AllFreeNovel
Share Us
They waited another five minutes before Azarov tapped the back of Rapp’s seat. “There. That’s Klaus Alscher. I’ve known him for years.”
He got out and crossed the lot, feigning surprise at running into Alscher. After a warm handshake and a few introductions, he disappeared inside.
“You’re up, Donatella,” Rapp said. “Be careful.”
“This isn’t the Gaza Strip,” she said, opening the door and stepping out.
Unlike the girls who had entered earlier, Donatella neither teetered nor looked uncomfortable. She moved gracefully across the lot, aware of how the light played across her silk dress and of the men watching her approach. She gave one of the bouncers a seductive smile and he stepped aside to open the door.
The interior was what she expected—marginally stylish and wildly expensive. Girls like the ones she’d seen in the lot were everywhere, on the prowl for a wealthy man who might be interested in lavishing them with gifts. Or perhaps even setting them up in an apartment for a secret long-term relationship. She understood these women better than Claudia ever could because, for a time, she’d been one of them.
Azarov had managed to maneuver his companions into a tactically viable position and was getting a fair amount of attention from the young women around him. They’d be probing, trying to determine his wealth and station in life. If they succeeded, he would quickly become the most sought-after man in the bar. Not only rich but a marked improvement over the potbellied Arabs who made up the majority of the clientele.
Laughter burst out from the east corner of the room when a young man jumped onto his chair and began gyrating wildly to the sedate music. Donatella allowed herself a bemused smile and moved toward the bar. Bin Musaid was standing at one end, surrounded by friends and the requisite contingent of women. He glanced in her direction, and she met his eye for a moment before turning her attention to the bartender. He brought her a martini that she sipped while intermittently engaging and dismissing the men who approached her. Whenever she sent one away, she would steal a glance in bin Musaid’s direction. And every time she did, he paid increasing attention.
The truth was that the girls in this bar were sheep. And while hunting sheep could be mildly amusing, bin Musaid was a man who would find hunting a tigress far more diverting.
CHAPTER 29
I AM Prince Talal bin Musaid.”
Both Donatella and Azarov had microphones on them that fed through the BMW’s sound system. Rapp glanced at his watch when he heard bin Musaid introduce himself to Donatella. Eight minutes forty-two seconds since she’d walked into the place. She hadn’t lost her touch.
He cut back the volume on Azarov’s conversation about Venezuela’s economic meltdown and half listened to her coy banter. There was no reason to worry or second-guess. She’d play with him for a while, get him worked up, and then inside of forty-five minutes they’d be on their way to her hotel suite.
Rapp watched the flow of traffic in and out, memorizing the positions of drivers waiting for their clients. It was impossible to know how many were armed and how many just handled the wheel, but it paid to learn as much as possible about the operating environment. Even if his role turned out to be nothing more than watching Donatella sashay to bin Musaid’s car.
The conversation droning from the speakers was the most interesting thing on the menu until two Volvo S90 sedans cruised up to the entrance. The light from the building passed through them, illuminating an interior that caught Rapp’s attention. Each contained two men in front and three wedged into the back. All were bearded and appeared to be between twenty-five and forty. An advance security team for some heavy hitter? Rapp glanced back, hoping to see a limo hanging back. Nothing.
“Kent. Are you seeing these two Volvos?” he said into his radio.
“Yeah, I got ’em. What’s up?”
“Probably nothing. But stay sharp.”
The valets opened the doors and the men began stepping out, taking pains to stay facing the car. What were they hiding?
“Finger on the trigger, Kent.”
“Who are these assholes? A bunch of Arab soccer players?”
“I don’t think so,” Rapp said, opening his car door a couple inches.
Finally, one of the men was forced to move away from the vehicle in order to let the next one out. When he did, he opened his coat and swung an assault rifle into firing position.
“Take them!” Rapp shouted, throwing the door fully open and leaping out.
The bouncers went down with the first bursts of automatic fire, followed quickly by three men and a young woman congregated at the entrance. The terrorist who had pulled his gun first was slammed against the vehicle by what seemed to be an invisible force but was in fact a round from Black’s fifty-caliber sniper rifle. Another was spun around when Rapp hit him the right shoulder blade, spraying rounds across the parking lot before dropping behind the lead Volvo. Black took out another just as a group of the drivers Rapp had identified earlier—including the ones who had arrived with bin Musaid—started running toward the building with guns drawn.
“Too soon,” Rapp said under his breath.
Six of the surviving terrorists were going for the door, leaving one behind the vehicles in anticipation of the bodyguards coming up behind them. He fired on full automatic, mowing down all of them before they could get within fifteen yards. One of the drivers had hung back and was shooting over the hood of his car, but fear was getting the better of him. He ducked down to reload as Rapp took careful aim at the man
firing around one of the Volvo’s rear bumpers, but was forced to dive back into the car as three of the men about to enter the building concentrated fire on his position.
“Donatella, Grisha! You’ve got six men coming in on you,” Rapp said. “All armed with assault rifles.”
He slid back out of the car and aimed between the window and the pillar at the lead Volvo. The driver east of him had reloaded and was shooting again, but still not managing to hit anything. On the bright side, he was giving the terrorist remaining outside something to shoot at.
