Chapter 14
Specter
I was moving before Kruger’s body hit the floor.
Blood hit my nose as I lunged and took Selina off her chair. We slammed down, my body covering hers. A second round punched through the window and blew apart the table where she’d been sitting.
“Stay down.” I dragged us behind the kitchen counter.
Her breath came quick against my neck. Her pulse thudded where our chests pressed together, her fingers locked on my arms. The apartment became a box: every window a target, every shadow a risk.
“Sniper. Thermal scope. He can see heat through the curtains.”
“Kruger…”
“Dead. Nothing we can do.”
The clean hit had said enough, through a blacked-out curtain and centered on the forehead. Professional. Blackout’s kind of clean.
I inched backward, keeping us low, scanning for options. Front door: covered. Hall: same. Fire escape…
“Listen.” My mouth was at her ear. “When I say move, we hit the bathroom. Low. Step where I step. Got it?”
She nodded, face inches from mine. Even with death close, there was gold in her hazel eyes and a firm set to her mouth. Most people break. Some fight. Few hold steady.
Another shot cracked and bit a chunk out of the refrigerator. He was walking the fire to flush us.
“Now.”
We crawled, keeping below the window line. I guided her with a hand at her back and pushed toward the bathroom door. Before we reached it, I snagged Kruger’s signal jammer off the floor. Might matter later.
The bathroom barely fit one person, let alone two. I shoved Selina inside and wedged in after her, then kicked the door. Flimsy lock. A stalling tactic.
“What’s the plan?” Her voice stayed steady.
“We’re leaving. Not through the front.”
I moved to the small window above the toilet and cleared the frame with my elbow. Cold air rushed in, bringing city stink, exhaust, smoke, and snow on the way.
“That’s barely wide enough for a kid,” Selina said.
“You first. Then me.”
I boosted her up, hands at her waist. She paused, looked back, worry in her eyes.
“I’ll be right behind you.”
She nodded and wriggled through with a grace I hadn’t expected. A soft grunt, then metal clanged, some kind of platform. Utility access, not a real fire escape.
More gunfire tore into the apartment, closer. He’d shifted or brought friends. Either way, the clock ran short.
I took a breath and forced my frame through the opening, scraping ribs and healing scars. It was too tight. For a second, I stuck there, a perfect target, but the wood splintered and I spilled onto a narrow maintenance platform.
Selina steadied me. We stood on a metal catwalk behind the building, overlooking a six-story drop to the alley. Frost slicked the grating. Electrical boxes. Vents. Cables.
“This way.” I nodded toward a ladder at the far end.
We moved as fast as the ice allowed. The sky dimmed into winter evening. The wind bit deeper each minute. Our breath showed white, little signals for anyone watching.
Glass shattered behind us. Someone going in through the front. Thirty seconds, maybe less, before they found the bathroom window.
“Down. All the way.”
Selina went first, quick and careful. I followed, eyes on the window. A dark shape filled the opening as I dropped below the sightline. I didn’t need to see the face.
Blackout had arrived.
I sped up, slid the last rungs, hit concrete, caught Selina’s hand, and pulled her into the alley’s shadows.
“He’s behind us. We need to disappear. Now.”
We spilled onto a side street lined with old brick buildings, their fronts weathered under the dying light. A few people hurried past, heads down against the wind, oblivious to the hunt. Streetlamps blinked on. We stayed out of the glow.
We walked fast. Running would have drawn attention; standing still got you killed. Narrow streets. Blind corners. Not my city.
“Where are we going?” she asked, keeping pace.
“Off main streets. Break sightlines. Then we find wheels.”
We slid through a narrow cut between blocks. Laundry lines overhead; a few shirts frozen stiff. Black ice under our shoes.
“Do you know where we are now?”
“Karlín. Pretty sure.”
I’d mapped the grid when we had arrived, flagged exits and chokepoints. Planning helped. Familiarity saved lives. This wasn’t my ground.
Blackout would know that.
We came out on a wider street with shuttered shops. A few locals hunched at a tram stop, smoke curling into the freeze. I kept us in the shadows, my hand at the small of her back.
“He’ll track us. Blackout’s Quinta gen. He’s…” I let it hang.
“Enhanced.” She owned the word. “I read the files. Better conditioning. Better tech.”
“Better everything.” I scanned ahead. “He’s trained to hunt people like me.”
A delivery truck passed, headlights sliding across us. I braced for rounds through the light. Nothing. Yet.
“What about the tram?” She nodded toward it.
“Too predictable. Fixed route, bad exits.”
“So what, then?”
An underpass entrance sat about fifty meters ahead. “Underground. Cut through, double back, find a car.”
We crossed with purpose, not panic. The underpass was dim, graffiti layered thick on concrete. Burned-out bulbs made pockets of darkness. Good for hiding. Perfect for an ambush.
I drew the pistol from Kruger’s place and held it low by my leg. Selina saw it and said nothing.
The temperature dropped as we went down the stairs. Our footsteps bounced off the walls, the sound slapping back from every direction. The air reeked of piss and old smoke with wet concrete under it all.
Halfway through, the air shifted. That prickle along the skin that meant eyes on you. I slowed, scanning.
“Specter?” Selina kept her voice low.
I touched a finger to my mouth, then pointed to a maintenance door on the right. “Angle that way. Casual pace.”
We changed course. My brain ran scenarios: front, back, multiple angles. Fifteen meters. Ten. Five.
Movement to the left.
I shoved Selina behind me as a figure peeled out of the dark. Tall. Lean. Efficient. Blackout.
“Run.” I turned into him.
He closed fast, smooth and controlled. No weapon out. He wanted us alive, or at least, wanted her intact.
I fired twice, center mass. The shots thundered in the tight space, muzzle flash strobing his face: cold, blank, locked in. He twisted from the rounds with sharp speed, using the columns for cover.
I edged toward the maintenance door and fired again to pin him. Behind me, the handle rattled.
“It’s locked!” Selina called.
He slid between columns, his movements clean and practiced. I tracked and fired, but he read it, dropped low, and closed the gap.
He struck fast: one hand knocked my gun away while the other shot for my throat. I blocked with my forearm and drove a shot to his solar plexus. Solid hit, but he barely dipped.
We traded blows, testing, adjusting, waiting for the opening. He was good. Better than good. Every move tight. Nothing wasted. My style was born in alleys and basements. His was built in a lab and honed to kill.
“The door!” Selina shouted.
I glanced back. She’d jimmied it. The door stood open to a narrow service corridor.
Blackout drove his knee into my ribs. Heat flared along my side. He pressed in, hands grabbing for control.
I caught his wrist and used his momentum to pull him forward as I stepped aside. He recovered instantly. It bought me half a second, enough to drive my elbow into his head. A normal man might have dropped. He didn’t.
“Go!” She froze in the doorway. I cut the word loose, and she bolted into the corridor. Blackout tracked her—target acquired—then pivoted to follow.
Not happening.
I tackled him at the waist and slammed him into the wall. The hit rattled both of us. He changed targets and drove his elbow into my back. Again. Kidney shots.
Pain rippled out, but I held on. Buy her time. He grabbed a handful of hair and cracked my head against the concrete. I saw stars, tasted metal.
“She will be recovered,” he said. Flat. “You will be terminated. These outcomes are non-negotiable.”
Blood smeared his clean gear when I spat. “Then negotiate this.”
I brought my knee up and caught him in the groin. Pain conditioning only goes so far. He folded a fraction. Enough. I hammered his temple.
He stumbled. I didn’t waste it. I dove through the maintenance door and slammed it behind me.
The corridor stretched both ways under dim emergency lights. Selina waited at an intersection about thirty meters ahead.
“Run!” My steps hammered the concrete as the door shook behind me.
We tore through the tunnels, turning at random, putting concrete between us and him. Everything looked the same. The lights made a repeating pattern that messed with distance and time.
“Do you know where we’re going?” she asked at the next intersection, breath ragged.
“Away from him.” I wiped blood from my mouth. “For now, that’s enough.”
I listened. The tunnels threw sound everywhere. My side burned where his knee had found ribs. Cracked? Maybe. Definitely not happy.
“You’re hurt,” she said, keeping pace.
“It’ll keep.” I checked the magazine. Two rounds left. Not enough. I had the other pistol in my pocket and kept that card close. “We need the surface. And a ride.”
She pointed at a ladder at the end of the hall. “That might go up.”
We moved in, cautious. The ladder climbed through a narrow shaft to a hatch. I holstered the gun and tested the rungs.
“I’ll go first. If it’s clear, I’ll bring you up.”
The climb lit every rib again. At the top, I pushed. The hatch stuck, then gave. Cold flecks drifted through the gap. I checked the outside.
An industrial yard: abandoned machinery in the dusk, rusted frames against the night. No movement.
I pushed the hatch open, climbed out, scanned again, then waved her up. She climbed fast. I reached down and pulled her the last bit.
“Where are we?” she asked, breath fogging.
“Factory yard. Abandoned, looks like.” I looked for anchors. Prague Castle’s spires glowed far off. “Still Karlín. Closer to the river.”