CHAPTER 28
Cotton wanted at least one of the two with automatic rifles alive. Didn’t matter which one. And if they came bleeding with a bullet hole or two, he could also make that work. They were advancing inside. To make sure that James Elmore was dead? Maybe. Did they know he was here?
Of course they did.
A second chance to take him down?
He heard the back door open.
Too many lights were on. He started flicking switches, moving through the secretarial area, down the hall, to the conference room.
Darkness dissolved the few bits of light that remained, offering him cover.
A man appeared to his left where the corridor right-angled.
He kept the gun he’d retrieved hidden and slipped into James Elmore’s office.
A rapid fire of soft pops signaled incoming rounds that obliterated the doorjamb.
He’d been seen.
The shots were all sound-suppressed. Nothing to draw outside attention.
These people came prepared and were coming fast. He hustled to the desk and took cover behind it.
When he was in the office a few minutes ago, he’d noticed that the desk was U-shaped, open in the center with drawers on either side.
He crouched down before one set of the drawers.
“I’m unarmed,” he called out in English. “Please don’t kill me.”
Why not? Take a chance. See what happened. Would the guy think he had the advantage and keep advancing? Most would not. But these folks had taken aim from the outside, through a window, to get Elmore. Nothing subtle about them at all.
Here he was again. In the line of fire.
What was the saying? Death is the number one killer in the world.
Damn right.
And so true. Why was he here? Easy. Because Stephanie had asked for his help.
He would do anything for her. And he’d seen the concern in her eyes back in Italy when she’d asked him to come.
A bit unusual. Emotion was something she stayed away from.
At least with her subordinates. Still, he considered himself more than a former employee.
They’d really bonded when she appeared in Copenhagen a few years ago.
A tough time for them both. But they’d not only discovered the truth about her dead husband, they’d also found her lost son.
And here he was again. Caught in the cross fire.
Helping Stephanie.
He heard movement, then he caught sight of the man with the rifle, peeking around the doorjamb.
“Stand up,” the man ordered. “I need to see your hands.”
“Okay. I’m here. My hands are up.”
He stood and raised his arms, the right hand with the gun shielded by his head in the semi-darkness.
The man snuck another peek and saw what he wanted to see.
In the two seconds it took for the guy to swing around into the doorway, rifle cradled, finger on the trigger, Cotton shot him in the upper chest. The round thudded into flesh and the body fell backward into the hall, not moving.
Cotton wasted no time and headed for it, retrieving the automatic rifle to ready himself for the second attacker.
The woman. He hoped someone heard the shot and called the police. His gun was not sound-suppressed.
The back door opened, then closed.
Careful. That could be a trap too.
He dropped low to the ground and worked his way down the partially lit corridor. All quiet. He kept going, passing the other offices, then the conference room, and finally the last turn toward the rear door.
No one in sight.
But if the woman was anywhere, she was around that corner.
He made his way to the edge and pushed the short barrel of the rifle past in the hope of enticing a response. Nothing happened. Okay. No choice. He snuck a quick peek. The corridor was empty. He rushed to the rear exit and slowly opened the door.
An engine roared to life.
On the other side of the building.
He turned and hustled back toward the front of the building.
Outside he spotted the lights on a pale-colored Volvo speeding away.
Was it the same one that had tried to kill him and Stephanie?
He could not allow that car to flee. Something he recalled seeing earlier sprang to life inside his brain.
He darted toward the conference room, grabbed a set of car keys off the table, and returned to the front door.
Outside he hit the remote’s lock button.
Lights flashed on a dark BMW.
He climbed inside and laid the rifle on the passenger seat. Elmore’s pistol was tucked inside his belt in front.
He fired up the engine.
And raced off.