Chasing the White Lion by James Hannibal (best free e book reader .TXT) 📗

Another Russian dived for the Glock, but Tyler soccer-kicked him in the temple, and the weapon slid into the dark space under a booth. Talia had no chance to go after it. A thick arm caught her in a choke hold. She clawed at it, fingernails slipping on hair and sweat.

As she fought for breath, a figure swept in from her left, swinging a bottle. Talia cringed, but the bottle connected with her attacker’s head, not hers. The sweaty arm went limp.

She grabbed the bottle-swinger by his lapels, jerking his face into the light. “Finn?”

Michael Finn—Tyler’s forever-shadow and daredevil cat burglar—pumped his dirty blond eyebrows.

Talia pushed him away. “I should have known.”

Finn gave her a self-assured smolder, the one she never knew whether to love or despise. “The count was fourteen,” he said in his Melbourne accent. “Not fifteen. You included me. So—” He paused to level an oncoming attacker with his elbow.

“So, Tyler was right, and I was wrong. Yeah, I get it. Do you really have to be here?”

“Someone’s gotta look out for Tyler while he’s looking out for you.”

One of the Russians pinned Talia’s arms with a bear hug. She drove her heel repeatedly into the man’s instep, shouting with each stomp. “Idon’t . . . need . . . looking . . . after!” The hold loosened. She ducked out and shoved the Russian back over an empty chair. He fell at Tyler’s feet and got a face-full of boot.

The three fought their way through the bar with chair legs and liquor bottles, until Talia reached the bouncer—the biggest gorilla of them all.

He crossed his arms and growled, “Whereyougoing . . . little girl?”

Behind her, Tyler knocked out his last opponent, raised a gun, and fired three rounds into the ceiling.

The gorilla stepped out of their way.

Tyler walked past, slapping the weapon into Talia’s hand as he started up the steps to the alley. Her Glock. He must have dug it out from under the booth while she was talking to Finn.

As she followed, she checked the mag. Plenty of rounds. “You couldn’t have used this earlier?”

“What? And skip all the fun of a full-on bar brawl?”

A third member of Tyler’s team waited beside a Toyota HiLux pickup. The big Scottish pilot, Mac Plucket, stood by the cab, holding Oleg by the collar of his jacket. Oleg’s kicking feet were a good six inches off the pavement. “Evenin’, lass. Your wee friend here offered me a hundred thousand dollars ta let him go.”

Talia and the other two climbed into the back of the truck. “And what did you say?”

Mac produced the envelope. “I accept.”

“You forgot let me go part.” Oleg swung his fists at Mac, never connecting.

“Good point, lad. My mistake.”

“That’s our Mac.” Talia held Oleg in the Glock’s sights as Mac heaved him into the truck bed. “Talk.” She kneeled beside him and shoved the gun closer. “There’s no way a little rat like you pierced my cover. Who tipped you off?”

In place of an answer, blood spurted from the rat’s lips. Bullets riddled his body. More rounds plinked off the HiLux. A black sedan raced up the street with a shooter hanging out the passenger window. Someone in the bar must have made a call—likely someone who didn’t want Oleg giving any false identities.

Finn lifted the Russian’s body as a shield.

Tyler pulled Talia down and pounded on the bed. “Mac, get us out of here!”

The trees of Volgograd weren’t large, but they were everywhere, lining even the busiest streets. They grew in the empty lots and the train yards, gradually turning a gray former Soviet city into Sherwood Forest. Now the forest whipped past while gunfire splintered every trunk.

Talia rolled over to yell at Tyler. “A pickup truck? This is what you chose for an urban rescue?” They both lay on the bed, keeping their heads below the cover of the tailgate and the dead forger. She raised herself on an elbow, emptied the Glock, and dropped down again to change magazines. “Poor turning radius. Limited cover. Limited speed.” She slammed her spare mag home and chambered a round, passing the weapon to Tyler. “Why bring a 4x4 when a lighter, faster vehicle will do?”

The next volley hit the trees to their right. Tyler raised the Glock with one arm and fired blind. Glass shattered. Tires squealed. Talia stole a glance over the tailgate and saw the sedan back off four car lengths, one headlight shot out.

How did he do that?

Using the Glock, he gestured at the road ahead. “That’s why we needed a 4x4.”

She looked forward through the cab. The end of the street was coming on fast, and beyond it, nothing but a mile-wide stretch of the Volga river, guarded by a dirt berm. Mac hit the curb at full speed, bouncing Oleg up into the air. The body landed next to Talia with an ugly thud.

She gave Finn a look.

He shrugged. “Sorry, princess. I didn’t have as good a grip as I thought.”

The truck barreled over rough ground, and it took all Talia’s strength and coordination to avoid smacking her head repeatedly into the bed. She could barely speak. “This will slow them . . . down . . . but they’ll still . . . be coming. Your plan . . . won’t work.”

“Oh, it’ll work,” Finn said. “Trust us.”

What were they up to? The engine surged. By now, the river had to be close. “Mac?”

“Hang on!” Finn shouted.

The HiLux roared up the berm and sailed out over the river. Talia went weightless, floating in space with the dead Oleg.

The truck splashed down with water flying high on all sides. Talia groaned and pressed up to her knees and saw Mac climb out through the driver’s window just as the river began pouring in.

He cast a sour look at Tyler. “Ya said I’d get to fly on this partic’lar job. Ya didn’t say I’d be flyin’ a truck.”

A motorboat pulled alongside them, piloted by a young black woman, Darcy Emile, Tyler’s chemist and demolitions expert. She helped Mac into the boat