Read Online Hammer of Angels: A Novel of Shadowstorm by G. T. Almasi - Free Book Online

things up considerably.
    My partner injects a load of knockout juice into Chubbo’s leg. The effect is almost instantaneous. Our target goes limp. In fact, he stops moving altogether.
    â€œJesus, Darwin. Did you kill him?”
    â€œOf course not, he’s only paralyzed. Temporarily.”
    â€œHow long is ‘temporarily’?” I stand up and brush myself off.
    â€œThis stuff is new. Our Med-Techs cooked it up special for us, but it hasn’t exactly been tested.” Brando stands up and rifles through the mayor’s desk drawers. “It won’t kill him. They assured me of that.”
    Let’s hope so
. I bend down and grab Chubbo’s hands. Then I turn around, hoist him onto my back, and start to carry him out of the office. We’re halfway across the room when the door glides open. My heart nearly stops as a young woman sneaks in. She faces backward to make sure nobody outside sees her. She wears a tarty little black dress, stockings and high-heel pumps.
    I drop the Mayor and pounce her like a gorilla attacking a banana salesman. I clamp my hand over her mouth and pin her against the wall. I whip out my pistol and hiss, “
Stille!
”
Be still!
    The Tart whimpers, then falls silent when I press Li’l Bertha’s barrel against her cheek. Hot breath from her nostrils passes across my fingers.
    Brando says, “Scarlet, don’t kill her! Remember our orders.”
    The woman’s legs tremble against mine. “Fine,” I say, “but what the fuck do we do with her?”
    â€œI’ll take care of her.” Brando comes up behind us. He administers a DOSE of snooze-fast into her arm. Tarty is transformed from a stiff statue of terror to a limp leaf of boiled spinach in nothing flat. The woman droops forward and plops onto the floor.
    I turn to my partner. “Swell, now what? I can’t carry them both!”
    â€œYou get the target, and I’ll take the woman. She’s small.”
    â€œDarwin, who’s going to check our flanks? Let’s leave her.”
    Brando crouches next to Sleepy Tart and hikes her over his shoulders. “No, I think she’ll help us make our target an offer he can’t refuse.” He stands up and heads for the door. “But we’ve got to get out of here.”
    Fine
. I pick up Herr Bürgermeister again and follow Brando down the hall. The town hall is still silent except for our new friends’ feet scraping the floor as we drag them back toward the window we climbed in an hour ago.
    I drop to the back alley. I turn to look up at my partner. He makes sure I’m ready, and then he rolls Herr Mayor of York out the window. Two hundred pounds of sausage-fed German blobbiness flops into my arms and damn near rips them off. Sharp pain lances through my Modded elbows and knees.
    â€œYou all right? That looked like it hurt,” Brando comms.
    â€œYeah, no shit. He’s a fuckin’ blimp.” I lay Bürgerpüdge down, then hold my arms out and waggle my fingers. “C’mon, gimme the fraulein.”
    Tarty weighs less than I do, and catching her is much easier. My partner climbs down to join me and our floppy friends.
    Ground floor: tools, guns, kidnapped Krauts.
    Brando stays with our captives while I run out front to the street. Our getaway driver is in place, waiting in his truck a block away. I point my father’s watch in his direction and flash the light, twice fast, then twice slow. The truck engine starts. I hoof it back to the building’s rear, passing my partner as he lugs the Bürgertart toward our pickup point. I boost the mayor onto my back and haul him after Brando.
    The truck parks next to town hall, and the driver gets out. He’s an antislavery activist named Arvid who delivers milk to supermarkets by day and runaway slaves to the Circle by night. He also takes advantage of his circuitous delivery routes around Yorkshire to gather intel on