Page 106 of Locked and Loaded

His hand shot out, the edge of it driving cleanly into Fisher's throat.

The man folded instantly, crashing to the floor and clutching his neck.

“Well,” Valardi observed, “that's one way to get past reception.”

He turned to the startled girl. “Not a word, or you die. Do you understand?”

Her eyes widened until they looked ready to spill from their sockets. She nodded frantically.

“Excellent.”

Russo glanced at Fisher wheezing on the floor. “My work here is done.” Without another word, he turned and disappeared back down the hallway.

“Pleasure as always,” Valardi muttered after him.

Dragan and Valardi slipped through the doorway.

Archer had been right. Beyond the entrance, a narrow vestibule with thick velvet curtains separating it from the main room. Voices drifted through the fabric, accompanied by the clink of crystal and the low murmur of quiet conversation.

Dragan grabbed Fisher by the front of his jacket, hauled him upright, and slammed him against the wall.

“Lot Seven,” a disembodied voice announced through hidden speakers.

The auction had already begun.

Dragan hadn't hit Fisher hard enough to do permanent damage. Just enough to make the next decision painfully obvious.

“Who the fuck are you?” Fisher rasped.

“Your worst nightmare.” Dragan tightened his grip. “Where is Konstantinos Georgiou?”

Recognition flashed across Fisher's face. Only for a heartbeat. It was enough.

“Where is he?” Dragan demanded.

“I don't know who the hell you're talking about.” Fisher tried to get free.

“You've got one chance to convince me that's true.” Dragan leaned in another inch. “After that, I'll crush your throat properly and go looking for him myself.”

Fisher swallowed. His eyes darted toward the curtains. Toward security.

Toward escape.

Dragan saw the decision before it happened.

Fisher opened his mouth. Not to answer. To shout.

Dragan drove his fist into the man's solar plexus.

Every ounce of air exploded from Fisher's lungs. His knees buckled, and he collapsed in a silent heap.

“Nice read,” Valardi said without looking away from the gap between the curtains.

“What have you got?” Dragan asked.

“Dark enough that everyone's a silhouette.” He shifted slightly. “Camera in the northeast corner. Anyone walks through those curtains, and every guard in the room will know before they take three steps.”

Dragan moved beside him.