Bullets Brass & Babes Page 3

  “I’ll open the gate!” Rebecca yelled above the automatic weapon fire.

  Brandt knew she would try her hardest, but would she make it in time?

  * * *

  Rebecca stared at the locking mechanism on the Grand Gate—a structure that used to be made out of pure silver. Now it was some kind of bulletproof metal alloy with a lock about as sophisticated as a bank safe. Guess they really didn’t want people on the grounds after hours.

  The gate was meant to symbolize the profound difference between the material world on Brandt’s side and the spiritual side of the Taj Mahal. She glanced over her shoulder to the brilliantly white monument. The sight nearly took her breath away. It truly was the Seventh Modern Wonder of the World. From its pristine minarets from which prayer could be called to its beautifully etched face, there was no finer craftsmanship. She could have stared at it for hours, except you know, all that gunfire.

  Refocusing on the lock, she counted at least five different keyholes with a numeric keypad as well. Brandt really should have come over first. However, that would have left her on the other side with all the men firing.

  “Do you have any C-4?” Rebecca yelled.

  Brandt didn’t respond as the sound of shots filled the air. Then a small packet, no larger than a pack of gum fell at her feet along with a detonator and trigger. It still freaked her out that C4 could just be tossed around like that, however it came in really handy now. Picking up the packet she placed it in the heart of the locking mechanisms. Rebecca had no idea where else to put it. Targeting was usually Lopez and Brandt’s job—deciding on directionality, torque, and blast radius.

  Rebecca buried the detonator into the putty-like material. What if it wasn’t enough? What if she couldn’t get the gate open? The gunshots grew closer and closer.

  “No matter what,” Brandt shouted in between firing short controlled bursts. “Run.”

  Rebecca gulped. She could hear it in his voice. Even if she blew the lock, he may not make it past the veritable firing squad outside. The sense that the tiny patch of C4 would be too little too late crushed down on her already sore shoulders.

  Then she heard the all-too-familiar thunk and sizzle of an RPG being launched. The rocket flared from the left-most Taj minaret, speeding right toward her. Diving out of the way, Rebecca watched as the RPG hit the gate, shattering it, scattering the gunmen on the other side.

  Okay, maybe she didn’t need the C4.

  Brandt was through the breach, firing behind him. “Good job.”

  Yep. She made one hell of a target.

  * * *

  Brandt grabbed Rebecca’s hand and made for the Taj Mahal. Not exactly how he expected to enter one of the most romantic spots in the world, but the monument was their best chance for cover and would be impossible for the RPG guy to safely hit, since any direct strike would knock down the minaret the gunmen was holed up in.

  So he guided Rebecca down the long pool that led up to the mausoleum. It beautifully reflected the Taj’s white dome and moon that had climbed high overhead. Which wasn’t great, since it gave the gunmen trailing them plenty of light to aim.

  Brandt zigged and zagged them down the garden courtyard, using the sparse shrubs as cover but the bullets were getting closer and closer on their heel. Another RPG went off, hitting the tranquil pool, spraying water and debris everywhere. He definitely wasn’t getting the deposit back on this tux.

  The Taj Mahal loomed before them. Soon its white elaborately decorated façade filled their vision. He was certain that Rebecca could tell him the artistic technique used and even name the type of gems encrusting the entire structure, however, he only cared that those marble walls could stop armor piercing rounds.

  Sirens wailed in the distance, but if he didn’t get them some solid cover, those gunmen would pick them off long before the Indian police arrived. He urged Rebecca to run up the marble steps ahead of him to the main extremely embellished entrance to the monument. They couldn’t wait for another RPG strike, or even long enough to plant some C4 on the door’s lock. Instead, he swung his rifle around and peppered the lock with bullets.

  Before they even reached the door, it swung open. Yep, that was the “lead” key for you.

  Even Brandt stumbled as they entered the interior of the Taj Mahal. This kind of beauty could take him by surprise even with gunmen on their tail. Stone arches soared overhead, supporting the huge dome above them. Even the floor was inlaid in a geometric pattern. And the details? The flowers? The Arabic script?

  However, the single most important object was the stone bench for visitors. He heaved it over in front of the door. It wouldn’t hold off the gunmen long, but every second they could get deeper into the structure without getting fired upon, the better.

  “This way,” Brandt pointed for Rebecca to take the first hallway. The closer they were to the RPG minaret the better. If the guy was going to fire, he was going to have to risk his own—

  Gunfire rang out from in front of them. Brandt’s body spun to the right as a shot hit him in the gut. He compensated to the left and fired off a series of shots. A scream abruptly stopped the return fire.

  “You’re hit,” Rebecca cried, tears streaming down her face.

  He was, in fact, hit. His knees felt like Jell-O, and his vision constricted down to a pinpoint in front of him.

  Come on, he chided himself. It’s just a through and through.

  “I’m fine,” he gritted out. “We’ve got to make sure he is down for good.”

  Gripping his side, the opposite side that took a bullet in Rome, which now made a matching pair, Brandt made his way to the vestibule where a man lay in a pool of bright red blood. The guy was decked out, head to toe, literally with a skullcap and everything, in a reflective black material. Heat shielding material. That was how he was masked from the Pentagon’s infrared sensors.

  If he hadn’t already been shot, Brandt probably would have shot himself for his stupidity. Of course the Knot would place a guard on the RPG position. Because, of course, Brandt would make a beeline to the RPG position and take the higher ground.

  More shots rang out behind them as the other gun men tried to breach the Taj’s main door.

  “Oh, my God,” Rebecca whispered as the moonlight filtered in through the elaborate grates that served as windows. Her horrified face glowed with an almost supernatural beauty.

  “It’s not that bad,” Brandt said, removing his hand away from the bullet wound in his side. And actually, he wasn’t lying. Only a trickle of blood dripped off his belt.

  * * *

  Brandt was such a bad liar. That gunshot had to hurt like a mo.’ But she wasn’t talking about his injury, or even the men trying to break their way into the monument. She was talking about the monitor in the dead man’s hand. He hadn’t just taken a lucky shot. He had something to aim at.

  “Don’t touch it,” Brandt said figuring out she was staring at the handheld Gamma monitor.

  Rebecca would not make the same mistake she had made back at the restaurant. Clearly, the Knot’s equipment was rigged to go off if the biometric locks weren’t reset. No, she knelt beside the Gamma screen, looking at the faintest wisp of a reading.

  Her reading. She had drunk far more champagne than Brandt had.

  “How can that be?” Brandt asked, gripping his side again. “We ate the damn fish crap.”

  Some of the Gamma must have leaked into her blood stream before the activated charcoal could absorb the radiation. Which normally would have diluted the signal. Not so great for her health, but it should have masked the reading. Her hand flew to her neck. Her thyroid gland. It was scavenging the radiation and concentrating it there, producing the blip on the screen.

  “We don’t know it’s you,” Brandt protested, but she backed a step, then another. The blip moved with her.

  She was a shining beacon. Once those men broke in …

  Rebecca let go of the panic and turned to Brandt. She had a plan.

  “Love is eternal.”

  * * *

  “No, no, no, no, no,” Brandt said as she sprinted down the hallway.

  Damn it. He loved her too, but he wasn’t too fond of her making herself an active target. Rebecca was using the same decoy technique as the restaurant only the bait wasn’t champagne glasses, it was her.

  Voices carried from the entrance. The Knot had broken through.

  Brandt grabbed the dead guy’s monitor, streaking it with blood as he put his thumbprint front and center. The device’s screen turned red, blinking its intent to self-destruct. Brandt counted to three, then chucked the thing toward the entrance. Pain seared up his side, but he was rewarded with screams as the thing exploded.

  Now, though, he had no more tricks up his sleeve. He had Rebecca on the run and he had to take care of the remaining gunmen before they took care of Rebecca

  Ducking behind a flying marble arch, Brandt counted off Rebecca’s footsteps. He knew where she would go. The central tomb. That “love” line hadn’t been a proclamation of her feelings. It had told him where she was headed.

  It was line out of a poem or something. Brandt really hadn’t paid attention when she was reading it aloud in bed. They’d just made love, their legs still entangled. The last thing on his mind was poetry. However, it was a good thing he paid enough attention to know the phrase was carved on the crypts.

  The gunmen, not knowing she had a final destination in mind would fan out to cut off her escape routes. Which placed them at strategic positions around the tomb.

  God, he hoped that the Knot played this by the book. Otherwise, they were screwed.

  * * *

  Rebecca could swear she felt the gunshots in her marrow as they echoed off the impossibly high ceilings. To think that centuries of carefully preserved art was being damaged, all for her. Had she and Brandt been fools to think they could ever escape the wrath of the Knot?

  About the only thing longer than the Knot’s lineage was their penchant for destruction. After what they had done to one of their own just for failing …

  Rebecca refused to let that image come into her mind. She had walled off everything that had happened in that cavern in Rome. But here it was coming back to haunt her.

  She dodged through a doorway and skidded to a stop as she reached the inner tomb. The two crypts that housed the Shah and his third wife were enclosed by an octagonal set of marble “screens.” They weren’t as much screens as works of art. Each had been carved out of their own slab of marble. All that intricate detail. The inlaying of each lotus flower petal and stem had taken the artisans over ten years to complete. Right now, though, she just needed the screen to stop some bullets.

  She rushed through the doorway and ducked behind the Shah’s tomb. Her fingers gripped the edge of the marble, digging into the spaces between the jewels. Gunfire and screams filled the air, but each time she heard those short, controlled bursts, she knew that Brandt was still alive.

  Which only helped to marginally calm her since she knew that every last gunmen of the Knot was honing in on her exact location. Despite about a ton of marble crypt in front of her, she felt exposed.

  The wailing sirens were closing in, but Rebecca had no illusions they would charge in like the cavalry. The Knot would kill a policeman as quickly as they had killed those poor tourists at the hotel. Didn’t the Knot realize that if she hadn’t revealed what she had discovered in that ancient tomb in Rome, she never would? Or were they so blinded by revenge?

  Whichever, the gunfire grew louder and louder.

  How many assailants were left?

  She peeked around the white marble crypt as a shadow passed by the archway. Was it Brandt, or …?

  A gun pointing in her direction gave her the answer. She dropped down as bullets flew. They ricocheted off the marble, pinging all around her. The guy didn’t have to have good aim the way the bullets were deflecting off the marble.

  She couldn’t wait for Brandt. Opening her laptop, she scanned for frequencies. The gunmen had to be communicating in some way. They had shut down all the normal avenues for communication, but the Knot was anything but normal.

  Rebecca needed to adapt or die.

  * * *

  Brandt couldn’t get a bead on the gunman. They were playing a dangerous game of cat and mouse, only Brandt wasn’t sure who was the mouse right now.

  As much as he hated to admit it, each time he did fire, his aim got further and further off. He was losing blood, and the pain? Well, the pain was his constant friend now.

  His body subconsciously protected his side, pulling his shots up short.

  Screw his subconscious. Rebecca was in danger.

  Ditching his pack, Brandt charged straight at the guy, firing where the gunman should come out. But he never appeared. He must have gone inside the tomb. With Rebecca.

  Not good. Not good at all.

  * * *

  Rebecca stood as the gunman walked into the tomb. There was no point in hiding now. He had the feral grin of an animal about to make a kill. There may be no one in the Knot to go and brag to, but this man wanted to see her die, right in front of him.

  No matter. She needed him nice and close.

  Rebecca hit one last keystroke on her computer. The gunman must have realized that something was wrong with his Gamma monitor, as it vibrated in his hand just before its screen went red.

  She’d found their microwave communications and patched into it. Once he was in range, Rebecca convinced the device that the man’s handprint was no longer his own. The assailant’s eyes dilated as he tried, to no avail, to override the self-destruct mechanism. He tried to hurl the object away, but it exploded in midair, knocking him back, slamming his body against the marble before it slid down to rest still on the tiled floor.

  On one hand, she was horrified at the sight. On the other, no matter how inappropriate, she wanted to jump for joy. The last of the gunmen were dead.

  Brandt limped forward from far down the hallway. “Rebecca ...”

  That’s about when that damned whistle of an RPG filled the chamber.

  * * *

  Brandt wanted to rush forward and protect Rebecca, but he knew he would never make it in time. The best he could do was throw himself to the side as the rocket hit the dome.

  The mausoleum shook as the roof tumbled down. Shockingly, though, the building held. It was on fire, but it held. Could it stand another attack?

  Moonlight filled the hallway. Brandt glanced up. If moonlight could get in, bullets could get out. Swinging his gun up, Brandt found the minaret that the RPGs had been launched from.

  He breathed in, despite the pain. He braced his arm against the smooth marble, since his body might betray him. He bled on the snowy-white floor, waiting for the RPG operator to take aim again.

  How long could it take to reload, anyway?

  Time slowed as Brandt watched through his rifle sight. Once there was movement, he held his breath, slowing his heart rate. The man sprang up with the RPG launcher on his shoulder. The mechanism blocking a head shot. Brandt took the next best thing.

  Pulling the trigger sent shards of agony down his side, settling at his hip, but the shot was off. Even though the man tipped over the side of the minaret, he had already launched the rocket. It sailed the short distance until it exploded against the main dome of the mausoleum, shattering it.

  Brandt turned on his heel to see Rebecca disappear behind a pile of rubble and dust.

  “Rebecca!”

  No matter that the building was falling down around him, he pushed off the arch and headed to the tomb. Chunks of fiery plaster and heavy marble fell around him, but he had eyes only for the broken doorway.

  Brandt used the last of his strength to shove away a support beam and duck under the arch. He stumbled into the crypt to find it relatively unscathed. The inner dome had fallen onto the thick marble screens and acted as a shelter from the destruction from above.

  Rebecca rose behind the crypt, coughing, but alive.

  He rushed forward, falling to one knee.

  * * *

  Rebecca watched Brandt go down.

  No! They couldn’t have survived so much to lose him now.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked almost afraid to hear the answer. What could be worse than being shot twice?

  He pulled a little red box out of his jacket. Was he mad?

  But then he opened the box to reveal a bright, shining diamond ring.

  “Rebecca Sasha Monroe,” he said, his voice only hitching with pain twice. “Will you marry me?”

  Her lips trembled as tears streaked down her cheeks. This proposal was so wrong that it made it so very right.

  “Yes,” she said lowering to her knees as she cupped his hand. “I think I will.”

  Brandt slipped the ring onto her finger. The gilded band felt so light yet carried so much weight. As sirens wailed and shouts carried through the Taj Mahal, Brandt leaned in and kissed her.

  While his lips tasted of salt from tears, iron from blood, and even a little fishy, Rebecca knew this was a kiss to last for the ages.

  UH OH, IT’S MAGIC

  By Amber Scott

  “Callie!” The urgent sound drifted in her brain, wanting to float away, but she clung to it and opened her eyes. A blurry image in front of her came into focus as her eyes adjusted despite the pain. Was that...Elvis Presley?

  "Are you okay?" the voice said.

  She moved her gaze left, a bit dizzied by the movement. Her eyes focused. Whoa. A Latin Adonis stared back at her, alarm in his eyes. Alarm? She moved to sit up, but the room tilted. As she wobbled, a strong arm came around, righting her. The arm stayed there. Solid. Comforting.

  “Talk to me, Sixx. Can you get up?" The Adonis asked, his voice insistent.

  Who was he? Six. Talk to him. Was does six mean, again? Cold concrete met her palms. Where were they? Various machinery populated a large, well-lit room. Churning hums met her ears and the smell of toasted marshmallows hung in the air.