Categories > Games > StarFox > The Saurial Gambit
Chapter 1: The Mission
0 reviewsSet during Adventures. A human mercenary finds himself in Sauria, thrust in a life and death struggle to help a dying planet, as well as a mysterious blue vixen...
1Original
Chapter One: The Mission
July 28, 2007
Outside of UBS Branch, 46 Reisestrasse
Zurich, Switzerland
The shark-like profile of the BMW 750iL pulled up to the curb outside the bank. Jakob Helar, the stocky, blonde-haired driver, waited patiently behind the wheel, a glance given to the building. Swiss Banks usually had the look of a fortress, and this one was no exception. Seemingly chiseled from solid granite, they looked like security incarnate.
The three other men in the car exchanged glances. They, like Jakob, were dressed in dark, nondescript bussiness suits. Without a word, the others slowly opened the doors to the sports sedan, climbed out, and shut them nearly in unison. Jakob pressed the trunk release, and a glance in the rearview mirror revealed the three grabbing black duffle bags out of the trunk of the car. Within a moment, the trunk shut, and the three men strolled towards the entrance of the bank. The operation had begun.
Brian Lancing strode in place with the two other men, glancing at the heavily-tinted glass doors leading inside. The heft of the duffel bag added a comforting weight at his side, as they reached the doors. He pulled it open, allowing his two companions to pass into the cool, nearly-sterile interior of the bank.
The lobby was up to date with current European trends, the place being two stories tall, with plenty of light entering through the windows which somehow didn't allow a very good view from outside. Plush, leather sofas and tables awaited patrons, and the light scent of brewing coffee wafted through the air. Being a Saturday, there wasn't many people in the bank, and the two visible armed guards near the door seemed lax, at least as lax as Swiss bank guards got.
The two other men seemed unconserned, as the trio approached the counter. The obsidian slab of a banking counter housed several tellers, most of them busy with clients. The line to a bald, serious-looking teller was the shortest, and the fact the teller sported a nearly permanent scowl seemed to be the reason why.
After a fifteen-minute wait and hearing their fair share of not-so-polite exchanges in German, the trio approached the counter. The tall, lanky redhead to Brian's left leaned over the counter, and his hazel eyes fixed the teller with a hard stare.
"Excuse me, sir." the redhead inquired in a soft British accent. "You do speak English, correct?"
The teller gave the hint of a glare towards the redhead, but nodded. "Yes, sir. What may I help you with?"
The redhead sighed, and shook his head. "I need to access my safe deposit box. Here is the account number." Slowly, he extracted a scrap of paper from his black sports jacket, and passed it to the teller.
The teller glanced at the account number, and turned to the three men. "Have a seat, gentlemen. Someone will arrive shortly to take you to your deposit box." He nooded, and waved in the direction of the couches.
Brian and the others left the line, and made their way over to the couches. Near one corner, three were arranged around a television, playing some sort of news broadcast. The readhead turned to the others, grinning like a madman. "I can't believe it's this easy. Easy in, easy out, right?"
Brian shrugged, as he slipped onto one of the couches, the feel of its smooth black leather giving in under his weight. "That's how these banks are, Ron. No questions asked. If you have a general access account like Sazbo's got, you can pretty much walk in and walk out."
Ron Mitchell grinned, and turned to their other companion. He was a little more stoutly built, compared to Ron's beanpole stature and Brian's average build, with light brown hair and eyes which penetrated nearly everything. Sergey Borodin was the oldest member of their group, an ex-Spetsnaz lieutenant who had just seen the wrong side of thirty. When he spoke, his voice was soft yet carried an unmistakable note af authority and command. "I would not get too cocky, Ron. Stealing five million euro from a known arms dealer is still a risky proposition, no matter how you do it."
Ron nodded, but still kept his grin. "I understand, Sergey, but we're talking about a mil and a quarter to each of us. Serves Nikolai Sazbo right for stiffing us on that job we did for him."
Brian nodded, and glanced around the lobby, before fixing his eyes to the television, taking in the talking heads on the news channel it was tuned to. The station was tuned to some sort of BBC variant, so it was in English, at least. Brian's German was rusty at best, and he didn't feel like trying to translate at the moment. As he glanced to the talking heads with the volume turned down below earshot, he answered his two partners in crime. "I agree with Sergey, though. We need to be careful with how we go about this. Sure, the money's right here for the taking, but I'd highly suggest not going out and buying like there's no tomorrow."
Ron nodded, as he glanced to the television, as well. "Right, Brian. Guess that TVR Cerbera'll have to wait until some years..." He broke off, as a scene flickered on the television screen. "What the bloody 'ell's that?" As he pointed, Brian saw the scene a little more clearly.
The viewpoint alternated between a view of open ocean, disturbed by several naval vessels, and what looked to be stock footage of a large cruise liner. Sergey automatically turned up the volume, the voices of the newscasters pushing into existance.
"...disappearance of the Neptune Queen, one of the world's largest cruise liners. The Neptune Queen was lost on radar about fifteen hours ago, after passing the US Navy destroyer Melville. Over fifteen-hundred crew and passengers are missing, and aerial searches have not turned up any sign of debris from the ship. Satellite searches have been in vain as well; there have been no reports of recent wrecks on the ocean floor. We turn now to Dr. Martin Halsey, one of the world's leading researchers on natural geological phenomena..."
The TV was no longer a prime consern to the three, as another man walked up towards them. Squat and portly, the balding, blue-eyed man sported a three-piece brown suit and black tie, as well as a bank name tag. When he spoke, the German accent came out thick, but it was definately understandable. "We have your safe deposit box ready, sirs. If you would, please follow me."
Brian, Ron, and Sergey stood up, making their way along with the bank employee to an elevator. After a brief ride, they were on the third floor of the bank, staring down a long hallway. The royal blue carped blended in with oak paneling and a stark, white ceiling to create what Brian always had dubbed 'the look of the rich'. They were led down the hall, taking a few turns at intersecting corridors before winding up in a small office. A large, metal box was set on a table, and chairs were already present around it.
The banker stood behind them, as they entered the room, and nodded to the three. "Let me know if you require any more services from us." Sergey nodded as the banker left, shutting the door behind him. Ron drew the deadbolt, and grinned.
"Five million, and easy as that, mates!" He set his duffel bag on the table, and opened it, revealing bundles of white paper cut the same size as bills. They had agreed earlier that returning a completely empty box would be suspicious, so they decided to keep it full.
The exchange went smoothly, the stacks of euros packed into their duffel bags, and the stacks of paper swiftly put into their place. None of them spoke a word, as the last of the bills were shoveled into their bags. With rehearsed precision, Brian pulled a two-way radio from his pocket, and switched it on. "Midas to Chariot. Come in, Chariot."
Jakob's voice came in almost immediately. "Chariot here. Main extraction pathway clear. Is the operation complete?"
Brian smiled, and unlocked the door. "Affirmative, Chariot. ETA to your location, three minutes. Number three out." He placed the radio back in his pocket, and opened the door, allowing Sergey and Ron to exit before he did, making their way back to the elevator.
"I can't believe it was that bloody easy, guys." Ron beamed, as they turned back into the main hall. "Just stuff the money somewhere and sit on it a few years, and just don't make too many mistakes in using it. That's all we need to worry about, right guys?"
Sergey shook his head. "We do need to get out of here first, Ron. Remember, focus on the mission, since you never know what may happen." Sergey shrugged, as the radio in Brian's pocket crackled. Brian pulled it out, speaking through it as they walked.
"Number three here. You have my attention, Chariot." Brian blinked, as they came within a few yards of the elevator.
"Chariot to Number Three." Jakob's voice sounded slightly panicked. "Abort main extraction route. Sazbo is here. Repeat, Sazbo is here. I count three cars, Sazbo himself and about ten triggermen. He knows something's up."
"Shit!" Brian spat. "Alright, Chariot. We'll exit out of the west fire door. You let us know if it's clear."
Sergey blinked, and turned away from the elevator. "So, Sazbo caught onto us. I hope I wasn't the only one to bring a gun along." The ex-Spetsnaz lieutenant reached inside his coat and pulled out the CZ-52 pistol which lay beneath it. Firing a 7.62mm round, the CZ52 was a bit outdated, but still fairly powerful.
Ron sighed, and reached under his coat, as well, withdrawing his Walther P99. Chambered in 9mm, the Walther wasn't as powerful as the CZ, but it was well-made, accurate, and very controllable. "How could they have found us? This can't be a routine check on his account, not with all those people."
Brian shrugged as he removed his pistol, as well. His Para-Ordnance P14-45 was a fairly new chip off the old Colt .45 block, but holding fourteen rounds of the classically potent .45 ACP round. "Your hacker friend might have played a part in that. Not much we can do about it, now. We need to get to the car, and get our asses out of here."
Brian motioned them down the hallway, and within moments, they located the emergency stairwell. Brian and Sergey stood off to either side of the door to the stairwell, Brian pushing it open while Sergey had his CZ52 ready. A quick check revealed nobody on the stairs, just yet. "It's clear, but move quickly!" Sergey hissed, as he dashed down the stairs, Brian and Ron in hot pursuit.
They made it to the ground floor as the door to the outside opened, setting off the tell-tale ringing of a fire alarm. The man who entered was dressed in a black overcoat, an AKSU-74 SMG in his hands. Sergey raised his CZ52 as the man levelled the AKSU at them. Sergey wasted no time, the CZ52 roaring as two rounds were blasted into the man, sending him to the ground.
Sergey then tucked his handgun back into his coat, picking up the AKSU and searching the body for magazines as Brian and Ron took up cover positions. Brian grit his teeth, shaking off the concussion from the CZ's blast. "You really do pick your loud handguns, Sergey!"
Sergey cocked a grin at him, as he plucked two magazines for his new SMG out of the dead man's pocket. "How do you Americans put it... I like to make the lasting first impression?"The ex-Spetznaz man grinned, and motioned to Brian's P14. "And, funny how it comes from the man with the American hand cannon, right?"
Brian only shrugged at that, as he crossed over to the exit. At first glance, it looked clear, although anyone could have heard the shots from outside. He wasn't about to take chances. "So, what're we going to do now, fearless leader?" Brian arched a brow, as he kept his Colt trained outside, waiting for anyone to investigate.
Sergey opened his mouth to respond, but was cut off by the familiar roar of their BMW's V12 engine. The sleek, silver sedan screeched to a halt on the sidewalk beyond them, Jakob motioning frantically for them to hurry up.
Brian jogged past the door, the P14 swinging up to track any hostile movement. As he was halfway to the BMW, Ron slid out, his Walther covering Brian's retreat. Sergey headed up last, the AKSU-74 held at the ready.
Jakob slid out of the BMW, his Glock 17 firmly grasped in his hand as he pointed it towards the corner of the bank. Already, they could hear angry shouts and startled screams. "In the car, now!" Jakob roared, as he shifted into a firing stance.
Brian followed suit, kneeling next to the car with his pistol at the ready. Sergey and Ron knew the drill, as they went for the rear door of the sedan, opening it and piling in. Brian and Jakob would thin their ranks before taking off, hoping the lightly armored car could take a few hits before they got to safety.
Jakob spotted the men darting out from the corner, and started firing, the cracking reports of his Glock soon competing with the flat, dull thunderclaps of Brian's .45.The first men to run at them tumbled and fell on the sidewalk before they could fire.
A rifle barrel thrust itself around the corner, the rattling roar of its fully automatic retort sending whizzing hornets at Jakob and Brian, the light composite plating of the BMW absorbing most of the hits. Brian was behind the front fender, and as he ducked he heard the rounds whizzing dangerously overhead.
The rifleman pulled back, probably to reload. Brian got up, his pistol covering the corner once more, before glancing over to Jakob. His comrade was leaning against the side of the car, staring at the three red blotches on his chest, a look of shock plastered on his features.
Brian vaulted over the car in time to see Jakob fall to the ground. A casual glimpse revealed the fact that he was dead... a victim of pure chance and an unlucky hit on their part. Quickly, he snatched up the Glock he had been carrying, and slid into the driver's seat.
Ron tapped him on the shoulder, as Brian tossed the handgun into the passenger seat. "Are you crazy? We can't leave him behind!"
Brian sighed, as he strapped on the seatbelt, aware of the three men dashing around the corner, dimly feeling the hollow thunks as their handguns tried to put holes through their armored car. "He's dead, Ron. We need to get out of here, and if we don't do it now, we're dead, too!"
Without another word, Brian floored the accelerator, sending the nearly 4,000 pound car directly at the small group of gunmen. As they fired, one of their rounds struck the reinforced windshield, creating a tiny spiderweb of cracks. Brian didn't even have the time to revel in the fact he had hit one of them, as the BMW jumped from the curb onto the street.
The massive sedan quickly picked up speed as Sazbo's remaining men turned around to fire at them, some of them taking a better hint and jumping into their own vehicles. Within mere moments, Brian had already shot the 750iL past a few traffic lights, and a hard right onto a side-street.
Sergey cast a glance behind them, as they weaved in and out of the moderately heavy traffic of downtown Zurich. Already, he could see two vehicles swing onto the street behind them, their passengers armed to the teeth and out to kill. "They couldn't have got onto us this quickly. Someone must have set us up!"
Ron nodded, as they sped past the traffic, Brian leaning on the horn and flashing the lights to ease their passage. He gripped the P99 in a white-knuckle grip, staring out the rear window as well. "If we can just lose them, we've still got a chance. Go for it, mate!"
Brian nodded as he pushed down further on the accelerator, the armored BMW pushing well past the speed limit. He didn't care about the police... actually, he was counting on them showing up. Cops would only complicate Sazbo's men.
Brian swung the car past a few more intersections, slamming a hard right onto one of the main streets. He spotted the signs for one of the major highways out of Zurich... maybe they had a chance to get out of this alive after all.
July 28, 2007
Outside of UBS Branch, 46 Reisestrasse
Zurich, Switzerland
The shark-like profile of the BMW 750iL pulled up to the curb outside the bank. Jakob Helar, the stocky, blonde-haired driver, waited patiently behind the wheel, a glance given to the building. Swiss Banks usually had the look of a fortress, and this one was no exception. Seemingly chiseled from solid granite, they looked like security incarnate.
The three other men in the car exchanged glances. They, like Jakob, were dressed in dark, nondescript bussiness suits. Without a word, the others slowly opened the doors to the sports sedan, climbed out, and shut them nearly in unison. Jakob pressed the trunk release, and a glance in the rearview mirror revealed the three grabbing black duffle bags out of the trunk of the car. Within a moment, the trunk shut, and the three men strolled towards the entrance of the bank. The operation had begun.
Brian Lancing strode in place with the two other men, glancing at the heavily-tinted glass doors leading inside. The heft of the duffel bag added a comforting weight at his side, as they reached the doors. He pulled it open, allowing his two companions to pass into the cool, nearly-sterile interior of the bank.
The lobby was up to date with current European trends, the place being two stories tall, with plenty of light entering through the windows which somehow didn't allow a very good view from outside. Plush, leather sofas and tables awaited patrons, and the light scent of brewing coffee wafted through the air. Being a Saturday, there wasn't many people in the bank, and the two visible armed guards near the door seemed lax, at least as lax as Swiss bank guards got.
The two other men seemed unconserned, as the trio approached the counter. The obsidian slab of a banking counter housed several tellers, most of them busy with clients. The line to a bald, serious-looking teller was the shortest, and the fact the teller sported a nearly permanent scowl seemed to be the reason why.
After a fifteen-minute wait and hearing their fair share of not-so-polite exchanges in German, the trio approached the counter. The tall, lanky redhead to Brian's left leaned over the counter, and his hazel eyes fixed the teller with a hard stare.
"Excuse me, sir." the redhead inquired in a soft British accent. "You do speak English, correct?"
The teller gave the hint of a glare towards the redhead, but nodded. "Yes, sir. What may I help you with?"
The redhead sighed, and shook his head. "I need to access my safe deposit box. Here is the account number." Slowly, he extracted a scrap of paper from his black sports jacket, and passed it to the teller.
The teller glanced at the account number, and turned to the three men. "Have a seat, gentlemen. Someone will arrive shortly to take you to your deposit box." He nooded, and waved in the direction of the couches.
Brian and the others left the line, and made their way over to the couches. Near one corner, three were arranged around a television, playing some sort of news broadcast. The readhead turned to the others, grinning like a madman. "I can't believe it's this easy. Easy in, easy out, right?"
Brian shrugged, as he slipped onto one of the couches, the feel of its smooth black leather giving in under his weight. "That's how these banks are, Ron. No questions asked. If you have a general access account like Sazbo's got, you can pretty much walk in and walk out."
Ron Mitchell grinned, and turned to their other companion. He was a little more stoutly built, compared to Ron's beanpole stature and Brian's average build, with light brown hair and eyes which penetrated nearly everything. Sergey Borodin was the oldest member of their group, an ex-Spetsnaz lieutenant who had just seen the wrong side of thirty. When he spoke, his voice was soft yet carried an unmistakable note af authority and command. "I would not get too cocky, Ron. Stealing five million euro from a known arms dealer is still a risky proposition, no matter how you do it."
Ron nodded, but still kept his grin. "I understand, Sergey, but we're talking about a mil and a quarter to each of us. Serves Nikolai Sazbo right for stiffing us on that job we did for him."
Brian nodded, and glanced around the lobby, before fixing his eyes to the television, taking in the talking heads on the news channel it was tuned to. The station was tuned to some sort of BBC variant, so it was in English, at least. Brian's German was rusty at best, and he didn't feel like trying to translate at the moment. As he glanced to the talking heads with the volume turned down below earshot, he answered his two partners in crime. "I agree with Sergey, though. We need to be careful with how we go about this. Sure, the money's right here for the taking, but I'd highly suggest not going out and buying like there's no tomorrow."
Ron nodded, as he glanced to the television, as well. "Right, Brian. Guess that TVR Cerbera'll have to wait until some years..." He broke off, as a scene flickered on the television screen. "What the bloody 'ell's that?" As he pointed, Brian saw the scene a little more clearly.
The viewpoint alternated between a view of open ocean, disturbed by several naval vessels, and what looked to be stock footage of a large cruise liner. Sergey automatically turned up the volume, the voices of the newscasters pushing into existance.
"...disappearance of the Neptune Queen, one of the world's largest cruise liners. The Neptune Queen was lost on radar about fifteen hours ago, after passing the US Navy destroyer Melville. Over fifteen-hundred crew and passengers are missing, and aerial searches have not turned up any sign of debris from the ship. Satellite searches have been in vain as well; there have been no reports of recent wrecks on the ocean floor. We turn now to Dr. Martin Halsey, one of the world's leading researchers on natural geological phenomena..."
The TV was no longer a prime consern to the three, as another man walked up towards them. Squat and portly, the balding, blue-eyed man sported a three-piece brown suit and black tie, as well as a bank name tag. When he spoke, the German accent came out thick, but it was definately understandable. "We have your safe deposit box ready, sirs. If you would, please follow me."
Brian, Ron, and Sergey stood up, making their way along with the bank employee to an elevator. After a brief ride, they were on the third floor of the bank, staring down a long hallway. The royal blue carped blended in with oak paneling and a stark, white ceiling to create what Brian always had dubbed 'the look of the rich'. They were led down the hall, taking a few turns at intersecting corridors before winding up in a small office. A large, metal box was set on a table, and chairs were already present around it.
The banker stood behind them, as they entered the room, and nodded to the three. "Let me know if you require any more services from us." Sergey nodded as the banker left, shutting the door behind him. Ron drew the deadbolt, and grinned.
"Five million, and easy as that, mates!" He set his duffel bag on the table, and opened it, revealing bundles of white paper cut the same size as bills. They had agreed earlier that returning a completely empty box would be suspicious, so they decided to keep it full.
The exchange went smoothly, the stacks of euros packed into their duffel bags, and the stacks of paper swiftly put into their place. None of them spoke a word, as the last of the bills were shoveled into their bags. With rehearsed precision, Brian pulled a two-way radio from his pocket, and switched it on. "Midas to Chariot. Come in, Chariot."
Jakob's voice came in almost immediately. "Chariot here. Main extraction pathway clear. Is the operation complete?"
Brian smiled, and unlocked the door. "Affirmative, Chariot. ETA to your location, three minutes. Number three out." He placed the radio back in his pocket, and opened the door, allowing Sergey and Ron to exit before he did, making their way back to the elevator.
"I can't believe it was that bloody easy, guys." Ron beamed, as they turned back into the main hall. "Just stuff the money somewhere and sit on it a few years, and just don't make too many mistakes in using it. That's all we need to worry about, right guys?"
Sergey shook his head. "We do need to get out of here first, Ron. Remember, focus on the mission, since you never know what may happen." Sergey shrugged, as the radio in Brian's pocket crackled. Brian pulled it out, speaking through it as they walked.
"Number three here. You have my attention, Chariot." Brian blinked, as they came within a few yards of the elevator.
"Chariot to Number Three." Jakob's voice sounded slightly panicked. "Abort main extraction route. Sazbo is here. Repeat, Sazbo is here. I count three cars, Sazbo himself and about ten triggermen. He knows something's up."
"Shit!" Brian spat. "Alright, Chariot. We'll exit out of the west fire door. You let us know if it's clear."
Sergey blinked, and turned away from the elevator. "So, Sazbo caught onto us. I hope I wasn't the only one to bring a gun along." The ex-Spetsnaz lieutenant reached inside his coat and pulled out the CZ-52 pistol which lay beneath it. Firing a 7.62mm round, the CZ52 was a bit outdated, but still fairly powerful.
Ron sighed, and reached under his coat, as well, withdrawing his Walther P99. Chambered in 9mm, the Walther wasn't as powerful as the CZ, but it was well-made, accurate, and very controllable. "How could they have found us? This can't be a routine check on his account, not with all those people."
Brian shrugged as he removed his pistol, as well. His Para-Ordnance P14-45 was a fairly new chip off the old Colt .45 block, but holding fourteen rounds of the classically potent .45 ACP round. "Your hacker friend might have played a part in that. Not much we can do about it, now. We need to get to the car, and get our asses out of here."
Brian motioned them down the hallway, and within moments, they located the emergency stairwell. Brian and Sergey stood off to either side of the door to the stairwell, Brian pushing it open while Sergey had his CZ52 ready. A quick check revealed nobody on the stairs, just yet. "It's clear, but move quickly!" Sergey hissed, as he dashed down the stairs, Brian and Ron in hot pursuit.
They made it to the ground floor as the door to the outside opened, setting off the tell-tale ringing of a fire alarm. The man who entered was dressed in a black overcoat, an AKSU-74 SMG in his hands. Sergey raised his CZ52 as the man levelled the AKSU at them. Sergey wasted no time, the CZ52 roaring as two rounds were blasted into the man, sending him to the ground.
Sergey then tucked his handgun back into his coat, picking up the AKSU and searching the body for magazines as Brian and Ron took up cover positions. Brian grit his teeth, shaking off the concussion from the CZ's blast. "You really do pick your loud handguns, Sergey!"
Sergey cocked a grin at him, as he plucked two magazines for his new SMG out of the dead man's pocket. "How do you Americans put it... I like to make the lasting first impression?"The ex-Spetznaz man grinned, and motioned to Brian's P14. "And, funny how it comes from the man with the American hand cannon, right?"
Brian only shrugged at that, as he crossed over to the exit. At first glance, it looked clear, although anyone could have heard the shots from outside. He wasn't about to take chances. "So, what're we going to do now, fearless leader?" Brian arched a brow, as he kept his Colt trained outside, waiting for anyone to investigate.
Sergey opened his mouth to respond, but was cut off by the familiar roar of their BMW's V12 engine. The sleek, silver sedan screeched to a halt on the sidewalk beyond them, Jakob motioning frantically for them to hurry up.
Brian jogged past the door, the P14 swinging up to track any hostile movement. As he was halfway to the BMW, Ron slid out, his Walther covering Brian's retreat. Sergey headed up last, the AKSU-74 held at the ready.
Jakob slid out of the BMW, his Glock 17 firmly grasped in his hand as he pointed it towards the corner of the bank. Already, they could hear angry shouts and startled screams. "In the car, now!" Jakob roared, as he shifted into a firing stance.
Brian followed suit, kneeling next to the car with his pistol at the ready. Sergey and Ron knew the drill, as they went for the rear door of the sedan, opening it and piling in. Brian and Jakob would thin their ranks before taking off, hoping the lightly armored car could take a few hits before they got to safety.
Jakob spotted the men darting out from the corner, and started firing, the cracking reports of his Glock soon competing with the flat, dull thunderclaps of Brian's .45.The first men to run at them tumbled and fell on the sidewalk before they could fire.
A rifle barrel thrust itself around the corner, the rattling roar of its fully automatic retort sending whizzing hornets at Jakob and Brian, the light composite plating of the BMW absorbing most of the hits. Brian was behind the front fender, and as he ducked he heard the rounds whizzing dangerously overhead.
The rifleman pulled back, probably to reload. Brian got up, his pistol covering the corner once more, before glancing over to Jakob. His comrade was leaning against the side of the car, staring at the three red blotches on his chest, a look of shock plastered on his features.
Brian vaulted over the car in time to see Jakob fall to the ground. A casual glimpse revealed the fact that he was dead... a victim of pure chance and an unlucky hit on their part. Quickly, he snatched up the Glock he had been carrying, and slid into the driver's seat.
Ron tapped him on the shoulder, as Brian tossed the handgun into the passenger seat. "Are you crazy? We can't leave him behind!"
Brian sighed, as he strapped on the seatbelt, aware of the three men dashing around the corner, dimly feeling the hollow thunks as their handguns tried to put holes through their armored car. "He's dead, Ron. We need to get out of here, and if we don't do it now, we're dead, too!"
Without another word, Brian floored the accelerator, sending the nearly 4,000 pound car directly at the small group of gunmen. As they fired, one of their rounds struck the reinforced windshield, creating a tiny spiderweb of cracks. Brian didn't even have the time to revel in the fact he had hit one of them, as the BMW jumped from the curb onto the street.
The massive sedan quickly picked up speed as Sazbo's remaining men turned around to fire at them, some of them taking a better hint and jumping into their own vehicles. Within mere moments, Brian had already shot the 750iL past a few traffic lights, and a hard right onto a side-street.
Sergey cast a glance behind them, as they weaved in and out of the moderately heavy traffic of downtown Zurich. Already, he could see two vehicles swing onto the street behind them, their passengers armed to the teeth and out to kill. "They couldn't have got onto us this quickly. Someone must have set us up!"
Ron nodded, as they sped past the traffic, Brian leaning on the horn and flashing the lights to ease their passage. He gripped the P99 in a white-knuckle grip, staring out the rear window as well. "If we can just lose them, we've still got a chance. Go for it, mate!"
Brian nodded as he pushed down further on the accelerator, the armored BMW pushing well past the speed limit. He didn't care about the police... actually, he was counting on them showing up. Cops would only complicate Sazbo's men.
Brian swung the car past a few more intersections, slamming a hard right onto one of the main streets. He spotted the signs for one of the major highways out of Zurich... maybe they had a chance to get out of this alive after all.
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