OPERATION: SALT THE EARTH - Log 18
Mar. 9th, 2018 02:41 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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xp_logsEmma makes it into Orehkov's lab and neutralizes the opposition.
Alina Petrovich was absolutely not cleared to be in this part of VECTOR and didn't even have a dummy passcard to try and bluff past a guard. Which meant that speed was essential. They didn't know why Emma had specifically requested to run point on this part of the operation, but no one had questioned her. If everything had worked right, any second the security door in front of her would open and she'd have a clear shot to Orekhov's private lab.
If not, she was likely only a few minutes away from being shot to death or captured, tortured and executed once she'd told Russian security everything.
Fortunately, the light on the side of the door turned green.
Emma took a short, deep breath as the door slid open silently in front of her, opening on to what would be considered a reasonably normal executive office. Normal, other than the startled guard just inside the door, who could not have more obviously been used to days and weeks and possibly months of tedious guarding of a fairly bland room. No more than 25, Emma thought, not inexperienced but not fast enough at getting the muzzle of the short machine gun at his side up and pointed at her before she could step inside the arc of his arms and slam a punch deep into his solar plexus. She threw her full force into the punch, wishing for her diamond form, but substituting with the diamond-backed snake ring that curled around her middle three fingers – the prettiest knuckle-duster she had been able to find. Her speed through the door had given her what she wanted – the guard hadn’t had time to brace for her punch and the breath was forced out of him in an explosive whuff. His diaphragm paralysed by the nerves firing in overload, he bent forward trying to draw in any kind of oxygen. Knocking the gun outwards, away from her, Emma followed up the punch with a short sharp knee directly to the guard’s genitals. With no time to draw breath, he couldn’t even wheeze as the blow turned his legs to jelly and he staggered forwards. Another punch, a hard left to his temple, using the large flat round rings she wore on ring and index finger to reinforce the blow and then Emma reached up to her throat, pulling the slender silken scarf out from where it was tucked into her high-necked jumper. Kicking the gun out of unresisting hand, she wrapped the scarf around the guard’s throat and, slamming her knee into his back, pulled hard. As his hands slowed their desperate clutching at hers and dropped to his side, she finally had a moment to have a look at the layout of the office.
Other than a whiteboard covered in some reasonably complex biochemical equations, there was nothing to separate the office from that of a lawyer or an accountant. The bookcase was largely filled with Russian technical manuals, a quick glance showing most to be departmental and regional planning pieces. If she had a wheelbarrow, should could have collected a reasonably complete three year outlook of the research outlines in central Russia. The small bathroom off the office was a nice perk, but was similarly devoid of anything unique. The same for a drinks hutch which looked like it had more regular use than any of the books behind the desk.
That left the laptop on the desk and the drawers below it. Unlike a typical desk, the drawers were sealed with a safe combination lock and a fingerprint scanner. It was far from the highest security, but behind an armed perimeter and multiple guards, the final level of protection was significant.
Emma dragged the guard's (dead? unconscious? she wasn't about to take the time to find out) body into the bathroom, quickly stowing it into the small space, then returned to the office.
For a moment, Emma contemplated physically kicking at the desk drawer to see if it would open, but she realised it would probably be reinforced and the only thing she was likely to do was break her own heel (possibly both shoes and bones). A quick visual inspection made it clear that the safe was not closed with a simple lock, but a complex electronic device. Which made it, Emma grinned, quite vulnerable. A few quick quiet words almost beneath her breath and Dom was directing Emma to the laptop and through a complex sequence of steps and folders to open. Emma trusted Dom's skills implicitly in this area, nearly as much as Doug's, and it was rewarded with the laptop first allowing her in under Orehkov's log-in and then stepping through the steps to open the Protected files. She was close to the directory that she suspected contained all of the CHERNOBOG files, when Dom hissed a sudden warning at her.
Emma sprang to her feet, glancing quickly around the room to try and find a suitable weapon. The drinks cabinet gave her the best options and she grabbed the heaviest bottle she could find - some kind of presentation bottle of a spirit she'd never heard of, but which was extensively filigreed with metal and had a satisfying heavy glass base. Hefting it in her one hand, she also grabbed a silver tray, tucking it behind her feet as she stood where she could watch the door open but not be seen until the person had nearly fully entered the room.
That was the reason why the entering guard (probably a change of shift, Emma thought) was never able to give a description of what had hit him - the end of the bottle hit him between the eyes with a satisfying crash, blood from the bridge of his nose spraying outwards and obscuring his vision instantly. A second swipe into his right temple sent him reeling and then Emma grabbed the tray and slammed it into his throat, pressing hard until his flailing hands slipped down and he fell unconscious. As he lay at her feet, she gave him a final, judicious thump with the bottle into the side of his skull. Certain that he wasn't likely to regain consciousness any time soon, Emma dragged him into the bathroom as well, starting to create a small pile of Russian guards.
A few minutes later, a third guard joined him, and Emma knew at that point that her time was limited. She also had to toss the heavy bottle into the bin - those bits that still held together within the filigree at least - after she had shattered it across the back of the skull of the guard. There was no reason for a third guard, no change of shift and Emma knew that suspicions had, somehow, been roused. Luckily, however, Dom had done her job well, and Emma was able to finalise the download of the files onto the USB stick, remove it and delete all indication that CHERNOBOG had ever existed from the laptop. From everything they understood of Orehkov, the files were nowhere else - his paranoia that they may be distributed before he received both kudos and payment had assisted there.
There was only the safe to crack now and Emma, quickly tucking the USB stick into a pocket, listened carefully to Dom's instructions in her ear. Dom's careful work through the computer system had given them the combination and Emma entered it quickly, but the safe, naturally, did not open. It needed Orehkov's fingerprint and getting that was a whole different kind of work.
Emma had taken the first steps to try and find a clear print of Orehkov's in the room to start the slightly laborious task of transferring it to the putty-ended false finger she was carrying when Dom informed her that her problem was about to be solved in a much easier fashion. Orehkov had obviously heard something about the missing guards and was striding rapidly to his office, guard (bodyguard?) by his side.
Emma's swearing was no more than perfunctory and was followed by a quick inspection of the room to try and determine what could be helpful in taking on the two men. Ambush was less likely to be successful - they obviously knew, if not that she was there, that something suspicious was happening in the office. With a shrug she picked up the laptop - with the files scraped out of it, it was no more than a useful piece of metal with which to hit someone hard. Or, she admitted to herself quietly, to hope to deflect a bullet. It was going to have to be close quarter fighting - without her diamond skin, her only hope was to try and stay too close to everyone for shooting her to be a viable option.
With the minute or so remaining to her, she ran to the bathroom and dragged out one guard and shoved his body hard against the door and then untidily laid a second one on top of him. The increasing urgency of Dom's messages meant that her dive behind the desk, using it as cover, was swift and just in time; as she slid in behind it, making sure the heavy drawers were between her and the likely direction of any bullets, she heard the door handle turn and the sudden thunk of it slamming into the body of the guards.
It didn’t take them long to overcome her makeshift barrier, as she had known it wouldn’t. But it still made her wince at the extremely vigorous manner in which the heavy door was slammed into the guards' bodies - if they had survived her assault, she wasn’t sure they were going to survive this second one. She had no more time to care though as the door finally opened fully and the first bullets slammed hard into the other side of the desk.
None of them made it through , but Emma gasped as a blizzard of splinters erupted around her, several of them gouging into her back. She felt no pain through the adrenaline coursing through her veins, though she knew that they were going to be hell to get out later, if she had a later. She stayed in her deep crouch as the path of the bullets changed, and she watched the feet of the bodyguard as he tracked around the desk. He was leading with his gun, and she didn’t let more than the tip of the muzzle pass the corner before she drove herself up from her crouch, swinging the laptop with all of her strength. The edge of it slammed into the guard's wrist, sending both his shot and the gun flying wide.
He was very good though - as Emma pulled the laptop back and swung it hard at his face, the guard managed to get his hand up in time, deflect it wide. The awkward shape of it meant Emma couldn’t keep her grip on the laptop and it flew out of her hands. She grunted hard and reeled back as the guard's fist slammed into the side of her jaw, then caught herself and ducked beneath the next blow aimed at her face. Setting herself, she drove her elbow upward, aiming it into his solar plexus, but being diverted into his rib cage as he smashed a hand down into her back. Grunting at the impact, Emma spun on her heel, took herself out of his immediate range.
He was back at her within seconds, aiming a kick at her knee, deflected by her fist, slamming down, driving him off balance, back up aiming for his throat, blocked, hand driven down, his hand tangling for a second in her hair, throwing herself backwards to escape, leaving a chunk of blonde hair in his fist, stumbling back into the wall, a sideways move as he came at her again, leaving a dent in the wall as he missed, arm lock, trying to throw him down, but he was strong, so strong, and she couldn’t get him down, until she drove a heel into the back of his knee, crumpling his leg, letting her slam his face into the wall, a moment, catch her breath, and he was back, a turning backhand catching her shoulder and sending her stumbling backwards, catching herself against the deck and kicking again, aiming for the inside of his knee, missing but hearing the grunt as her heel caught his calf, ripped downwards and into his Achilles’ tendon with the full weight of her behind it and his fist grazed the edge of her face again and she drove her diamond snake as hard as she could at the bridge of his nose, missing but catching his forehead so that blood suddenly sprayed outwards and he swore suddenly in Russian and the fist he threw into her guts had the force of real anger and Emma reeled back, the breath driven from her, the edges of her vision, for a moment, growing dim.
He was following her, she knew he was following her and she made herself focus and what she saw was Orehkov, his face set with the rictus terror of someone who had never seen a no holds barred fight play out in front of him, making his way around the walls, sliding around the fight. Even without her telepathy, Emma knew suddenly and completely what he was doing: going for the gun she’d slammed away earlier.
"No, no, no," she chanted under her breath and flung herself sideways, away from the guard, onto the desk, scrabbling madly at whatever she could reach as she slid over the top of the desk, hoping against hope that her memory was right. She slid further, over the desk, gasping in relief as her hand grasped the letter opener that she was sure she’d seen earlier. Off the desk, feeling the guard's fingertips sweep through the end of her hair, ignoring it, seeing only the wide, terrified eyes of Orehkov as she lurched towards him, off-balance but managing to slam hard into his torso, lock his arm against the wall, and then driving her arm with all her force, smashing the blunt end of the letter opener into the centre of Orehkov's palm, where it was splashed against the wall, piercing it through and into the wall, pinning it like a butterfly.
She barely had time to hear Orehkov's scream before the full weight of the guard slammed into her back, driving her skull against the wall through sheer momentum, knocking her down she she sprawled, almost boneless on the floor at Orehkov’s feet.
Emma wanted so much, so much, not to ever get up again, to lie there and embrace the pain, but she heard the guard behind her, turning on his heel, the slight ragged limp of where she’d smashed into his Achilles' tendon and she forced herself upwards and threw herself forward, catching the leg he was limping on with her outstretched hand and yanking backwards, forcing him to stumble and fall onto his knees. She followed him down, one arm locked around his neck, the other smashing her fist down as hard as she could into his head, aiming at his temple, a steady rain of blows even as he crawled forward, carrying her as he lurched towards the gun. In purest desperation, Emma dragged her arm tighter around his throat, trying to slow him, stop him, anything, but he was a tank, driven on by his own desperation. He sprawled forwards at the end, throwing himself forwards against her arm as he reached out and grasped the gun. He tried turning beneath Emma, wriggling like an eel to try and face her, but she took the opportunity to set her arm tighter, draw it more firmly against his windpipe, pulling as hard as she could. He began to turn purple, slowing, his other hand clutching at Emma’s arm, try8ng to get his breath. It was his last burst of strength that allowed him to flip over and slam himself down, smashing Emma’s back against the floor. She refused to let go, but he raced again, smashed down again with his considerable body weight and she felt her grip starting to loosen. He rose on one elbow again, a ragged gasp of air inwards and Emma braced herself for the next impact. She thought she was ready but when it came, it rattled her teeth inside her skull and her arm loosened further. She let her arm fall away, partially stunned and he staggered upwards, turning to face her, the gun swinging around and with all the strength left in her Emma struck out with her heel, driving it into the side of the knee she had attacked so many times. With a scream, the guard crumpled sideways, the gun falling from his grasp as he clutched at his knee. With the last strength left in her, Emma rose to one knee and threw herself forwards, grasping the gun, rolling, turning and firing almost in one movement, firing again and again even as the guard fell and breathed his last.
It seemed hours, but it would have been no more than minutes before anyone in the room moved again. Slowly, against a world of pain, Emma raised her head, lurched slowly, inch by inch to her feet. She looked at Orehkov, still pinned to the wall, his mouth an open hole of silent terror and pain. She looked down again, at the gun in her hand, weighed thoughts for several moments in her head, then opened her fist and looked at the gun.
"I didn’t want to kill him," she said, her voice raspy with effort. "I don’t need to kill you," she added to Orehkov. He was too far gone in terror to even hear her words and he shrank back as she approached him. For a moment he tugged against the letter opener but the pain stopped him and he froze as Emma lurched to his side. "I know brains," she rasped at him. "Which bits remember. I know where to hit you to make sure you don’t remember the last few hours. Lucky you," she said and turning the gun in her hands smashed it hard against his temple, knocking him cold with the blow.
She wanted to rest, wanted to sleep forever really, but Emma forced herself to pull the letter opener out of the wall, Orehkov's hand, and let his body slump forwards. It took a long time and more efforts than she thought possible before she could drag his body to the safe, raise his hand to the fingerprint scanner, open the safe.
Finally finished, Emma slumped against the wall, clutching what she’d came for to her chest. "I’ve got the samples. And the files," she whispered to Dom in her ear. "And a headache the size of a small planet. Someone had better come and get me."
There was a gap then, a small black frame in Emma’s consciousness that she never got back. Her mind switched back on as she heard the door open, ready to help someone rescue her.
"Oh," she said, looking at Vazhin's security officer, Krylenko. "You are definitely not who I was hoping to see."
Alina Petrovich was absolutely not cleared to be in this part of VECTOR and didn't even have a dummy passcard to try and bluff past a guard. Which meant that speed was essential. They didn't know why Emma had specifically requested to run point on this part of the operation, but no one had questioned her. If everything had worked right, any second the security door in front of her would open and she'd have a clear shot to Orekhov's private lab.
If not, she was likely only a few minutes away from being shot to death or captured, tortured and executed once she'd told Russian security everything.
Fortunately, the light on the side of the door turned green.
Emma took a short, deep breath as the door slid open silently in front of her, opening on to what would be considered a reasonably normal executive office. Normal, other than the startled guard just inside the door, who could not have more obviously been used to days and weeks and possibly months of tedious guarding of a fairly bland room. No more than 25, Emma thought, not inexperienced but not fast enough at getting the muzzle of the short machine gun at his side up and pointed at her before she could step inside the arc of his arms and slam a punch deep into his solar plexus. She threw her full force into the punch, wishing for her diamond form, but substituting with the diamond-backed snake ring that curled around her middle three fingers – the prettiest knuckle-duster she had been able to find. Her speed through the door had given her what she wanted – the guard hadn’t had time to brace for her punch and the breath was forced out of him in an explosive whuff. His diaphragm paralysed by the nerves firing in overload, he bent forward trying to draw in any kind of oxygen. Knocking the gun outwards, away from her, Emma followed up the punch with a short sharp knee directly to the guard’s genitals. With no time to draw breath, he couldn’t even wheeze as the blow turned his legs to jelly and he staggered forwards. Another punch, a hard left to his temple, using the large flat round rings she wore on ring and index finger to reinforce the blow and then Emma reached up to her throat, pulling the slender silken scarf out from where it was tucked into her high-necked jumper. Kicking the gun out of unresisting hand, she wrapped the scarf around the guard’s throat and, slamming her knee into his back, pulled hard. As his hands slowed their desperate clutching at hers and dropped to his side, she finally had a moment to have a look at the layout of the office.
Other than a whiteboard covered in some reasonably complex biochemical equations, there was nothing to separate the office from that of a lawyer or an accountant. The bookcase was largely filled with Russian technical manuals, a quick glance showing most to be departmental and regional planning pieces. If she had a wheelbarrow, should could have collected a reasonably complete three year outlook of the research outlines in central Russia. The small bathroom off the office was a nice perk, but was similarly devoid of anything unique. The same for a drinks hutch which looked like it had more regular use than any of the books behind the desk.
That left the laptop on the desk and the drawers below it. Unlike a typical desk, the drawers were sealed with a safe combination lock and a fingerprint scanner. It was far from the highest security, but behind an armed perimeter and multiple guards, the final level of protection was significant.
Emma dragged the guard's (dead? unconscious? she wasn't about to take the time to find out) body into the bathroom, quickly stowing it into the small space, then returned to the office.
For a moment, Emma contemplated physically kicking at the desk drawer to see if it would open, but she realised it would probably be reinforced and the only thing she was likely to do was break her own heel (possibly both shoes and bones). A quick visual inspection made it clear that the safe was not closed with a simple lock, but a complex electronic device. Which made it, Emma grinned, quite vulnerable. A few quick quiet words almost beneath her breath and Dom was directing Emma to the laptop and through a complex sequence of steps and folders to open. Emma trusted Dom's skills implicitly in this area, nearly as much as Doug's, and it was rewarded with the laptop first allowing her in under Orehkov's log-in and then stepping through the steps to open the Protected files. She was close to the directory that she suspected contained all of the CHERNOBOG files, when Dom hissed a sudden warning at her.
Emma sprang to her feet, glancing quickly around the room to try and find a suitable weapon. The drinks cabinet gave her the best options and she grabbed the heaviest bottle she could find - some kind of presentation bottle of a spirit she'd never heard of, but which was extensively filigreed with metal and had a satisfying heavy glass base. Hefting it in her one hand, she also grabbed a silver tray, tucking it behind her feet as she stood where she could watch the door open but not be seen until the person had nearly fully entered the room.
That was the reason why the entering guard (probably a change of shift, Emma thought) was never able to give a description of what had hit him - the end of the bottle hit him between the eyes with a satisfying crash, blood from the bridge of his nose spraying outwards and obscuring his vision instantly. A second swipe into his right temple sent him reeling and then Emma grabbed the tray and slammed it into his throat, pressing hard until his flailing hands slipped down and he fell unconscious. As he lay at her feet, she gave him a final, judicious thump with the bottle into the side of his skull. Certain that he wasn't likely to regain consciousness any time soon, Emma dragged him into the bathroom as well, starting to create a small pile of Russian guards.
A few minutes later, a third guard joined him, and Emma knew at that point that her time was limited. She also had to toss the heavy bottle into the bin - those bits that still held together within the filigree at least - after she had shattered it across the back of the skull of the guard. There was no reason for a third guard, no change of shift and Emma knew that suspicions had, somehow, been roused. Luckily, however, Dom had done her job well, and Emma was able to finalise the download of the files onto the USB stick, remove it and delete all indication that CHERNOBOG had ever existed from the laptop. From everything they understood of Orehkov, the files were nowhere else - his paranoia that they may be distributed before he received both kudos and payment had assisted there.
There was only the safe to crack now and Emma, quickly tucking the USB stick into a pocket, listened carefully to Dom's instructions in her ear. Dom's careful work through the computer system had given them the combination and Emma entered it quickly, but the safe, naturally, did not open. It needed Orehkov's fingerprint and getting that was a whole different kind of work.
Emma had taken the first steps to try and find a clear print of Orehkov's in the room to start the slightly laborious task of transferring it to the putty-ended false finger she was carrying when Dom informed her that her problem was about to be solved in a much easier fashion. Orehkov had obviously heard something about the missing guards and was striding rapidly to his office, guard (bodyguard?) by his side.
Emma's swearing was no more than perfunctory and was followed by a quick inspection of the room to try and determine what could be helpful in taking on the two men. Ambush was less likely to be successful - they obviously knew, if not that she was there, that something suspicious was happening in the office. With a shrug she picked up the laptop - with the files scraped out of it, it was no more than a useful piece of metal with which to hit someone hard. Or, she admitted to herself quietly, to hope to deflect a bullet. It was going to have to be close quarter fighting - without her diamond skin, her only hope was to try and stay too close to everyone for shooting her to be a viable option.
With the minute or so remaining to her, she ran to the bathroom and dragged out one guard and shoved his body hard against the door and then untidily laid a second one on top of him. The increasing urgency of Dom's messages meant that her dive behind the desk, using it as cover, was swift and just in time; as she slid in behind it, making sure the heavy drawers were between her and the likely direction of any bullets, she heard the door handle turn and the sudden thunk of it slamming into the body of the guards.
It didn’t take them long to overcome her makeshift barrier, as she had known it wouldn’t. But it still made her wince at the extremely vigorous manner in which the heavy door was slammed into the guards' bodies - if they had survived her assault, she wasn’t sure they were going to survive this second one. She had no more time to care though as the door finally opened fully and the first bullets slammed hard into the other side of the desk.
None of them made it through , but Emma gasped as a blizzard of splinters erupted around her, several of them gouging into her back. She felt no pain through the adrenaline coursing through her veins, though she knew that they were going to be hell to get out later, if she had a later. She stayed in her deep crouch as the path of the bullets changed, and she watched the feet of the bodyguard as he tracked around the desk. He was leading with his gun, and she didn’t let more than the tip of the muzzle pass the corner before she drove herself up from her crouch, swinging the laptop with all of her strength. The edge of it slammed into the guard's wrist, sending both his shot and the gun flying wide.
He was very good though - as Emma pulled the laptop back and swung it hard at his face, the guard managed to get his hand up in time, deflect it wide. The awkward shape of it meant Emma couldn’t keep her grip on the laptop and it flew out of her hands. She grunted hard and reeled back as the guard's fist slammed into the side of her jaw, then caught herself and ducked beneath the next blow aimed at her face. Setting herself, she drove her elbow upward, aiming it into his solar plexus, but being diverted into his rib cage as he smashed a hand down into her back. Grunting at the impact, Emma spun on her heel, took herself out of his immediate range.
He was back at her within seconds, aiming a kick at her knee, deflected by her fist, slamming down, driving him off balance, back up aiming for his throat, blocked, hand driven down, his hand tangling for a second in her hair, throwing herself backwards to escape, leaving a chunk of blonde hair in his fist, stumbling back into the wall, a sideways move as he came at her again, leaving a dent in the wall as he missed, arm lock, trying to throw him down, but he was strong, so strong, and she couldn’t get him down, until she drove a heel into the back of his knee, crumpling his leg, letting her slam his face into the wall, a moment, catch her breath, and he was back, a turning backhand catching her shoulder and sending her stumbling backwards, catching herself against the deck and kicking again, aiming for the inside of his knee, missing but hearing the grunt as her heel caught his calf, ripped downwards and into his Achilles’ tendon with the full weight of her behind it and his fist grazed the edge of her face again and she drove her diamond snake as hard as she could at the bridge of his nose, missing but catching his forehead so that blood suddenly sprayed outwards and he swore suddenly in Russian and the fist he threw into her guts had the force of real anger and Emma reeled back, the breath driven from her, the edges of her vision, for a moment, growing dim.
He was following her, she knew he was following her and she made herself focus and what she saw was Orehkov, his face set with the rictus terror of someone who had never seen a no holds barred fight play out in front of him, making his way around the walls, sliding around the fight. Even without her telepathy, Emma knew suddenly and completely what he was doing: going for the gun she’d slammed away earlier.
"No, no, no," she chanted under her breath and flung herself sideways, away from the guard, onto the desk, scrabbling madly at whatever she could reach as she slid over the top of the desk, hoping against hope that her memory was right. She slid further, over the desk, gasping in relief as her hand grasped the letter opener that she was sure she’d seen earlier. Off the desk, feeling the guard's fingertips sweep through the end of her hair, ignoring it, seeing only the wide, terrified eyes of Orehkov as she lurched towards him, off-balance but managing to slam hard into his torso, lock his arm against the wall, and then driving her arm with all her force, smashing the blunt end of the letter opener into the centre of Orehkov's palm, where it was splashed against the wall, piercing it through and into the wall, pinning it like a butterfly.
She barely had time to hear Orehkov's scream before the full weight of the guard slammed into her back, driving her skull against the wall through sheer momentum, knocking her down she she sprawled, almost boneless on the floor at Orehkov’s feet.
Emma wanted so much, so much, not to ever get up again, to lie there and embrace the pain, but she heard the guard behind her, turning on his heel, the slight ragged limp of where she’d smashed into his Achilles' tendon and she forced herself upwards and threw herself forward, catching the leg he was limping on with her outstretched hand and yanking backwards, forcing him to stumble and fall onto his knees. She followed him down, one arm locked around his neck, the other smashing her fist down as hard as she could into his head, aiming at his temple, a steady rain of blows even as he crawled forward, carrying her as he lurched towards the gun. In purest desperation, Emma dragged her arm tighter around his throat, trying to slow him, stop him, anything, but he was a tank, driven on by his own desperation. He sprawled forwards at the end, throwing himself forwards against her arm as he reached out and grasped the gun. He tried turning beneath Emma, wriggling like an eel to try and face her, but she took the opportunity to set her arm tighter, draw it more firmly against his windpipe, pulling as hard as she could. He began to turn purple, slowing, his other hand clutching at Emma’s arm, try8ng to get his breath. It was his last burst of strength that allowed him to flip over and slam himself down, smashing Emma’s back against the floor. She refused to let go, but he raced again, smashed down again with his considerable body weight and she felt her grip starting to loosen. He rose on one elbow again, a ragged gasp of air inwards and Emma braced herself for the next impact. She thought she was ready but when it came, it rattled her teeth inside her skull and her arm loosened further. She let her arm fall away, partially stunned and he staggered upwards, turning to face her, the gun swinging around and with all the strength left in her Emma struck out with her heel, driving it into the side of the knee she had attacked so many times. With a scream, the guard crumpled sideways, the gun falling from his grasp as he clutched at his knee. With the last strength left in her, Emma rose to one knee and threw herself forwards, grasping the gun, rolling, turning and firing almost in one movement, firing again and again even as the guard fell and breathed his last.
It seemed hours, but it would have been no more than minutes before anyone in the room moved again. Slowly, against a world of pain, Emma raised her head, lurched slowly, inch by inch to her feet. She looked at Orehkov, still pinned to the wall, his mouth an open hole of silent terror and pain. She looked down again, at the gun in her hand, weighed thoughts for several moments in her head, then opened her fist and looked at the gun.
"I didn’t want to kill him," she said, her voice raspy with effort. "I don’t need to kill you," she added to Orehkov. He was too far gone in terror to even hear her words and he shrank back as she approached him. For a moment he tugged against the letter opener but the pain stopped him and he froze as Emma lurched to his side. "I know brains," she rasped at him. "Which bits remember. I know where to hit you to make sure you don’t remember the last few hours. Lucky you," she said and turning the gun in her hands smashed it hard against his temple, knocking him cold with the blow.
She wanted to rest, wanted to sleep forever really, but Emma forced herself to pull the letter opener out of the wall, Orehkov's hand, and let his body slump forwards. It took a long time and more efforts than she thought possible before she could drag his body to the safe, raise his hand to the fingerprint scanner, open the safe.
Finally finished, Emma slumped against the wall, clutching what she’d came for to her chest. "I’ve got the samples. And the files," she whispered to Dom in her ear. "And a headache the size of a small planet. Someone had better come and get me."
There was a gap then, a small black frame in Emma’s consciousness that she never got back. Her mind switched back on as she heard the door open, ready to help someone rescue her.
"Oh," she said, looking at Vazhin's security officer, Krylenko. "You are definitely not who I was hoping to see."
