Chapter 15 - The enforcer’s debt
"Stay inside the vehicle!" Sal yelled, slamming the Suburban into park and drawing his weapon as automatic gunfire began to pepper the reinforced doors, the bullets striking the armored panels like hail on a tin roof.
"Richard, keep the boy covered," Viktor said. His voice was completely flat, completely void of fear. He racked the bolt of his assault rifle, kicked the door all the way open, and rolled out into the snow before the ambushers could zero in on his position.
From the floorboards, Noah was trembling violently, his eyes squeezed shut, whispering, "Thirty-one, thirty-two, thirty-three..."
"You are doing wonderful, Noah," Richard said softly, drawing his chrome-plated .45 from his shoulder holster, his eyes gleaming with deadly precision. "Grandpa is right here."
Outside, the mountain exploded into a symphony of gunfire. Viktor moved like a shadow across the snowdrifts. He didn't fire in bursts; he fired single, calculated shots. A sniper perched on the ridge dropped from the rocks, landing with a sickening thud on the hood of the second plow truck. Two heavily armed men advancing with submachine guns were cut down before they could even find cover behind the trees.
Sal leaned out the driver's side window, providing covering fire as Viktor flanked the remaining attackers. But through the cracked, bullet-spidered windshield, Richard saw something that made his blood run cold.
The driver of the plow truck stepped down onto the asphalt. He was a massive man wearing a tactical vest, his face partially obscured by a balaclava, but around his neck hung a thick gold chain with a heavy silver spade pendant.
"The man with the shiny teeth," Richard whispered to himself, Noah's earlier words echoing in his skull.
Dominic Russo had not waited in Boston. He had come to Colorado himself to ensure the package was destroyed.
Russo pulled a grenade launcher from behind his back, aiming directly at the center of the Suburban where Noah was hiding. Sal was out of ammo, frantically reloading behind the driver's seat. Viktor was pinned down behind a pine tree fifty yards away by suppressive fire from a rear gunner.
Richard didn't hesitate. He kicked open the rear door, stepped out into the freezing crossfire, and raised his pistol with both hands.
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"Russo!" Richard's roar cut through the mountain wind like thunder.
The giant turned his weapon toward Richard, a wicked grin showing a flash of gold caps on his teeth. But Richard's finger squeezed the trigger first. Three heavy .45 hollow-point rounds slammed into Russo’s chest and throat, tearing through the Kevlar and dropping the giant to his knees on the bloody snow.
