Bones of Empire Read Online Free PDF Page B

day-to-day demeanor, it was easy to forget that the Legate was a general, who, given the competent manner in which he handled the SMG, hadn’t forgotten his early training. That at least was a positive as a rocket slanted down from a neighboring building, hit the roof, and exploded. The round failed to penetrate the war wagon’s armor. But the angle, plus the point of impact, combined to tip the vehicle over.
    As he was thrown down, Cato realized that the bottom of the vehicle was exposed and wondered if it was armored. Probably, given the possibility of remotely detonated bombs, but he had no way to know for sure. “Give me a status report,” Livius demanded. “Over.”
    â€œThey blocked the road behind us,” Cato answered laconically, “and a rocket dumped the war wagon onto its side. But everybody’s okay at this point. Over.”
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    Livius took note of the last part of the message and knew it was Cato’s way of saying that Usurlus was alive without revealing which vehicle the Legate had been riding in. Because even though their transmissions were scrambled, there was always the possibility that their attackers had the capacity to decrypt the radio traffic somehow. “Okay. . . . My team and I were forced to hole up in limo two. We’ll join you ASAP. The ISS is sending a quick response team, ETA five minutes. Hang in there. Over.”
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    If Livius was in limo two—then what about Alamy in limo one? To say nothing of those with her. Cato wanted to know but couldn’t ask. He was about to respond to Livius when one of the team members interrupted. “They’re right outside! Trying to cut their way in!”
    Even as the man spoke, a spot on the back door began to glow orange, a fiery jet stabbed through, and the assassin began a cut that ran down toward the ground. It was scary, but the clock was ticking, and help was on the way. Cato turned toward the man behind the wheel. Though still in the driver’s seat, the man was slumped sideways because the truck was lying on its side; he was trying to release the harness that held him in place. “Fire some grenades,” Cato ordered. “That should discourage the bastards.”
    The driver flipped a switch and stabbed a button. Nothing happened. He stabbed it again. “It looks like the system was damaged. Sorry, sir.”
    Cato was just about to go back and fire through one of the gun ports when Usurlus triggered the emergency escape hatch mounted at the center of what was normally the floor. Then, having swung his feet through the opening, he was outside firing the SMG.
    Cato swore, followed the Legate out, and immediately came under fire from two assassins who materialized out of the swirling dust. The policeman was armed with a shotgun. He fired—and fired again.
    One assailant threw up his hands as a full load of double-ought buckshot snatched him off his feet. The other assassin seemed to twirl as a couple of slugs hit him in the shoulder and turned him around. A third shot finished him off.
    Turning to his left, Cato spotted Usurlus. The Legate was standing next to the war wagon, firing short, controlled bursts at a target the policeman couldn’t see, as incoming bullets spanged all around him. “Grab that crazy bastard,” Cato ordered grimly, “and get him inside.”
    All of the security men had exited the war wagon by then—and two of them took Usurlus from behind. Within a matter of seconds, he was stripped of his weapon, hustled to the open hatch, and stuffed back inside.
    Cato was about to join the Legate inside the war wagon when a thrumming sound was heard, two heavily armed ISS air cars arrived overhead, and gunfire lashed down. There weren’t all that many assassins left to shoot at, but Cato heard a whining sound and turned to see a unicycle coming straight at him. The rider was wearing civilian clothes and was clearly not a policeman,