BooksBarbecue
Back Manhunter
Chapters (37)
  1. Cover
  2. One
  3. Two
  4. Three
  5. Four
  6. Five
  7. Six
  8. Seven
  9. Eight
  10. Nine
  11. Ten
  12. Eleven
  13. Twelve
  14. Thirteen
  15. Fourteen
  16. Fifteen
  17. Sixteen
  18. Seventeen
  19. Eighteen
  20. Nineteen
  21. Twenty
  22. Twenty-One
  23. Twenty-Two
  24. Twenty-Three
  25. Twenty-Four
  26. Twenty-Five
  27. Twenty-Six
  28. Twenty-Seven
  29. Twenty-Eight
  30. Twenty-Nine
  31. Thirty
  32. Thirty-One
  33. Thirty-Two
  34. Thirty-Three
  35. Chris Ryan Readers’ Club?
  36. Letter from Author
  37. About the Author

Bowman looked at her. There was blood on her shirt, her trousers. Her face and hands were caked in dirt and battle grease. Frag metal pitted her right shoulder.

‘We’ve got to sort out the back. Do you think you can hold the front?’

‘I’ll be OK,’ she replied steadily.

‘Keep away from the door. That’s where the rounds will be coming in. Stick to the window. Tilt the shutters so you’ve got a gap to see through. If you see anyone coming up the front steps, drop them.’

‘What if D Squadron doesn’t come?’

Bowman didn’t get a chance to answer. Mallet’s voice boomed urgently over the comms.

‘Rebels approaching the rear of the stronghold. Heading for the terrace. Get over there. NOW!’

Thirty-Two

Thirty-Two

Bowman spun away from Casey. He nodded at Gregory.

‘Come on!’ he roared. ‘Let’s go!’

They broke into a run, crossed the atrium and darted down the corridor leading towards the salon at the back of the house. Bowman with his Colt rifle, Gregory gripping the AK-47 he’d taken from the gun pit. Another burst of adrenaline swept through Bowman’s veins, jump-starting his shattered body. He rushed into the salon ahead of Gregory and dived across the room to the French doors. He threw the deadbolts into the locked positions while Gregory circled round to the Steinway.

‘Give us a hand,’ Gregory said. ‘Get this thing against the doors!’

They had seconds to spare. Bowman hurried over, and the two men braced their legs and pushed hard, shoving the piano across the marbled floor. They stopped just short of the back door, then pushed up at an angle, tipping the piano onto its side. It wasn’t a great barricade, and it wouldn’t stop the rebels for very long. But it was the best they could do. There was no time for anything else.

‘Take the left window,’ Gregory said. ‘I’ll take the right. Don’t let them get inside. As soon as they breach this room, we’re fucked.’

Bowman lunged over to the casement window to the left of the central doors. He raised the C8 and peered through one of the glass panels. From his position he had a clear line of sight to the terrace. He could see the stone balustrade, the limestone steps leading down to the rear sloped garden. Bowman figured the distance between the steps at the end of the terrace and the salon was no more than twenty-five metres.

‘They’re coming,’ Gregory said.

On the far side of the terrace, three rebels surged into view.

Gregory crouched and took aim from the fixed window to the right of the blocked door.

Bowman lined up his first target. Two of the rebels had surged ahead of their mate, running hard as they sprinted towards the stronghold.