Next Exit, Dead Ahead

by CW Browning

  Under the overhang displaying The Rittenhouse in big, gold block letters, a low-slung, black Jaguar pulled around the curved driveway and up to the door. Viper watched as the doorman hurried to meet the driver, taking the keys from her and tossing them to a waiting valet before escorting her to the door. Viper tilted her head, studying the entrance to the hotel. The Jaguar pulled away, bound for the parking garage, and the doorman went back to his position near the door.

  Alina pursed her lips and lowered the binoculars, glancing around the dark park. A couple strolled hand in hand away from her, and no one else was in sight. Reaching for her rifle, Viper rested it on the wall and peered through the night scope, adjusting it to the front of the hotel. She zoomed in on the doorman and then shifted to the valets, studying distance and angles before removing the rifle and lowering it beneath the wall again. She reached into her bag and pulled out the suppressor, attaching it to the barrel with quick, practiced movements, her eyes on the driveway about 150 yards away. The location couldn't have been more perfect, with a straight shot to any point in the entranceway. This would be a piece of cake.

  Movement in the shadows along the side of the hotel to the right of the door caught her attention and Viper's hands stilled. With a frown, she lifted her binoculars to her eyes and studied the shadows. A tall man dressed in jeans, with a soft guitar case over his back, leaned against the building. He talked with another man, dressed similarly, and Viper's eyes narrowed as she studied them thoughtfully. As she watched, one raised his hand and hailed someone passing by, greeting them briefly before the passerby continued on, turning to walk into the hotel.

  Pressing her lips together, Viper lowered the binoculars thoughtfully.

  A few moments later, her attention was arrested again, this time by a sudden procession of vehicles pulling into the driveway, led by a red Mustang. Viper watched as a black SUV turned in behind the Mustang, followed by two more government-plated, dark sedans.

  “Shit,” she breathed softly, watching as the Mustang stopped a few feet past the door.

  Viper reached down and grabbed her rifle, resting it on the wall silently. Looking through the scope again, she adjusted the sight, focusing on the doorman moving toward the Mustang. She zoomed in on his face, over the roof of one of the sedans, then watched as Stephanie and John got out of the Mustang. Shaking her head slightly, Alina shifted the rifle to the right. She watched as the two musicians moved away from the wall and started toward the entrance of the hotel, watching the activity in the driveway. She was about to shift back to Stephanie when the taller musician reached into his bag and pulled out something small and compact, cradling it in his right hand. Viper exhaled sharply and moved her gaze to the entrance of the hotel, looking for what had the musician so transfixed.

  Her cross-hairs centered on Lowell Kwan's face as he exited the hotel, a briefcase in his hand.

  Everyone in the entrance-way to the Rittenhouse seemed to freeze at the same second. Blake had the door to the SUV open and paused, standing on the running board, staring over the roof of the vehicle at Lowell. Stephanie and John, wearing their FBI windbreakers, were already on the walkway leading to the door, their identities apparent. They hesitated while Kwan stopped dead, staring at them with wide, startled eyes. The doorman stopped, looking from the FBI agents to the young man and back again, somehow realizing that he stood in the middle of something with the potential to become very awkward. Even the valets seemed rooted to the spot, waiting to see what would happen. Everyone was frozen in place for a few seconds, like a movie on pause, except the two musicians.

  They were still moving steadily toward the door, their eyes fixed on Kwan.

  Viper noted their controlled movements and probable military bearing even as she exhaled softly and squeezed her trigger.

  The taller man fell to the pavement a second later, a semi-automatic dropping out of his hand. The second musician didn't hesitate. Breaking into a run, he charged at the stunned group before the door, heading straight for Kwan. The lights above the lobby door glinted off the long, dangerous blade in his hand before he, too, suddenly crumpled to the ground, a bare foot away from Lowell Kwan.

  Viper took a deep, slow breath. She could almost hear the shocked silence that precedes an uproar, and she watched unemotionally as the small band of people stared at the dead men on the pavement. Alina exhaled softly, the familiar feeling of cold emptiness making her chest feel hollow. She watched as blood started to pool out onto the pavement, breaking the spell in the entryway.

  Chaos erupted in an instant.

  John yelled something and started toward the body near Kwan while the door slammed on the black SUV and Blake circled his truck, running toward the other one. Lowell Kwan let out a cry, shaking himself out of his stupor, and turned to run back into the hotel. Stephanie yelled to the doorman as she pulled her weapon, running toward Kwan. The doorman grabbed Lowell, wrapping his meaty arms around him and tackling him to the ground without any hesitation. The briefcase went skidding across the pavement, coming to rest near the doors as Stephanie advanced on Kwan.

  Viper scanned the area around the entryway, and then the street. She examined the parked cars between her and the drama unfolding on the steps of the Rittenhouse. After a few seconds of searching, she cursed softly and pulled the rifle back, unscrewing the suppressor swiftly. She disassembled her rifle and slipped it back into the case. Tossing it over her shoulder, she moved out silently from the shadows of the stone half-wall. When the sirens of the first responders wailed around the corner, the fountain was deserted and the only trace Viper left behind were two dark lamp posts.

  “Get your hands behind your head, Kwan!” Stephanie called, advancing on the two men struggling on the pavement, her Glock trained on Kwan. “It's over. Don't make it worse than it already is!”

  Lowell gave one final attempt to dislodge the large, heavy doorman planted on his back, then stopped struggling, raising his hands awkwardly to the back of his head in surrender. The doorman stayed put as Stephanie approached, keeping a wary eye on the suddenly quiet man beneath him. She eyed the cast on Lowell's right arm.

  “Thanks,” she said to the doorman with a nod, pulling out her handcuffs.

  The doorman nodded and moved off of Kwan, watching as Stephanie placed her knee on the small of his back, taking the doorman's place. She kept her gun trained on the back of his head with one hand while she pulled his left wrist down behind his back with the other. Snapping one cuff on the wrist, she hooked the other cuff through his back belt loop, securing the arm to his own belt loop.

  “What's your name?” she asked the doorman as he got to his feet, dusting off his uniform.

  “Oliver,” he answered, “but people call me Ollie.”

  “Well, quick thinking Ollie,” Stephanie told him with a smile. She tucked her gun into its holster. “Thanks.”

  Ollie nodded.

  “Yes, ma'am.”

  Stephanie turned her head and looked at John, kneeling beside the dead musician. He glanced up, saw the question on her face and shook his head, sitting back on his heels. Stephanie looked beyond him to Blake, further back. He also shook his head, straightening up from the other dead man. She cursed under her breath and turned her attention back to the man on the ground beneath her.

  “Who were they?” she asked him. Lowell stayed silent, his cheek still pressed on the pavement. Stephanie's eyes narrowed at his silence. “John! Grab that briefcase!”

  “Got it!” John was already moving toward the case. He pulled on gloves and reached down to pick it up.

  “What's in the case, Lowell?” Stephanie asked, moving her knee off his back and pulling his casted arm down behind him. She got to her feet and pulled him up, one hand on his cuffed hand and the other hooked into his shirt at the back of his neck. “You might as well tell me because I'm going to open it and find out anyway.”

  Lowell's only answer was to spit on the pavement and try to pull his casted arm forward. Stephanie grabbed
his thumb and wrenched it back, eliciting a sharp gasp of pain from him.

  “Is it your payment for the virus you just sold to Jin Moon?” Stephanie demanded, her voice low. She knew she guessed right when he shot her a startled look. “Oh, I know all about Mr. Moon,” she assured him coldly. “Where's the virus? Does he have it?”

  “You'll never get it now,” Lowell finally spoke, his voice void of any emotion. “It's lost to you and your pathetic government. The next time you see it will be when your economy crashes and sends your country into the worse depression you've ever seen.”

  “If our economy crashes, so does the world's economy,” Stephanie hissed. “You're a fool. Where is it? On a flash drive? On a laptop? Where?”

  Lowell started to laugh mockingly, but it quickly turned to a howl of pain when Stephanie wrenched harder on the thumb of his broken arm.

  “I'm getting impatient, Kwan,” she growled. “Tell me!”

  “F-f-f-flash drive,” Lowell gasped, bending to the right almost double in an attempt to ease the pressure on his hand.

  Stephanie immediately released his thumb and glanced at John.

  “Take him!” she commanded, pushing Lowell towards him. “There should be something in one of the cars to restrain that cast.” She turned her head. “Blake! You're with me! John, make sure our agents stay with the bodies. I want to know who the hell they were and why they were after Kwan!”

  John nodded, but Stephanie didn't see. She was already halfway through the doors of the hotel, Blake close behind her. They strode into the lobby, flashing their badges to the security swarming toward the entrance. She stopped the most senior security officer as she passed, grabbing his arm.

  “What's the quickest way to the Park Suites?” she asked urgently.

  “The service elevator, in the employees' hall,” he answered immediately. “Jimmy!” He motioned to another officer. “Take them there!”

  “Thanks! Make sure no one leaves the building. Police are on their way,” Stephanie told him, turning to follow Jimmy.

  Blake glanced at her as they moved swiftly through the lobby, guests and employees alike staring at them as they went.

  “Where are we going? Moon's suite? Because you know we can't touch him,” he said.

  “He's got the virus,” Stephanie retorted. “He's not leaving here with it.”

  Blake grinned at the martial glint in her eyes.

  “You know, Agent Walker, I kind of like you,” he told her cheerfully.

  Stephanie grinned and they followed the guard through a door marked “Employees Only.”

  “The elevator is at the end of this hall,” Jimmy said over his shoulder, leading them down a wide hallway. “Park Suites are on the third floor. Moon is in the last one on the left.”

  “How do you know?” Blake asked him and Jimmy grinned.

  “I'm in charge of security for the Park Suites,” he replied, stopping as they reached the elevator. “Do you need me to come up with you?” he asked.

  “No, go help secure the building,” Stephanie said, pressing the button and watching as the elevator doors slid open.

  Jimmy nodded and turned to run back down the hallway. Blake and Stephanie stepped into the elevator and he pressed the button for the third floor.

  “What's the plan?” he asked as the doors slid shut. “We can't just knock on his door without a warrant and demand to search his suite.”

  “I haven't thought that far ahead yet,” Stephanie retorted. “I'm still trying to figure out what just happened outside.”

  “Well, you better think fast,” Blake said. “I'm not losing my job over an asshole like Moon. He's responsible for the death of three old combat buddies of mine. Nothing ever proven, of course.”

  “That seems to be a trend with him,” Stephanie muttered. The elevator came to a stop and the doors slid open. “I'll think of something. Just let me to do the talking.”

  “Not a problem. You'll undoubtedly be much more diplomatic than I would,” Blake said with a wink as they stepped off the elevator into a small alcove. They moved into the wide, hushed hallway and glanced up and down the deserted hall. “He said it's the last one on the left,” he said, turning left and going around a corner.

  The long hall had modern paneling and recessed lighting. Stephanie started down the corridor, her mind spinning. Who were the musicians-turned-killers who had tried to get to Lowell before them? Were they Moon's men? Had Moon received the virus and then tried to tie off the loose end? It all happened so fast. Stephanie shook her head, trying to remember what exactly had happened. One minute, the men weren't there at all, and the next they were dead. She didn't even know where the shots came from, let alone who fired them. If Moon had sent the men to kill Kwan after he got the virus, then who sent someone to kill Moon's men?

  “Uh-oh,” Blake murmured, snapping her attention back to the hallway. He reached for his holster, his eyes on the last door on the left. “This doesn't look good.”

  Stephanie followed his gaze and her heart plummeted. The last door on the left stood slightly ajar.

  She reached for her Glock, pulling it out of her holster for the second time in less than fifteen minutes. Glancing at Blake, she motioned she would take point and he nodded, his own gun in his hands. Stephanie's eyes dropped to it and she raised an eyebrow at the blatantly modified Smith and Wesson. Blake saw her look and smiled, shrugging slightly. She shook her head, wondering if she and John were the only two people left in the country who carried standard issues.

  Setting the thought aside, Stephanie moved to the left wall and approached the open door slowly, listening for any sound of movement inside the suite. The door was ajar by about ten inches and she looked down, checking for any shadows on the floor through the opening. Pausing when she reached the door frame, she glanced at Blake beside her. The easy-going cheerful look that characterized his face had disappeared, and his eyes were sharp and focused on the door. He caught her glance and nodded slightly.

  Stephanie reached out her left hand and gently pushed on the door, keeping clear of the doorway as she did so. The door swung open silently, then stopped as it came up against something solid. Stephanie pulled her hand away and leaned forward, peering into the suite. All she could see was an empty section of the entry alcove. She glanced through the crack between the door and frame, trying to see what blocked the door from opening, and her blood ran cold.

  A large, male head stared up at her sightlessly.

  “Oh, please let that be attached to something,” she whispered, pulling back against the wall.

  She motioned to Blake and he crossed in front of her, moving to the other side of the door swiftly. He glanced inside the door, then moved into the doorway, his gun held up near his shoulder, eyes and ears concentrated in front of him. Stephanie watched him enter the suite, then followed, her hands gripping her Glock as if her life depended on it.

  Blake stepped over a pair of feet and moved to the edge of the little entryway, peering around the corner into the rest of the suite. Stephanie glanced at the feet, then at the rest of the body, relieved to see the head was, indeed, still attached to the body. The man had to weigh at least 250 pounds of solid muscle, and yet he lay on the floor with his neck snapped like a twig. Swallowing, she stepped over the feet and moved around him, pressing two fingers against the side of his neck in vain.

  “He's still warm,” she whispered, standing.

  Blake nodded to show he heard her and moved forward silently. Stephanie followed him into the suite living room, her heart thumping and her body tense.

  A soft gasp escaped her as they stared speechlessly at the sight before them. She counted four bodies in the living room, not including the one behind her. The one closest to them, stretched out on the floor, was another large, solidly built bodyguard. He had no visible wounds, but his eyes were staring blindly at the ceiling. A third bodyguard slouched against the wall on the far side of the living room, near the door to an adjoining room, a gaping wou
nd at the base of his throat. A semi-automatic still rested in his dead hand, and blood from the wound in his throat covered the front of his suit. The other two bodies were seated in opposite chairs, on either end of a glass coffee table. An expensive, top-of-the-line laptop had slipped to the floor, lying on its side beside the chair closest to them. The man had sagged sideways, his glasses askew on his face, and his head twisted at an impossible angle. The last body, however, held both Stephanie and Blake paralyzed.

  Jin Seung Moon reclined in the other chair, a bullet hole through his left temple. His eyes stared sightlessly at the ceiling as a single rivulet of blood made its way down the side of his face to disappear beneath the collar of his tailored suit.

  “Holy shit,” Blake breathed softly, staring at Moon.

  Stephanie nodded in agreement without realizing it, then started moving automatically to the left. Blake shook his head slightly and moved to the right, following the wall around to the adjoining room on the right while Stephanie moved toward the room on the left. The deafening silence hung over them as they separated and moved through the huge suite, checking closets and bathrooms, behind curtains and under beds.

  Stephanie had just finished checking the master bath when she heard Blake call an all clear from his side. She stepped out of the bathroom and glanced around the bedroom, shaking her head. Nothing was out of place. A Rolex sat on the dresser and a gun lie on the bed. The killer hadn't taken anything.

  “Clear,” she called.

  She met Blake back in the living room and tucked her gun back into her holster as he checked fruitlessly for a pulse on Moon.