Hitman: Enemy Within Read Online Free Page B

again. Marla took three running steps and dove through the newly created opening.
    Agent 47 swore as the mysterious woman disappeared, and ran a mental check on his ammo supply. One of the Pythons was empty. And while the loops on Johnson’s western-style gun rig held twelve hollow points, it was unlikely the bikers would give him the time required to reload. He had to get back to his truck.
    So he holstered one revolver and drew the other as he backed toward the door. One of the gang leaders was busy harvesting the loot from the table when another took exception to that initiative and shot the first biker in the back.
    Having missed Marla, Joey swiveled the M16 toward 47, and fell as a bullet removed the top of his head.
    Harsh sunlight washed over the assassin as he hit the door, backed outside, and the biker named Nix appeared. The gang member clutched a stubby sawed-off shotgun in his hands and was panting heavily.
    “Reaper…What the hell’s going on?”
    “That Marla chick shot the Big Kahuna!” 47 lied. “But I think he’s still alive. Go on in. The big guy needs your help!”
    Nix nodded gamely, charged through the open door, and staggered as a burst of 9 mm bullets slammed into his unprotected chest.
    Agent 47 turned and began to run. An automatic weapon began to chatter from the direction of the mobile home as one of the Big Kahuna’s security guards began to chase the assassin with bullets from an AK-47.
    Fortunately the biker was short on experience. Rather than lead his target the way he should have, the goon brought his weapon around in an attempt to catch 47 from behind. And since he was firing on full automatic, the assault rifle’s banana-style clip quickly ran dry. That gave the assassin the perfect opportunity to stop, drop, and roll under the high-riding truck.
    Agent 47 discarded the Python in order to snatch two micro-Uzis that were clamped to the truck’s frame. Then, with a machine pistol clutched in each fist, the rearmed assassin rolled out from under the far side of the truck just as the idiot with the AK-47 opened fire again. Safety glass shattered, and the 4X4 shuddered as a hail of lead struck it. The biker was advancing by then, teeth bared as he fired the automatic weapon from the hip. It appeared as if the guard believed the fugitive was hiding in the cab, as half a dozen 7.62 mm slugspinged the driver’s side door. That was when 47 made his way around the front end of the truck and fired a three-round burst from the left-hand Uzi. Though he was right-handed at “birth,” the asylum’s staff forced their charges to use both hands equally. A skill for which the agent was thankful.
    Mr. AK-47 looked surprised as the bullets hit him, and he fired a final burst of slugs into the clear blue sky as he pitched over backward, and skidded across some loose shell casings before finally coming to a stop.
    The assassin might have left at that point, and very much wanted to, but knew he couldn’t. Not without retrieving whatever memory device the surveillance system was hooked to. Partially to protect his identity, and to obtain images of Marla, which would help The Agency identify her. That meant he would have to cross open ground, enter the mobile home, and deal with anyone who blocked his way. But then a final gunshot was fired inside the barn, and an eerie silence settled over the farm. A jetliner drew a white line across the sky as 47 crossed the open ground, and flies buzzed around the assassin’s head as he opened the screen door. An energetic white dog came out to greet him. The animal yapped madly and danced circles around 47 as the agent entered the double-wide’s living room, and his eyes adjusted to the gloom.
    Empty beer cans sat everywhere, part of a motorcycle engine was resting on the coffee table, and dry dog turds lay scattered about. The lights were off, so what little illumination there was originated from cracks around the shaded windows, and the cartoon show on the