—
As he ran through the large hotel suite towards the balcony door, Court felt around in the utility belt he wore around his waist, pulled a hammer from it, then kept feeling around the belt, hunting for something else. He put on work gloves as he leapt onto a white sofa, jumped over the back, then landed on his boots at a run and made his way around a dining table, finding himself at the balcony door of the huge suite.
Soon he had a coiled Ethernet wire in his hand, and then he slid open the balcony door of the hotel room, raced to the railing, and looped the end of the wire over the railing. This done, he climbed up onto the railing, using the wall closest to the Carriage House Condominium building to balance himself, and played out several yards of wire, then wrapped it around his wrist and hand.
There was no way this little computer cable in his hand could possibly hold the dynamic weight of a 180-pound man falling through the air, but Court’s life of kinetic operations had taught him an incredible amount about practical physics.
Hethoughtthis could work, but he was in no way certain.
On the contrary, he was just desperate.
Court heard a loud boom in the adjacent building, coming from Irene’s bedroom. This would be Spiral blasting in the bathroom door, and if this asshole had any room-clearing training at all, he would be standing wide of the door, giving the smoke a few seconds to clear. After this, he wouldjust roll into the room with his gun drawn and, as soon as he had a target, he’d shoot until the target was dead.
Nine stories above the ground, Court took a chance on the looped wire.
He leapt forward, out over the sidewalk below, but angled sharply to his left. He kicked his legs, shot several feet away from the building, and then he felt the wire go taut against his hand and wrist.
He began swinging back in towards the structure; Court’s momentum had him sailing right at her window, dropping from gravity at the same time. He spun his body in the air, let go of the wire, and flung the big hammer into the glass in front of him as hard as he could, and then, as it shattered right in front of him, he flew towards the window.
He heard the sounds of gunfire booming in the street below as he crashed feet first through the glass and flew into the bedroom, drawing the Glock 43 pistol on his hip as he did so.
The barrel of the small but potent handgun just cleared leather as his boots hit the carpet, the momentum of his swing continued propelling him forward, and he rolled onto the king-sized bed in the center of the room full of smoke.
—
Fifteen seconds earlier, the man behind the wheel of the Audi still had not lifted his hands to the steering wheel. “Here’s the deal, ace. We ain’t getting out. We haven’t done shit, and we ain’t got no idea what potential assassination you are referring to. Now, best you turn around, walk off into the night, go back to wherever you came from, and forget you—”
A muted boom eight stories above the Audi caused all three men to look up at the source of the noise and the sound of shattering glass that came soon after it.
Travers was all but certain the man behind the wheel of the Audi had a gun pointed at him through the door, so as soon as the boom rumbled down here to the street, he rocketed back hard to his right and raised his pistol at the car.
The first gunshot cracked inside the Audi; Travers felt the pressure of the round disturbing the air just to his left.
He returned fire at the driver, but he did it as his feet were retreating as fast as they could move. He had identified his closest point of cover even as he approached the car with the Gauntlet men inside, a corner where the Carriage House building jutted farther out into the sidewalk next to a ramp down to a parking garage at the Ritz-Carlton. The garage door was shut and locked for the night, so seeking cover here would pin Travers into a corner that the two enemy could exploit, but it would also get him out of any potential line of fire and, right now, that was more important.
He headed back towards the corner between the buildings, but he shuffled backwards, not taking his eyes or his weapon off the threat.
The driver and the passenger both opened their doors as Travers backpedaled; window glass from the condo above crashed onto the sidewalk right next to the Audi where Chris had been standing, and this slowed the Gauntlet duo down a couple of seconds, but quickly the passenger stood, spun his gun arm over the roof of the sedan, and opened fire. Chris dumped rounds into the driver’s door just as the driver bailed flat onto the sidewalk. Chris fired again; the driver fired his own pistol, but he was still in the process of rolling out and onto the sidewalk and his shots went wild.
It was the third round from the passenger’s gun that struck Chris Travers, high on the right side of his neck, spinning him to the ground.
—
Thirty seconds earlier, Zack Hightower had just cajoled the other two men out of the Ford Expedition, using intimidation tactics he’d called upon many times in his life. They had IDs out claiming they worked for a government contractor and were allowed to carry firearms, but he just kept shining a light on them, doing whatever he could to delay. He had not drawn his gun, hadn’t needed to, but his right hand was ready.
Then the low boom came from the building behind him, echoed along the quiet misty street.
The sound of the explosion was soft yet distinct at this distance, and Zack suspected that even if he did not draw his pistol now, these amped-up assholes would probably go for theirs. He started to put a hand out, a warning to them not to move, when a gunshot boomed directly behind him, here at street level.
Glass impacting the road or the sidewalk, probably falling from above, added to the cacophony coming from behind Hightower now.
It was clear to Zack that Travers was engaging or being engaged; he was likely outnumbered, as was Zack, and Zack was ready to kill all three of these motherfuckers in front of him so he could get over there and support the one teammate he actually had a chance of reaching.
Hightower had his Glock 19 out of its duty holster quickly; all three men reached behind their backs and began to separate in front of him, and he knew they were going to engage him on a wide arc, even though they were just steps apart.
These were Gauntlet security men, but he imagined they’d all gotten their training on SWAT teams, in federal law enforcement, or in the military. They would know what they were doing, and all he could do was try to get back around the minivan just behind him for some concealment.
He clicked on the flashlight in his hand, threw it towards the three, and fired his first round from the G19 at the man in the center of the trio.
