Firewall (3 page)

Immediately to my right, behind a dark wood-paneled wall, was the Baltic Bar. To my left, efficient-looking bellboys were buzzing around a sprinkling of sofas, chairs, and coffee tables. The lighting was subdued. I wished I'd just dropped in for a drink.

I headed for one of the sofas, sitting down so that I was facing the Japanese confusion at reception to my half right, with the hallway to the right of that, and the brass-effect elevator doors in view. Like me, Nightmare and Carpenter had placed themselves out of sight of the video cameras that were covering the reception desk. I sat, spread out the Trib on the coffee table, unbuttoned my overcoat and waited for the convoy of Meres to arrive.

It was pointless worrying about anything now. There is only so much training and planning that can be done. I used to get worried when this feeling came over me, but now I understood it. Basically, I accepted that I was going to die, and anything beyond that was a bonus.

2

The Japanese weren't at all happy, and they didn't care who knew it.

There must have been about twenty of them, all with video cameras round their necks.

Three minutes later the headlights of the three Meres raked the ground-floor windows. Jesse and Frank should have pulled up just short of the semicircular driveway where they'd be standing by. Sergei would be waiting to block their front.

I waited for the inside set of sliding doors to open, keeping my head down, concentrating hard on my newspaper.

In came the BGs. Two pairs of shiny Italian shoes and expensive black cashmere overcoats over black pants.

You always avoid eye contact, because they'll be looking for it. If your eyes lock you're fucked; they'll know you aren't there to talk about the beef ban.

I watched the two sets of heels make their way over to the far right of the foyer. They paused by the brass elevator doors, now and again shielded by the Japanese as they went in pursuit of one very hassled hotel rep.

The middle door slid open with a gentle ping. The shoes went in, and two more sets of shoes were refused entry. The doors closed and the indicator light stopped at the Ambassador Suite. They were going to meet up with the other two BGs who were already with Valentin, their principal, my target. My money.

I got up, folding the Trib into my coat pocket, and started to walk toward the main doors. As I moved past them, toward the leather-boothed, dark-wood Baltic Bar, I could see three very clean black Meres on the other side of the glass, exhaust fumes condensing in the cold air, each with a driver waiting patiently at the wheel.

The bar was half full and not very smoky, considering the number of cigarettes I could see on the go. There were quite a few laptops open, and there was a general hubbub as suits talked shop over a beer or into their cell phones.

Unbuttoning my suit jacket as I walked, but keeping my overcoat on to conceal the body armor, I made my way around tables and leather chesterfields toward the far door.

I seated myself where I could see down the corridor to the three elevator doors, set back slightly in the right-hand wall. Beyond them, and just out of sight, were the reception and foyer. At the other end of the hallway, Carpenter and Nightmare should be in position in the coffee area of the restaurant, with a clear view all the way down to the foyer. Under the table I pulled at my right glove and eased my index finger through the cut in the leather.

Five long minutes went by as elevators came and went, but Val still hadn't made an appearance. Two middle-aged couples emerged from the center lift, dressed in furs and dinner jackets, looking as if they, too, were going to the theater. It was now that I started to worry.

The calm was over and the storm was about to begin. My heart was pumping big time. My body armor was wet with sweat and my shirt collar was soaking it up from the back of my neck. Any minute now someone was going to ask me if I was ill, I was sure of it. Mentally I was still the same, but my body was telling me something different.

About twenty seconds later there was another pmg. The two pairs of expensive Italian shoes emerged from the right-hand elevator and stopped in the corridor for a second or two, each pair facing in a different direction. The overcoat of the BG facing toward me swirled open as he turned, then both moved toward the foyer, disappearing from view as quickly as they'd arrived. I knew their jackets and overcoats would be like mine, open to access their weapons.

I moved my hand into my inside jacket pocket and gave the Motorola six clicks on the send button, hearing the squelch in my earpiece each time. Val would be down any minute now.

Sergei, Jesse, and Frank would now know that the target and BGs were heading toward them. The two pairs of shoes were going to secure the foyer, probably by the main doors. It wouldn't be long now before everything kicked off and the Japanese would really have something to complain about.

Whatever these two BGs did, we had them covered. If they stayed inside, it was Nightmare's and Carpenter's job to take them on once they'd sorted out the BGs immediately around Val. Outside, it was down to the other three.

We all waited, and I sweated as people around me laughed, hit keyboards, and talked between mouthfuls of alcohol.

There was a ping from the far-right elevator. Another two pairs of black patent-leather shoes, dress-suit trousers complete with silk stripe under black overcoats. They stepped out on either side of a light-gray cashmere coat and the smartest pants of all, followed by a pair of very long, slim, well-toned, black-stockinged calves topped off with the world's most luxurious mink. Val's woman, keeping him warm on those long lonely nights away from his family.

I had to be careful. There was always the possibility of someone you overlook during surveillance-the one who looks like the brother-in-law or secretary. Then, when you hit the target, they can prove very dangerous indeed. But not this one; she was definitely not part of the BG setup.

They had turned right out of the elevator without hesitating. I stood up slowly, waiting for my cue.

I caught Carpenter's scary, dancing eye as he and Nightmare crossed the doorway, moving right to left, matching the purposeful strides of the BGs.

We'd rehearsed what was supposed to happen next so many times. It had to work; there was no stopping this now.

I turned left out of the door and fell in behind them as they drew their suppressed weapons.

About fifteen feet ahead of us, the backs and very wide shoulders of the BG pair flanked Val and the woman as they moved toward the Japanese-filled foyer. We needed to close in on them fast, while they were still in the confines of the hallway. Once out in the foyer the rest of Val's team would be able to see what was about to happen before the 4x4s could get into position.

Ten more feet before we were on top of them. There was another pmg, then a bright light from an elevator interior as the doors opened and a middle-aged couple began to step out between us and the target.

I moved to push them back. This was a contingency I had rehearsed with them many times. As I did so, Carpenter's right hand came up.

Without taking his eyes off Val, he fired three or four suppressed rounds into the couple as he passed. I could hear the top slide on his weapon working back and forth inches from my face and the dull thud of the rounds exiting the barrel. Shit, her scream had turned the job noisy and we hadn't even taken out the BGs.

The couple fell back into the elevator, the woman taking all the rounds, her white silk blouse red with blood. Fuck this guy; slotting players was one thing, but real people meant big trouble.

The two BGs turned and started to draw down their weapons, but Carpenter and Nightmare had closed the gap and gave them both two rounds in the head from less than a foot away. They dropped without a sound.

Nobody in the vicinity had noticed anything yet-they were too busy doing their own stuff-but they soon would.

As the BGs dropped, Carpenter should have moved on, but he continued firing down at the bodies. The BGs were dead. He was wasting time.

Behind me, the man in the elevator cried out as he cradled his dying wife.

I saw Carpenter's glazed eyes. He was high on whatever it was that he used to get through the long winters. Sergei would be busy tonight if we stayed alive and he stuck to his promise. Fuck it, I'd kill this maniac myself before this got out of control.

Keeping my eyes fixed on Carpenter's head as he fired yet another round into the BG, I shoved my right hand between my jacket and shirt, toward my 88, my left palm pointing toward him, arm bent and ready to receive the weapon that would soon be in my grip The screams from the elevator were now muffled. I wasn't aware of anything else as I concentrated solely on Carpenter's head as he turned to fire into the other body on the floor.

My fingers scraped against the body armor as I leaned forward slightly from the hip and pushed my coat and jacket back as aggressively as I could. The weight of the metal outlets helped me to expose my weapon for the second I needed. Pushing the web of my right hand firmly down into the 88's pistol grip, I closed my lower three fingers and thumb around it as firmly as possible.

Drawing the weapon, I started to insert my glove-free index finger into the trigger guard, making sure I could feel the steel of the trigger on the first pad. I pulled down on the safety catch with my thumb just before Carpenter fired his next round.

There was the glint of brass as the working parts ejected the spent casing between us. As he tried to fire again, I could see the top slide being held back by the locking lever. He had run out of rounds.

Jamming the 88 into my left hand, I punched forward and raised the weapon up, in between my focus on his head, waiting for that nanosecond before the 88 came into view and I acquired the sight picture.

Real life burst into my eardrums once again. It was Nightmare, shouting into his Motorola at the 4x4s to move in on the Meres as he gripped Carpenter's arm, dragging him toward the foyer.

I was now no more than two steps from Val. He was still looking at the bodies on the floor, taking in what he had just seen over the last ten seconds.

He went into survival mode, spinning round and looking back toward the restaurant, thinking that he could make his escape. We had eye-to-eye.

He knew I was coming for him, and he knew it was too late to do much about it.

Everything went into slow motion as I focused completely on his neck.

It was pointless paying attention to anything else around me. There was fuck-all I could do about it.

I was now only one step away. He was expecting to get shot and stood there waiting, accepting. There was nothing he could do. He must have known this would happen one day. I put the crook of my left arm around his neck, still moving forward so it jammed tight against his throat.

He staggered backward as I took another step, forcing his face upward.

I heard him gag. He was only five foot seven, so quite easy to get a grip of. If it had been his companion, I might have had to get on the balls of my feet. The woman in the mink didn't react at all. I expected her to scream, but she just stood off to one side, back to the wall, and watched.

With the pistol in my right hand and still moving, I pushed my right arm behind his neck to complete the head lock, like a wrestler trying to get a better hold of his opponent. At once he started fighting for oxygen; there was no way he wasn't coming with me. There was no need to check him for weapons. He didn't need one tonight; he was a businessman on his way to the theater.

I continued on toward the foyer. Val didn't like what I was doing to him, his back arched to try to take the weight of his body off his neck.

I was in a semi crouched position, so I could carry his weight. I could feel the body armor he was wearing, disguised as an undershirt.

I concentrated on looking where we were going, toward the Russians shouting in the foyer and the suddenly silent Japanese. Nothing else mattered.

Four or five more seconds had elapsed and the people inside the hotel could not only see what had happened, but had had time for it to sink in. It takes a while for a brain not used to processing this sort of information to say, Yep, that's right, there are two dead men on the floor and others with submachine guns shouting and running around the foyer. Then, once one person starts becoming hysterical, they all do.

I turned into the foyer, heading for the exit. Nightmare came into view by the main doors, doing his stuff to one of the BGs, shouting and screaming in Russian and kicking his hands away from his body.

I was sixty-odd feet away from them.

The Japanese followed everyone else's example, running for cover and hiding behind the sofas, dragging their loved ones with them. That was great: The more they panicked the less they saw.

A two-tone alarm started to drown out the screams and I moved as fast as I could.

Nightmare was there, checking my back as he covered the BG. Gripping tight, I pulled Val along. He snorted like a horse, fighting for breath.

Through the windows, the blaze of headlights from the three Meres lit Sergei's 4x4, which had the tailgate open, waiting for me and Val.

Beyond the Meres' roofs, I could see Jesse and Frank, AK butts unfolded and in the shoulder, muzzles pointing at the ground. Val's three drivers had already been dragged out of their seats and were face down on the pavement.

Carpenter was to the left of the convoy. He, too, had his weapon pointing down. He must have been covering the other BG. All three were blowing out steam like kettles.

Sergei would be in the wagon, waiting for me to get out of this lunatic asylum.

With thirty feet to go, World War Three broke out. I heard a series of short bursts from a 9mm, the muzzle flashes bouncing off the windows like flashbulbs. It was Carpenter, giving the BG the best part of a mag. Then the shots were drowned out by the screaming in the foyer. It was like the sinking of the Titanic.

I couldn't believe it. More muzzle flashes lit up the darkness outside, the heavier 7.62 reports from Jesse and Frank echoing through the building. The drivers must have gone for their weapons, thinking they were next. Nightmare was frozen to the spot, shaking with fear as he stood over the last BG. He stared at me, waiting for direction.