“Faduma, I’ve found him and it’s not good. If you come in here, prepare yourself,” I said. Moments later she hurried in and joined me.
“Oh my God,” she exclaimed. “Poor man.”
“We need to call—” I began, but cut myself off when I noticed a red target marker appear on the back of her head.
“Down!” I yelled, grabbing her and pushing her to the floor.
CHAPTER66
THERE WAS THE quietest of cracks and the tinkling of shattering glass. The bullet hit one of the mirrored closet doors roughly where Faduma had been standing the instant before. The glass shattered into a spider’s web of broken pieces.
“Is someone shooting at us?” she asked in disbelief.
“Stay here,” I said, before crawling round the bed that gave us both cover.
I pulled myself along on my forearms, just as I had many years before, crawling through mud during my Marine Corps training, and reached the window. I glanced over the lip of the sill and saw the unmistakable shape of a suppressed sniper’s rifle in the hands of a man leaning over the balustrade on the roof of the building opposite. He was scouring the windows of the apartment for any sign of us. He spotted me and let fly a couplerounds. The bullets punched holes in the window as I ducked down. They thudded into the side of the bed.
“Count to fifty and then stand up,” I said to Faduma. “And immediately duck down again.”
She glanced over the bed at me and nodded before disappearing from view.
I crawled out of the bedroom. When I was safely in the corridor, out of sight, I got to my feet and started running.
I sprinted through the front door, along the corridor, and bounded down the stairs. I flew through the lobby and burst into the street just in time to see two flashes above me as the shooter took aim at Faduma and opened fire.
With his attention on her, I ran across the street to the entrance of the building opposite; a modern cream-rendered block. The main entrance was locked, so I pressed all the buzzers. When someone answered, I said, “DHL,” and was buzzed in.
I ran across a black-and-white marble checkerboard floor to a bank of three elevators and pressed the call button. The doors of the car on my left slid open and I raced inside and pushed the button for the top floor, number four.
The elevator rose too slowly for someone hunting their would-be killer, but I took the opportunity to steady my breath and was ready the moment the doors opened. I ran into a corridor, headed for the fire door on my right, and burst into a concrete stairwell. I sprinted up, taking the steps three at a time, and reached the roof in moments.
Breathing heavily, I paused to listen at the door. Based on my rough grasp of the building’s layout, I had worked out that accessopened to the rear of the roof. I pushed the bar and eased the door wide, before stepping carefully through the gap.
I closed the door silently behind me and edged round the stairwell structure until I reached the corner. I craned my neck to see the shooter leaning over the balustrade at the front of the building. He had his back to me and was some forty feet away. Not far, but a huge gulf for an unarmed man to cross. My only hope was surprise, and that I’d get sufficiently close to make the long-barreled gun impossible to use.
I crept forward and made it halfway across when the sound of gravel grinding beneath my feet gave me away.
He turned and I recognized him as one of the many hostile bikers I’d escaped from at the Inferno Bar. He was undoubtedly a member of the Dark Fates, sent by Milan Verde to kill us. He had a scar over one eye that ran down his left cheek, close-cut black hair and a scowl that would have made the devil blush.
I sprinted toward him as the shock of seeing me faded and he swung the rifle round.
I dodged the first shot and made it to within striking distance. I parried the gun, sending the second shot wide, and moved in, hurling punches at him. He staggered back, reeling, but quickly recovered. As I came in again, he drove the stock of the rifle into my face, dazing me. I lashed out instinctively and connected with something soft, his neck maybe.
I heard a clatter and as my vision returned, saw the rifle abandoned on the rooftop. I glanced over at the stairwell to see the shooter sprint out of sight.
With my adrenaline reaching fever level, I raced after him.
CHAPTER67
THE SHOOTER WAS a blur of black jeans and dark gray T-shirt as he ran down the stairs. I followed him, bounding and bouncing off the walls, closing the gap, but saw him fumbling with his waistband and pressed back away from the guardrail when I realized he had a pistol. He waved it in my direction and fired two shots that sounded like thundercracks in the enclosed stairwell.
Being at the wrong end of a gun slowed me down. I hugged the wall as I followed him. He reached the ground floor, ran through the stairwell door and I followed, only to be confronted by the barrel of his gun.
He’d ambushed me.
I knew the advantage would play to him if I lost momentum, so I ducked as he fired, ignored the loud gunshot and the ringing in my ears, grabbed his outstretched arm and twisted it up and inward, applying enough pressure to break it. He reacted beforethe bone cracked, cried out, dropped the gun, kneed me in the gut, and wriggled free. Winded, I picked up the pistol and sucked in breath as I ran after him.
He sprinted onto the street and waved down a car, which screeched to a halt as he stepped in front of it. He pulled the unwitting driver, a terrified woman in her fifties, from her seat and jumped into the Alfa Romeo Giulia.
