His hand in his pants pocket twitched, not like he was adjusting his dick, but like he was clicking something.
Flicka said to Dieter, “He has something in his pocket.”
Dieter drew his handgun from the holster and moved his leg back, glaring over the sights at Quentinand Pierre. Dieter and Friedhelm Vonlanthen closed ranks in front of her, shielding her as they pointed their guns at Pierre, but she craned her neck to see between them.
The rest of theWelfenlegionand Rogue Security guys aimed their sidearms at Quentin and Pierre.
The police drew their guns and scattered to the furniture, aiming around the chairs.
Dieter shouted at Pierre, “Throw it on thefloor,now!”
Pierre saw Flicka peeking through her guards, looked right at her, and smiled.
The distinctive throb of a hovering helicopter thrummed through the room.
The tall windows on their left exploded inward, spraying the room with shattered glass.
Flicka covered her head as cutting shards showered them.
Her bodyguards pounced on her, forming a tight shell around her.
“Get off!” Shemanaged to look through shifting gaps in the arms and bodies surrounding her as they leaned over the chair where she sat.
Men in riot gear swung from ropes through the jagged glass and into the room.
TheWelfenlegionand Rogues already had their weapons at the ready, while the invaders were hanging onto their ropes with both hands, even though their hands should have been free because they werewearing harnesses and rappelling gear.
Dieter yelled, “Hands up!Hands up!”and moved toward the Monegasque commandos.
The German police had their weapons clutched in front of themselves, too, and were yelling the same thing in three different languages.
Pierre yelled, “They’re with me! They’re mine!”
One police officer spun and held her gun outstretched at him. “You donotbring a foreignarmy to German soil and invade a German historical landmark!Hands up!”
Pierre raised his hands, his dark eyes wide.
Flicka pushed Luca Wyss off of herself despite his protesting,“Your Highness!”as she shoved. She yelled, “Weapons down! Everyone, right now! Lower your weapons!”
When Luca finally, grudgingly, shifted aside and let her stand up, she surveyed the silent situation from insideher fence of strong, male bodies.
More than twenty people were aiming weapons at each other in a crazy crossfire, their wild eyes gauging the intent of the person they were covering and the people with guns trained at them. Their chests rose and fell under their shirts or body armor as they sucked air and whooshed it out, adrenaline hyping them as they fought to assess whether they were aboutto die in a maelstrom of bullets. Their fingers squeezed the guns’ triggers, some half-pulled, almost to the breakpoint.
To her left, Dieter had his gun centered on Pierre’s face, his head tilted as he glared over the sights. The heavy muscles in his forearms bulged as he squeezed the grip.
Quentin Sault aimed his weapon straight at Dieter, his jaw clenched and his mouth set in a grim line.
TheWelfenlegionaimed at the Monegasques, the Rogues aimed at the police, the police aimed at the invaders, and the Monegasques aimed at everybody.
If any one person shot another, everyone in that room was going to die.
“Okay,” Flicka said, keeping her voice low and calm, speaking in German, “Fingers off your triggers, and everybody except the police will lower their weapons when I say three.”
She repeated it in the Monegasque language and then counted to three in English, holding up her fingers as she counted.
Around her, the bodyguards and commandos gingerly lowered their weapons, flinching as they watched to make sure everyone else followed suit.
Dieter and Quentin both allowed their weapons to drift down, but they still stared at each other.
