No Fortunate Son (Pike Logan, #7)(82)

The gag was placed in her mouth, and McKinley was dragged over to her. Their hands were flex-tied again and they were pulled to their knees, side by side. The man to the left screwed in a suppressor to his pistol while the first man lined up the phone. He said, “One at a time. Seamus wants to drag it out. Make them think one is still alive.”

“Which first?”

“The Marine. I’m sick of his shit. Remember, only the barrel in the picture.”

Kaelyn grabbed Mack’s bound hands, squeezing tightly. The pistol floated forward, six inches from his head. She closed her eyes, not wanting to see the death. Praying for a miracle.

The apartment doorbell rang.

The man with the phone said, “What the f*ck.”

“Someone heard her shouting.”

He left the room, then came back. “It’s some hot beur. What should I do?”

“She by herself?”

“Yeah.”

“Let her in, act like everything’s normal. Tell her a story, but don’t let her get past the anteroom.”

He made the mistake of doing so.






57




We fought through the Paris traffic, going faster than was allowed, crossing the Seine yet again and hauling ass toward the target. I checked my weapon, making sure the thing would function, a rote habit born from many, many assaults.

Jennifer did the same, saying, “You’re getting better and better at the acting. You scared the hell out of that guy. I’m sure he believed you’d hunt him down. Kill him.”

I looked up and said, “I wasn’t acting that time.”

She said nothing, reading me. Seeing the truth. She changed the subject. “So what’re we going to do when we arrive?”

“Go in strong. Full bore.”

Nung said, “I do not have a weapon.”

I chuckled and said, “I thought your hands were lethal weapons.”

He didn’t smile. Instead, he said, “I should take Jennifer’s weapon. She can stage the vehicle for retreat.”

I looked at her, considering. She raised an eyebrow, telling me she didn’t care and she’d do whatever I thought best. So I did what I thought was best.

“Nung, sorry. No offense, but I trained Jennifer. I know her skills. She’s going in with me.”

I saw a ghost of a smile flit across her face and realized she did care.

Nung scowled and said, “That is a mistake. I still get my full payment whether I’m fighting or sitting in a car waiting like a taxi driver.”

“Yeah, I got it. You still haven’t told me what that is.”

“The bag of jewels will do.”

I said, “Nung, I can’t give you those.”

He said, “We’ll see.”

Looking at the moving map on her phone, Jennifer said, “Two blocks up.”

Nung continued, and she pointed to a large wooden double door. “That’s it.”

Shit. If it was locked, allowing only residents in, we were screwed.

Nung pulled to the curb, leaving barely enough room for another car to pass. We exited and jogged to the door. I tried it, and it opened, showing an archway and a corridor leading to a courtyard, a set of mailboxes on the left and a stairwell on the right. I said, “Okay, we get to the apartment and you knock. Get them to open it. First order of business is to make sure we’ve got the right place.”

“And if it is?”

“Get a pistol in his face. Lock him down.”

“What if he resists? Runs?”

“He gives you any shit—if he tries to warn anyone or anything else—pull the trigger.”

She looked at me, and I said, “Use your judgment. I’ll be right behind you, but this isn’t the time for second-guessing or bullshit rules of engagement. He shows hostile intent in any way, you drop him.”

We started up the stairs, taking them two at a time. We exited at the third floor and jogged down the hallway, Jennifer checking door numbers as we went by them. She stopped and mouthed, This is it.

I heard shouting from inside. A fight. Then nothing. I raised my pistol and whispered, “This is it. No mercy.”

I held back, and Jennifer rang the bell. We heard shuffling, then nothing. She looked at me, and I pointed to the doorbell with the barrel of my pistol. She rang again, and the door opened. A man inside said, “Hey, sorry for the noise. A little spat with my wife. It’s over now.”

Irish accent. Jennifer recognized it the same time I did and whipped out her pistol, shoving it into his face, her eyes trained down the barrel, showing all business. He leapt back, bringing out his own weapon. She broke the trigger and hit him just above the nose, the body collapsing to the floor. I flowed past her, running into the room. I saw two doors, taking the nearest one and shouting at Jennifer to take the other.

I entered a den and saw two people on the floor, gagged. I whipped around, desperately trying to find the threat, and saw a man jump up from a chair to the right of me, a suppressed pistol in his hands and a look of shock on his face. He squeezed off a double-tap, and I dove to the floor. One of the hostages leapt up and threw himself at the man, hitting him in the waist and knocking him into a wall. He turned his weapon on the gagged hostage, and I fired offhand from the ground, three, four, five times.