no time to lose. She straightened, using every ounce of strength she possessed, and flashed a leg into his groin. The contact buckled the man in two. Not holding her advance, she planted her foot and levered forward, delivering a resounding crack of her forehead across the bridge of his nose. The fragile bone shattered with the assault, flattening the appendage across his face.
“A head-butt? Really?” said Chris, sloping off the prep table and wheezing, as the man slumped to the ground unconscious. “Very feminine.” Still clutching his waist, he withdrew his gun and fired.
Three echoed gunshots later, Justin and Carl’s aggressors lay dead at their feet.
Justin stood frozen, blood streaked over his face.
“We don’t have time to dally.” said Chris, stumbling toward the exit. “Louisa, grab the bag and hurry up. Carl, carry him if you have to.”
At the end of the kitchen, a plastic panelled doorway led to a delivery bay. Striding through the screen, Chris made his way out into the night.
The sparse loading area was devoid of cars, save for a pair of black Land Rovers parked with doors open to one side. It was the transportation of their enemy.
With no choices, Chris limped across to one of the vehicles and checked the ignition. The keys were still in. Motioning for the others to join him, he lurched into the driver’s seat and started the engine.
Moments later, the group were screeching through the Amsterdam night, as waves of police vehicles descended on the Bilderberg behind.
“So what the hell are we going to do now?” asked Justin, looking back through the rear window at the chaos ensuing outside their hotel.
“I don’t know for certain from the things Dave said, but I have an idea.” Carl said, trying to clear his thoughts. “Israel. I think we need to start in Jerusalem.”
Chapter 24