Risk and Rebel

31: MUCKING AROUND IN MUNICH

"I want a better gun," I said, checking and rechecking one of the handguns that I'd been carrying since our stop in Johannesburg. I was stuck between Legion and Rebel in the back of a giant van, with the rest of our band of merry men seated in front of us. Sergeant had claimed the position of driver this time, and Gray was — surprise, surprise — in the passenger's seat.

"You can get a better gun from Ottokar," Rebel said. He was leaning against the window, watching the city slide by. We'd only been on the ground for maybe fifteen minutes minutes, but with Sergeant's driving ... we were making good time.

"You're assuming we'll have time to track down Ottokar," I retorted, sighing heavily as I gave the handgun an irritable look.

"Ottokar a friend of yours?" Legion asked from my other side.

"Weapon's dealer," Rebel and I said simultaneously. I spoke up immediately after, before Rebel could. "He's got good stock — even found a way to get his hands on military-grade weaponry."

"And he's in Munich?" Ilga asked curiously, turning in her seat so she could see us and the rest of the van.

"He is," Rebel agreed as I nodded.

"You lot sound like you just know people everywhere," Elliot mused with a half-smile.

"It's annoying," Charlotte muttered, though even her own people ignored her that time.

"None of us ever stay in one place for long," Legion spoke up. His crystalline eyes sparkled as he looked between the rest of Gray's people with mild boredom. "Occupational hazard." Rebel shrugged.

"Sounds like there are a few of those, too," Ilga noted, smiling slightly at Legion.

Legion only mirrored Rebel's shrug, his attention bypassing them to focus on the back of his partner's head.

I looked between he and Sergeant carefully, flicking the safety of the gun in my hand on . . . and off. On . . . off . . .

We were nineteen minutes in now, and the atmosphere of the van was changing. Even from the back of the van I could see Sergeant's shoulders roll back as his back straightened, and a fraction of a second later, Legion seemed to brace himself.

Something was wrong.

My attention flashed from Team Bravo to Gray, who seemed unfazed, before I glanced over at Rebel.

Rebel's emerald eyes were already fixed on me. I could see him reaching for his own handgun, undoing the strap that held it into its holster ...

Silence had settled over the van by that point, everyone stiffening, all minor chatter coming to a halt. It was so quiet that I could hear Rebel flicking the safety of his own gun off.

That was when Sergeant spoke. "Ambush," he declared, loud and clear, and the single word seemed to set the rest of the people in the van into motion.

"See, this," I declared, twisting around in my seat and zeroing in on the black sedan on our tail, "is why I like driving."

"Like it's his fault they knew we were coming," Legion scoffed, prepping his own gun as he spoke.

"Didn't say it was," I pointed out.

"It might be a good idea for everyone to—" Gray began to shout before the chatter of a machine gun tore through the air.

It was accompanied by the squealing of tires, and glass shattering, along with a yelp that sounded like it came from Desmond. Everyone had done their best to drop as Gray had opened his mouth, and as a result, the bullets were harmless.