Excerpt from 'Trinity Icon'
“They’re coming out.”
Breslov’s heart raced; he couldn’t believe their good fortune. Gripping the handle, he threw his shoulder against the door frame. “Time to deliver justice.”
Borla was both somber and resolved. “Insha’Allah.”
Exiting the car at the same time was a tactical error. It attracted too much attention—and there was something awkward about Breslov’s movements.
Borla’s pace was too hurried to be casual. The lead agent should have seen it sooner, but he was momentarily distracted by the red-headed woman advancing from his left.
• • • •
“She’s in the open.”
An odd foreboding tugged at Voskov. The hair on the back of his neck went up, and he quickened his steps. And something just ahead—
“Yuri—!”
“I see it, boss,” Tereshenko snapped.
Xander’s caution was not misplaced. There were times when a coat was just a coat, but to the captain’s practiced eye, the apparel worn by the bearded men was out of place. The lapels of each were open, and the arms of both strangers were briefly concealed in the heavy poplin.
Breslov pulled back his trench, revealing a weapon. The fabric caught on the rifle’s front sight post. Vasily jerked it free and hefted the AKM to his shoulder. Yevgeniy was also armed, and did the same, but neither man wanted to risk missing their target.
That was their second mistake.
• • • •
“Gun.” Yuri’s warning was matter of fact. “Boss—get the girl!”
He pushed Xander in Viktoriya’s direction and raced ahead, his long legs propelling him into harm’s way. Voskov didn’t argue, and each man dashed to the corner.
• • • •
The second agent brought up his Sig, but acted too late. He raised the service pistol just as Borla squeezed off a burst. Impacting his mid-section, the rounds knocked the officer to the pavement before he could return fire.
The lead member of the detail had more time to react. He brought his weapon to bear on Yevgeniy first; one slug struck his chest, while the second entered his skull, killing Borla instantly. The exit wound was not a pretty sight
Screams came from the street. Some ran for cover; others were frozen in place. Breslov ignored the din and focused on the shooter before him. He pulled hard on the trigger. Three rounds struck the agent center mass, dropping him to the sidewalk. Two more went high, chipping granite from the Bristol’s façade. He directed his aim toward the entryway, spraying another five round burst, but these went over Avery’s head, shattering the windows above the entrance.
Neill acted instantly. Reaching forward, he took hold of Avery’s overcoat and pulled him violently to the rear. As the two fell backward, broken glass cascaded around them. Before landing in a heap, the Marine collided with Arrens and Stanislaw, sending them rudely to the deck.
• • • •
With Avery’s protectorate sidelined, Vasily was free to complete his mission—or so he thought.
Marching forward, Breslov cradled his weapon at the waist, pointing the end of the barrel where his target had fallen. Neill could do little more than place his body over Avery’s. He was prepared to charge the shooter, but then his vision clouded as a dark fluid filled his right eye.
Viktoriya tensed as the world exploded. Even with the chaos around her, she knew that moving forward was a bad idea. One gunman was down, and the other was unaware of her presence. The journalist started to retreat—but her efforts were thwarted as she was tackled from behind.
• • • •
Breslov’s head snapped to the right, and he saw Xander Voskov diving toward Viktoriya. The sight was impressive; the rescuer wrapped his body around the woman, twisting in flight and landing on his back. The impact forced the air from his lungs.
The surviving member of the Faction hit squad returned his gaze to the front of the building. The image greeting his eyes startled him, and in the space of a heartbeat the gunman hesitated.
• • • •
“Stay down!”
Neill could only see with his left eye. A sharp pain came from the top of his head, and the two conditions left him dazed. Avery stirred and glass crunched beneath him, but the captain managed to keep him from rising. As he tried clearing his vision, Neill heard the sound of a slide being released on an M45 semi-automatic.
Stanislaw started to get up, his hand clutching the holster on his belt. “Mischa!” There was no response.
Aultman did a swift low crawl toward Neill and Avery. Arrens was on her feet now, stepping across the figures lying prone in the sea of glass. Her arms were extended, and she held a Colt 1911 with the business end aimed squarely at the attacker’s chest. Her finger moved from the dust cover to the trigger; she was preparing to squeeze when Yuri Tereshenko burst onto the scene.
It was indecision that robbed Breslov of success. The tall Ukrainian hit low and hard. He and the Russian tumbled across the flagstone, the rifle clattering out of reach. The two rolled to a stop. Yuri took a knee, pinning the shooter to the ground, and a stunned silence hung over the street.
The security detail began to move. Shocked but unhurt, they had been protected by their vests. The agents gripped their sidearms and got unsteadily to their feet.
Christina’s eyes and hands swept the area. She led with the pistol’s muzzle. Her priority was in judging the threat; one of the assailants was clearly dead, and the other lay subdued near the street. To her left was a woman who looked remarkably like Viktoriya Gavrilenko. On closer inspection—
“Christina!” It was Michael’s voice. He reached out, his hand gripping her leg.
That’s a first, she thought dryly.
“We’re clear.” Arrens relaxed, but didn’t drop her guard.
The captain recovered, crouching over the national security advisor. He pulled Avery into a sitting position. Small chunks of glass fell from each man as they got up.
“You hurt?” One eye was screwed shut, but Neill gave his charge a quick once-over. He was pleased to see that the man in the ruffled suit was uninjured. The sound of sirens came from blocks away.
“I’m fine.” Avery’s face was a portrait of surprise. He looked at the Marine. “Good Lord, Neill, you’ve been hit.”
Arrens dropped her gaze. “Oh, God—”
Breslov’s heart raced; he couldn’t believe their good fortune. Gripping the handle, he threw his shoulder against the door frame. “Time to deliver justice.”
Borla was both somber and resolved. “Insha’Allah.”
Exiting the car at the same time was a tactical error. It attracted too much attention—and there was something awkward about Breslov’s movements.
Borla’s pace was too hurried to be casual. The lead agent should have seen it sooner, but he was momentarily distracted by the red-headed woman advancing from his left.
• • • •
“She’s in the open.”
An odd foreboding tugged at Voskov. The hair on the back of his neck went up, and he quickened his steps. And something just ahead—
“Yuri—!”
“I see it, boss,” Tereshenko snapped.
Xander’s caution was not misplaced. There were times when a coat was just a coat, but to the captain’s practiced eye, the apparel worn by the bearded men was out of place. The lapels of each were open, and the arms of both strangers were briefly concealed in the heavy poplin.
Breslov pulled back his trench, revealing a weapon. The fabric caught on the rifle’s front sight post. Vasily jerked it free and hefted the AKM to his shoulder. Yevgeniy was also armed, and did the same, but neither man wanted to risk missing their target.
That was their second mistake.
• • • •
“Gun.” Yuri’s warning was matter of fact. “Boss—get the girl!”
He pushed Xander in Viktoriya’s direction and raced ahead, his long legs propelling him into harm’s way. Voskov didn’t argue, and each man dashed to the corner.
• • • •
The second agent brought up his Sig, but acted too late. He raised the service pistol just as Borla squeezed off a burst. Impacting his mid-section, the rounds knocked the officer to the pavement before he could return fire.
The lead member of the detail had more time to react. He brought his weapon to bear on Yevgeniy first; one slug struck his chest, while the second entered his skull, killing Borla instantly. The exit wound was not a pretty sight
Screams came from the street. Some ran for cover; others were frozen in place. Breslov ignored the din and focused on the shooter before him. He pulled hard on the trigger. Three rounds struck the agent center mass, dropping him to the sidewalk. Two more went high, chipping granite from the Bristol’s façade. He directed his aim toward the entryway, spraying another five round burst, but these went over Avery’s head, shattering the windows above the entrance.
Neill acted instantly. Reaching forward, he took hold of Avery’s overcoat and pulled him violently to the rear. As the two fell backward, broken glass cascaded around them. Before landing in a heap, the Marine collided with Arrens and Stanislaw, sending them rudely to the deck.
• • • •
With Avery’s protectorate sidelined, Vasily was free to complete his mission—or so he thought.
Marching forward, Breslov cradled his weapon at the waist, pointing the end of the barrel where his target had fallen. Neill could do little more than place his body over Avery’s. He was prepared to charge the shooter, but then his vision clouded as a dark fluid filled his right eye.
Viktoriya tensed as the world exploded. Even with the chaos around her, she knew that moving forward was a bad idea. One gunman was down, and the other was unaware of her presence. The journalist started to retreat—but her efforts were thwarted as she was tackled from behind.
• • • •
Breslov’s head snapped to the right, and he saw Xander Voskov diving toward Viktoriya. The sight was impressive; the rescuer wrapped his body around the woman, twisting in flight and landing on his back. The impact forced the air from his lungs.
The surviving member of the Faction hit squad returned his gaze to the front of the building. The image greeting his eyes startled him, and in the space of a heartbeat the gunman hesitated.
• • • •
“Stay down!”
Neill could only see with his left eye. A sharp pain came from the top of his head, and the two conditions left him dazed. Avery stirred and glass crunched beneath him, but the captain managed to keep him from rising. As he tried clearing his vision, Neill heard the sound of a slide being released on an M45 semi-automatic.
Stanislaw started to get up, his hand clutching the holster on his belt. “Mischa!” There was no response.
Aultman did a swift low crawl toward Neill and Avery. Arrens was on her feet now, stepping across the figures lying prone in the sea of glass. Her arms were extended, and she held a Colt 1911 with the business end aimed squarely at the attacker’s chest. Her finger moved from the dust cover to the trigger; she was preparing to squeeze when Yuri Tereshenko burst onto the scene.
It was indecision that robbed Breslov of success. The tall Ukrainian hit low and hard. He and the Russian tumbled across the flagstone, the rifle clattering out of reach. The two rolled to a stop. Yuri took a knee, pinning the shooter to the ground, and a stunned silence hung over the street.
The security detail began to move. Shocked but unhurt, they had been protected by their vests. The agents gripped their sidearms and got unsteadily to their feet.
Christina’s eyes and hands swept the area. She led with the pistol’s muzzle. Her priority was in judging the threat; one of the assailants was clearly dead, and the other lay subdued near the street. To her left was a woman who looked remarkably like Viktoriya Gavrilenko. On closer inspection—
“Christina!” It was Michael’s voice. He reached out, his hand gripping her leg.
That’s a first, she thought dryly.
“We’re clear.” Arrens relaxed, but didn’t drop her guard.
The captain recovered, crouching over the national security advisor. He pulled Avery into a sitting position. Small chunks of glass fell from each man as they got up.
“You hurt?” One eye was screwed shut, but Neill gave his charge a quick once-over. He was pleased to see that the man in the ruffled suit was uninjured. The sound of sirens came from blocks away.
“I’m fine.” Avery’s face was a portrait of surprise. He looked at the Marine. “Good Lord, Neill, you’ve been hit.”
Arrens dropped her gaze. “Oh, God—”
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