"Doesn't matter. I don't know the guy that well. Let him sit there. Hm?"
Bella was midsentence, discussing Storm Shadow's situation, when she noticed the side door of the police station swing open. Five figures in black balaclavas, fully armed with automatic rifles, slipped inside in tactical formation.
"Looks like your friend's got trouble," Natasha said, unbothered.
Trouble was an understatement. The kill squad moved with lethal intent; they clearly weren't here to chat.
Bella muttered under her breath, "This guy's about to owe me another favor. You go after the special forces team. I'll head down."
"All right. Be careful."
The afternoon's events had already made one thing clear: Storm Shadow's own organization had cast him out.
These men were here to tie up loose ends, and if you traced the cause back far enough, it all led to Bella.
Storm Shadow was a man of his word. He had killed Warren Vidic in broad daylight as promised, and the fallout had brought the full weight of the Templar Order crashing down on M.A.R.S. Industries. M.A.R.S. wielded considerable power in the shadows, but on the surface, James McCullen was their only billionaire, and the resources he could mobilize were limited. The Templar Order, on the other hand, had wealthy members to spare. Despite vicious infighting and a bloated organizational structure, they still dwarfed M.A.R.S. in sheer power.
Storm Shadow was M.A.R.S.'s top operative, and he had inexplicably gone and assassinated a rival organization's leader. Inside M.A.R.S., the backlash was beyond anything he could have anticipated. If not for the alien invasion handing M.A.R.S. a lucrative NATO contract, the Templar Order would have ground the ambitious little company into dust already.
Storm Shadow knew all of this. He had still chosen to be the sacrificial piece.
Now, watching five fully armed gunmen close in at a brisk pace, he allowed himself a grim smile.
One gunman moved to a nearby control panel and worked the interface. The bulletproof-glass enclosure slid open, revealing a narrow doorway.
The team leveled their rifles and gestured for him to step out.
Storm Shadow raised both hands and walked slowly toward the door. One step from the threshold, he struck.
He seized the nearest gunman's muzzle and shoved it sideways. The man's finger jerked reflexively on the trigger, spraying bullets across the bulletproof glass. Storm Shadow used the man's body to block the others' line of sight, then burst through the opening.
The remaining four had their guard up, but none of them expected him to move that fast. All four opened fire simultaneously.
Storm Shadow's human shield was shredded. Moving with brutal efficiency, he used the split second before the body fell to lunge forward, rip the pistol from the dead man's holster, and roll clear before the remaining muzzles could track him.
The entire sequence was blindingly fast. To counterattack from absolute disadvantage required extraordinary combat instinct, and Storm Shadow's was nothing short of terrifying. But he had overestimated his own condition. The injuries he'd sustained earlier from Duke and Ripcord's Accelerator Suits had compromised his evasive movement. Not by much—less than half a second.
His brain issued the command. His body responded in time. But the wounds slowed his roll just enough.
Automatic fire roared in a continuous burst. Most of the rounds punched into empty floor.
This owed to a common shooting instinct: most people hesitate for a fraction of a second when their target drops to ground level. The muzzle dips, then the shooter has to reacquire the chest or head. That brief delay buys at least a full second.
Trevelyan, Bond, Ethan Hunt, old-timer Bryan Mills—a whole gallery of elite operatives had mastered the ground-level shoot. Agents were still human; when physical ability was roughly equal and you were outnumbered, this was how you evened the odds. Drop flat, catch the enemy off guard, squeeze off two rounds before they recovered. The technique combined killing, playing dead, and faking injury into one package. Even the Continental offered training courses on it. Aside from looking undignified, it was supremely practical.
Storm Shadow had the same idea. But his movement was just a hair too slow.
Two rounds found him. One punched into his lower abdomen, the other into his calf.
He was a regular ninja, not a Naruto ninja. With two bullets in him and four armed killers standing over him, there was only one outcome.
Fortunately, the cavalry arrived.
"Hey." Bella tapped a gunman on the shoulder. When he turned, she drew the combat knife from his belt and slashed his throat in a single motion.
She drove the knife at an angle into the neck of the next gunman.
Drawing her pistol, she dropped the farthest shooter, and the last one spun to run—only for Storm Shadow to shoot him dead.
"So, buddy—I just saved your life again, didn't I?" Bella holstered her weapon and regarded him with easy amusement.
Storm Shadow snorted. He didn't bother claiming he could have handled it himself. His pride wouldn't let him lie with a straight face.
"I'll kill one more person for you. Anyone. Just leave the address and the target at—"
That was exactly what Bella had been waiting for. Before he could finish, she produced a slip of paper and held it out.
"Simon Hathaway. Male. Born in Australia. Currently working in Hamburg. Kill him for me."
One day later, Storm Shadow—wounds treated—arrived in Hamburg, Germany. In broad daylight and in full view of witnesses, he cut down Simon Hathaway.
When word reached the Templar Order, they were stunned.
Warren Vidic and now Simon Hathaway—both had been knights of the Inner Sanctum, the Order's true decision-makers. Unlike certain other Inner Sanctum knights who handled finances or organizational operations, these two possessed genuine scientific expertise and had been fiercely loyal to the Templar cause.
Warren Vidic had overseen the Animus Project. With his death, the entire project had ground to a halt and still hadn't recovered.
Simon Hathaway had led the critical initiative to locate unique Isu bloodlines and powerful Isu artifacts. The Order had poured enormous resources into the search for the legendary Jeanne d'Arc's Heart, and now—just as the project was getting off the ground—the man in charge had been assassinated.
Neither Vidic nor Hathaway had been mere project managers. They were irreplaceable experts in their respective fields, and Hathaway had also served as director of the Historical Research Division. Losing people of this caliber inflicted damage the Order could scarcely afford.
When intelligence confirmed that the killer was, once again, Storm Shadow, the remaining Inner Sanctum knights' faces darkened one after another.
You again? Why is it always you?
The entire Templar Order mobilized. Every resource, every asset. The Inner Sanctum knights—who had spent years undermining each other—achieved an unprecedented unity of purpose.
You think you can keep pushing your luck? This time, we'll teach that pathetic M.A.R.S. Industries of yours a lesson they'll never forget.