Runes and Fenrir.
The motel has become a warzone, and we're winning.
Room 8 is at the far end of the building.
Corner unit.
Easier to defend.
Harder to escape from.
The room of a man who thinks he's untouchable.
By the time Tor and I reach it, Fenrir and Runes are already in position.
Hakon and Ulf come up behind us.
"He's inside," Fenrir says quietly. "Curtains are drawn. No visual."
"How many with him?"
"Unknown."
I check my magazine.
Still half full.
Enough.
"On three," Fenrir says. "One. Two. Three."
Runes kicks the door.
It splinters off its hinges and crashes inward.
We pour through like a flood.
Two guards are inside, both reaching for weapons, but they’re both too slow.
Both go down before they can raise their guns.
And there, in the corner, trying to climb out the bathroom window?—
Eddie Womack.
Middle-aged.
Soft around the middle.
Balding, with a comb-over that's failing miserably.
The kind of guy you'd pass on the street without a second glance.
The kind of guy who blends into a crowd.
The kind of guy who runs an operation that destroys children's lives.
Fenrir grabs him by the collar, drags him back into the room, throws him on the floor. "Going somewhere?"
