by Tom Wood
“Oh, my God,” Gisele breathed. “How have they found us?”
“Yigor.”
“He wouldn’t. I know him. Shit. What are we going to do?”
“Get out of here. Fast.”
He moved away from the door and over to the window. The two Range Rovers were still there. There were still gunmen positioned nearby, trying to look inconspicuous. Victor didn’t understand why they were there and not in his hotel. To distract him, maybe. But then the mercenary at the door wouldn’t have needed to knock to find out if he was inside because they would already know that to have men positioned to distract him.
Which meant the man at the door and those outside were not operating together. At least at this moment. The South African had seen through Victor’s ruse, but the others had not. He would no doubt be passing on his discovery, but it would take a few minutes for the other mercs to arrive. That delay gave Victor and Gisele a chance.
He returned to the door and peered through the spy hole. The corridor outside was empty but he knew the South African was out there, either waiting for Victor and Gisele to show themselves or preparing to attack.
Inside the room, they were vulnerable. It was small and impossible to defend. The window didn’t open. It would be toughened glass and hard to smash. The noise of trying would alert his enemy. Even if Victor and Gisele could get through it without taking a bullet in the back, they were too high up to drop and the hotel exterior would be almost impossible to climb with any speed. At any moment the mercs across the street could spot them or the blond woman would lean out of the window to shoot him and Gisele while they descended.
He needed another way out. He needed a distraction. There was a plastic kettle on the sideboard along with cups and packets of coffee and sugar and tea bags. Victor unplugged the kettle, laid it on its side on the floor, and stamped on it with his heel until he could pull it apart to expose the element at the bottom and the electric thermostat integrated into the base. He pried the thermostat away and tossed it aside. He plugged the kettle’s remains back into a socket and switched it on. Without the thermostat to regulate the temperature, the element would eventually become so hot it would melt. Victor didn’t require it to get that hot. He dropped a handful of sachets onto the element.
Gisele watched him.
After ten seconds the paper began to smolder and smoke. Victor kept his gaze on the door and the gun aimed and ready to shoot. He didn’t have to watch the smoldering paper. He knew what would happen. He grabbed both robes from the bathroom and pushed them into Gisele’s hands.
“Hold these and follow my lead,” he said.
She nodded.
An excruciating wail filled the room as the smoke alarm on the ceiling detected the elevated concentration of carbon dioxide gas in the air.
Victor waited. He knew alarms would be sounding throughout the hotel. Behind him, the paper sachets caught fire. He let them burn.
He figured thirty seconds would be long enough and approached the door. A glance through the spy hole told him what he wanted to know. He opened the door. The alarm’s wail was even louder with those in the corridor and from other rooms sounding simultaneously. Several guests were in the corridor, having exited their rooms. They wore pajamas and robes. They were sleepy and squinting. Others were following. The same scene would be unfolding in every corridor on every floor of the hotel.
“This is outrageous,” someone was saying.
Another said, “It’ll be a false alarm.”
Victor looked past the guests, all shuffling in the direction of the elevators and stairs, to where, at the end of the corridor, stood a man not in pajamas or a robe. He wasn’t sleepy or squinting. He had a strong, stocky build and was around six feet tall. He was tanned and dressed in khaki trousers and a leather jacket zipped up to his neck.
He stared straight at Victor.
• • •
Sinclair’s unblinking gaze burned into the black eyes of the killer. Bastard had pulled off a good trick with the alarm. Lots of people were between them, shielding the killer and the girl and preventing Sinclair from taking a shot.
The corridor extended around the hotel floor in a rough square. The section where Sinclair stood was on the opposite side to where the elevators and stairwells lay. That was the only way out, but the killer would no doubt try to play hide-and-seek. Sinclair had no intention of letting him do that with the girl.
They backed away because—presumably to their surprise—they saw Sinclair reach under his leather jacket. Through the shifting mass of guests, he saw the killer and the girl turning, then running.
Sinclair drew his weapon, a Glock 18 fitted with an extended magazine and long suppressor. It was a handgun, but one capable of fully automatic fire. A single squeeze of the trigger would release five bullets in the same time that a conventional pistol fire took to fire one.
An elderly woman in front of Sinclair gasped when she saw the gun.
“You might want to duck,” he told her.
Chapter 55
Despite the civilians between them, the South African mercenary opened fire. The wailing alarm drowned out the noise but Victor saw bullets taking chunks out of walls and sending blasts of dust and debris. Behind him, a woman was caught in the line of fire. Atomized blood misted in the air. A round caught the shoulder pad of Victor’s suit jacket.
He half fell, half slid around a corner, pushing Gisele ahead of him, a hail of bullets following, noiseless but no less deadly. A wall-mounted light fixture exploded.
He scrambled back to his feet, drawing the SIG, waiting for the firing to stop. Even with an extended magazine the Glock expelled its load in five short bursts. Victor didn’t waste the opportunity.
“Stay here.”
He rushed back out into the corridor to catch the target as he reloaded.
• • •
But Sinclair wasn’t reloading. The empty Glock was in his right hand and he had drawn his backup handgun into his left.
I knew you were going to do that.
Both men moved and fired at the same time, bullets smacking into walls around them. Guests were already down on the floor or had fled back into rooms. Their screams were silent with the alarm blaring. One of the killer’s bullets caught Sinclair’s handgun and sent the weapon flying out of his fingers.
He dived around a corner.
• • •
Victor took the opportunity to scramble backward, trying to get out of the corridor before his enemy returned with a fully loaded weapon in his primary hand.
“Come on,” he said to Gisele.
He dodged around and pushed past terrified guests, reloading the SIG as he ran. The magazine wasn’t empty but he wanted it at full capacity if he faced the mercenary again.
He was aware of people looking at him, the ripped suit jacket, the gun. He couldn’t do anything about that. Getting out alive meant more than going unnoticed. He hurried to the end of the next corridor, leaned round the corner.
Bullets struck the wall next to him, sending plaster exploding into his face. He recoiled, eyes filling with water. He wiped them furiously on his sleeve until he could see.
He pushed Gisele clear, dropped into a crouch and leaned round again. The South African was at the far end of the corridor, the Glock now in both hands.
Victor managed to squeeze off a single inaccurate shot before more rounds came his way. Chunks were blown out of the floor and wall around him. A man, emerging from his room because of the alarm but unaware of the firefight, walked straight into the path of bullets. He was hit twice and fell to the floor in a tangle of splayed limbs.
Victor fired, but his target was already moving, dodging back into cover, an empty magazine falling from his gun, Victor’s bullets striking the wall where his enemy had been a moment before.
He moved, firing as he did so to keep the
South African pinned down while he made for the stairwell, ushering Gisele to follow him. People were screaming and shoving each other out of the way to escape the gunfight.
Victor took a robe from Gisele and touched her on the arm. “Put it on and hurry to the bottom.”
She nodded.
He put down covering fire in the mercenary’s direction until Gisele had descended a couple of floors, then charged through the panicking crowd, vaulting over the banister to drop down to the next level. He did the same again and again, until he landed on the ground floor a moment after Gisele, stumbling to keep his balance, then throwing open the stairwell door and dashing through into the lobby. He heard his enemy above, yelling at people to get out of his way.
Victor slipped on the robe and kept moving, Gisele, also robed, at his side. They couldn’t exit out of the front with the other mercenaries likely to approach from that direction so he headed for the rear of the hotel, slowing down to attract less attention and avoid signposting his route. Panic from the floors above was spreading fast. The crowds of guests were agitated and becoming scared. The fire alarm continued to wail.
He eased Gisele and himself into a mass of people wearing dressing gowns and robes and let them both be crowded toward the exit. Security personnel were as panicked as the guests. They didn’t know how to deal with a gunfight. For minimum wage, they had no intention of getting involved. He kept his eyes moving, looking out for threats, but no one paid him or her any attention. They were lost in the anonymity of the crowd.
The rear doors were held open by hotel staff to let the guests out faster.
“Keep moving, keep moving,” one was saying. “We’ll have you back inside soon. There’s nothing to worry about.”
He stepped outside into the cool night air. It was raining but not heavily. The hotel was shaped like a letter V and they stood in the courtyard between the wings where vehicles were parked and guests were gathering. To the north a line of trees shielded elevated train tracks. On the other side of the tracks, some seventy meters away, stood the other hotel. It had been approximately three minutes since the South African had knocked at the door. If they weren’t here already, the other mercenaries soon would be.
“This way.”
They set off to the west, keeping people all around them, scanning for threats. The chaos of the ever-expanding crowd of guests helped keep them hidden but simultaneously hindered his attempts to spot his enemies before they spotted him or Gisele.
Victor made sure to act like the people around him—walking at a frightened pace, distressed expression, wide eyes. Gisele didn’t have to pretend. He led her in a zigzagging path through the melee so they didn’t provide easy targets for someone taking aim. After a minute they had passed the west wing of the hotel. It was quieter on the far side. A sparse crowd of mostly hotel employees had gathered here. They were happier than the guests because this was an extra break from work. They didn’t yet know why they had been told to exit the building.
Another line of trees marked the boundary of the hotel’s grounds. Victor and Gisele cut across to them, walking at a casual pace so they did not catch the eye of enemies looking on as easily as they would if hurrying. On the other side of the trees lay a long parking lot of maybe five hundred spaces. Most seemed occupied. Beyond the parking lot stood a huge hotel complex.
Victor disrobed and gestured for Gisele to do the same. He tossed the garments aside.
Within a minute he had selected a medium-sized Renault that was too old to have an alarm as standard. He used the SIG like a hammer and smashed out the window of the driver’s door. He reached inside and opened it, then leaned across the glass-covered seat to open the passenger’s door for Gisele.
“Get in.”
She did while he tore off the covering from the steering column and hot-wired it blindly, his gaze constantly sweeping the area for mercenaries. The engine rumbled into life.
Two men were running their way.
Chapter 56
They converged on them from two sides—one twenty meters to Victor’s left, the other twenty-five to his right—weaving their way between parked vehicles with fast, confident movement. The closest man had a tall, bulky frame but was faster than the other man, who was small and lithe.
Gisele was already shuffling lower in her seat before Victor could say, “Stay down.”
He put the car into reverse and backed out of the parking space, swinging the wheel clockwise to put him facing in the direction of the nearest exit while he cranked down what remained of the driver’s window.
The big guy, now sixteen meters away, reached under his sports jacket. The smaller man continued to sprint their way.
Victor changed into first gear, keeping hold of the wheel in his left hand while he drew out the SIG with his right. The tires squealed and smoked. He extended his arm out of the open window next to him and fired twice.
Both bullets struck the door panel of a large SUV inches from the big guy, who startled at the impact, momentarily slowing him as he pulled out an MP5K from under his jacket. Victor would have shot at him again but he had already accelerated out of the line of sight.
Automatic gunfire roared in response.
Holes puckered the safety glass of the rear windshield and blew out the window of the backseat behind Victor. Gisele covered her head with her arms and hands.
The road brought them closer to the second man, who had braced himself into a firing position, crouching and leaning on the hood of a small car.
Victor didn’t hear the pistol shots over the noise of the MP5K but he felt the reverberations of bullets thumping into the car’s bodywork. The side-mirror glass exploded and showered Victor with tiny shards that struck his arm, shoulder, and face. He flinched and squinted to protect his eyes, lurching in his seat away from the spray of glass, involuntarily turning the steering wheel.
He recovered in time to stop the car from crashing, but dented a wheel well against a parked minivan. Metal screeched against metal.
Victor ducked down in his seat, returning fire as he passed the closest gunman. Rounds continued to strike the Renault. In his rearview mirror he saw the big guy with the MP5K rush out into the road fifteen meters behind him and flames spit out of the weapon’s muzzle.
Holes blew through both windshields, spreading cracks across the safety glass, impeding Victor’s view. He felt a tire blow.
“Brace yourself.”
He waited a few seconds until he had put some distance between the Renault and the two gunmen, then slammed on the brakes and pulled the hand brake, and was jumping out of the car before it had stopped moving.
He kept low and ushered Gisele to follow him out of the same door because it was farther away from the gunmen than her own. She crawled over the seats and Victor pulled her out.
“Go.”
He fired off a couple of shots while Gisele ran as fast as she could for the count of five; then he ran after her, heading for the exit, counting off seconds in his head, picturing the smaller gunman giving chase. Then he stopped, spun around, and dropped to one knee as he extended the SIG and brought his left hand up for stability, the iron sights of the gun lining up over the pursuing mercenary, who had moved out of cover to give chase.
The man’s momentum carried him forward as bullets hit him in the chest, shoulder, and finally face. He dropped to the ground, leaving blood, brains, and chunks of skull sliding down windshield glass.
Victor moved to intercept the guy with the submachine gun, but he wasn’t there.
Instead there was nothing but rows and rows of vehicles.
He stopped and signaled for Gisele to do the same. He motioned for her to get down between vehicles and he dropped into a push-up position, lying on his front to peer beneath the cars. The asphalt was cold and hard and wet under his palms. He saw no feet or legs, but his line of sight was interrupted by numerous
wheels.
If he couldn’t see his attacker, then the reverse must also be true.
He stayed down for a moment, thinking. The big guy wasn’t stalking closer, keeping low and hidden until he initiated his attack, because that would work only if Victor was stationary. Once he ran, he would quickly get out of range with his enemy too low to see him. So the gunman wasn’t trying to get closer for an ambush. He was trying to stay alive.
No point dying for a paycheck that couldn’t be cashed. Victor lived by the same principle. But the merc would still want his fee, which meant he was calling for backup.
Victor hurried over to where Gisele waited.
“Are you okay?”
Gisele nodded. “I’m fine.”
He stood and looked around. Still no sign of the gunman but he saw a man frantically trying to unlock the door of an old MG convertible, but he was too scared by the recent gunfire to get the key in the lock. Victor dashed over, coming up behind the man and relieving him of his keys. The man stood trembling with fear. Victor put a hand on his shoulder and forced him to the ground.
“Hide,” Victor told him.
It was advice that could save the man’s life. A fair trade for his car, Victor thought. He waved Gisele over, but it was too late, because he saw a black Range Rover pull into the parking lot.
Chapter 57
They ran, heading south, away from the Range Rover, turning to the side to get between cars until they were clear of the parking lot and facing a dock where the vehicle wouldn’t be able to pursue. Either those inside would be forced to jump out and chase on foot, or the four-by-four would turn around and try to get ahead of them—or both. Any of the scenarios worked for Victor, because it would mean a divided force.
He followed the waterline to the east, Gisele at his side, passing the hotel again but out of sight of the crowds and potential onlookers. They crossed the dock on a footbridge that ran alongside the road bridge, ending up on an empty strip of concrete that continued along the elevated road to his right but finished at a dead end of steel fences and vegetation. A foot tunnel led east under the road.
