Kline detonated the EMP. A muted sizzle could be heard as it went off, followed by a deep, forceful hum that resonated off the walls and through the streets. Lights flickered, then went black. Muzzle flare and machinegun fire shattered the calm. Seven mercenaries, led by the Irishman, bombarded the north wall. Emergency generators inside the estate kicked in. Rustam’s guards scrambled to their posts. Orange flames spat out of their turret-mounted chainguns.
Kline approached the south side of the estate. A thick, shielded titanium gate flanked by two manned chaingun turrets stood in his way. He knelt behind a parked car and aimed his sniper rifle. The first guard took the slug in the forehead. The second dug his fingers into the chaingun’s triggers. Bullets pinged the parked car. Kline’s second shot tore through the gunner’s chest. The turret swiveled into the air as he fell. A stream of bullets launched into the night sky.
Darting out from behind the car, Kline rushed to the gate. He shoved a grenade underneath the titanium barrier and dove aside. BBBBBGGGGHHHHH!!! It left a gaping hole. He hustled through it and then across the grounds to the main house. Two guards at the front door spotted him. One called for help. A bullet silenced him. The second managed to fire one shot over Kline’s head before flailing back onto the ground.
It was pitch black inside the estate. Kline found the steel elevator. He pushed the doors apart and looked down. Power to the conveyance had been shut off by the EMP. The elevator car sat at the bottom of the shaft. Kline wrapped his gloved fingers around the cables and slid down. Reaching the elevator car, he pulled the top hatch open and dropped inside. He was about to pry the doors open when the lights came back on. Full power had been restored. He smirked and pushed the “open door” button.
Rustam’s bunker looked like a modernized French palace. Glamorous, baroque furnishings. Steel walls. Handcrafted tapestries. Gold trim. Curved archways. Cathedral-like elegance and polished steel. Protection had never looked so good.
Kline tried the grandiose wooden double doors that led to Rustam’s personal study. Locked. Removing several pieces of clay explosives from his backpack, he stuffed them into the groove between the doors and stepped back. The heavy doors blew open and Kline stepped into the Russian’s fortified bedroom. The two bodyguards on either side of the faux fireplace aimed their weapons. Rustam’s jaw dropped.
“Yoo!” Rustam sputtered. “Keel him!”
The bodyguards opened fire. Kline engaged his personal atomic deflector shield. Their bullets pinged off in all directions until their clips ran out. Kline tossed the depleted shield aside before shooting both men. Rustam lunged for a nearby shotgun. His hands shook as he leveled it at Kline.
“What do yoo want?”
“The same thing I asked you for over dinner. Only now I’m not offering you any compensation. Give me the spider nukes…”
