Chapter 1 #3
Taking the third pen, Saul centered himself, mentally reminded himself of the layout of the room, then flicked on the powerful, thin-beamed torch.
As he’d expected, Jimenez’s remaining thug was stupid enough that he spun around and tracked the beam where it landed on the opposite wall, allowing Saul to silently throw the knife with deadly aim, and dive for a new position, closer to the door, before Eduardo placed him.
Almost there!
Jimenez wasn’t quite as stupid as his hired mercenaries, but the guy going down had pushed him off balance, and Saul needed to capitalize on that diversion.
Barely waiting a few seconds, he sprinted for the door, switching on the torch once more, this time in the hope of blinding his opponent while he took his single shot.
Jimenez went down, but Saul had no time to check whether any of the three men were dead or simply wounded.
He grabbed the handle, wrenched open the door, and found out the answer to that question the hard way when an excruciating shard of pain in his left shoulder propelled him through the door where the light beyond had obviously made him an easy target.
Stumbling wildly, Saul managed to slam the door closed behind him, and somehow stay upright, despite the agony.
He took off at a run, thankful the hallway was still empty.
Having used up all his tricks, he had nothing left to fight with but his wits, and right now, even those were overwhelmed by the trauma that had been inflicted upon him.
He lurched out of the security door he’d wedged ajar, and at least still had the presence of mind to kick the bag stopping it from closing out of the way so it swung shut, effectively creating another barrier between him and the man who was out to kill him.
Hopefully, it would give him a few more seconds.
Saul didn’t waste time looking over his shoulder to see if he was being pursued.
There was nothing he could do but flee at this moment in time, and he automatically turned into the stairwell to make his descent from the tall building.
Sweat popped out on his forehead, and he became aware of the blood that had started dripping from his useless, dangling arm, giving him away.
Heading into the unsecured floor below, he laid a false trail, allowing the blood to drip to the threshold of a locked room before he pulled out his pocket handkerchief and pressed it to the gunshot wound.
Gritting his teeth and wincing against the pain, he grasped his arm - which didn’t want to comply with his demands without help - with his good hand.
Tucking it crudely inside the placket of his jacket had the effect of stopping the blood drip - for a while at least. Until it eventually seeped through both the hanky and the fabric at his elbow.
But hopefully, by then, Saul would have created enough distance that anyone following wouldn’t be so quick to pick up his trail.
Knowing he wouldn’t be able to physically manage to walk all the way down the stairs to ground level in his current state, Saul headed for the lifts. They’d undoubtedly have cameras, but he’d regulate the amount of time he spent in one before he got out and created another diversion.
For a while, Saul operated like an automaton. If his life had depended on providing an accurate report on his movements, he’d be dead, because when he finally found himself in the sultry evening air outside the building, he couldn’t entirely recall how he’d gotten there.
Not a good sign.
His shoulder throbbed like a bitch as he staggered across the road to the hotel where his helicopter was located, but he still had the wherewithal to use the concealed side entrance instead of walking in through the lobby. Fuck! Could he fly the damn thing in this condition?
It didn’t matter… if he didn’t get out of here, pronto, he wouldn’t live to tell the tale.
That knowledge was a huge motivator, and currently he was still running on adrenaline.
Already he was aware of a commotion coming from the building he’d just vacated.
It wouldn’t be long before they spilled onto the street in pursuit.
Since his energy was waning, he chanced the elevator, thankful to find it empty, then pushed himself up the final staircase to the roof.
As he exited, relief filled him at the familiar whirring sound of rotor blades.
The concierge had come through, and his escape ride was ready to go. Saul had never been more grateful.
Bending at the waist, he ducked his head and shuffled to the matt black chopper, profusely thanking the man who stood there. He’d have slipped him a couple of extra notes, but for the fact his billfold had been taken. Instead, he remembered the bag of casino tokens he still had in his pocket.
“Here,” he said, handing them to the guy. “I don’t have any cash on me, but perhaps luck will shine on you.”
The man peered into the bag and gave him a toothy grin. “Gracias, se?or,” he replied with a two-fingered salute as he backed away from the bird. With a final wave, Saul climbed into the cockpit, all but exhausted and prayed, for the second time that day, that he’d manage to get away.