The hallway is a burning wreck. It’s pure carnage. Bodies are scattered all over. Limbs, burned torsos, shredded faces. So much blood it’s hard to imagine. That’s what happens when grenades go off in tight confines. All that energy goes straight into the closest bodies.
I have to shoot my way forward. There are more soldiers in the thickening smoke. They’re hacking and screaming, some in pain from the fire, some in confusion. My goggles help filter some of the smoke and my mask makes breathing possible. I keep shooting as I move steadily forward, counting the doors as I go, getting deeper and deeper into the second floor.
Ahead, I spot a small knot of men. They’re better armed and equipped than the first wave, and they’re not panicking. I pause, hiding against the wall, and watch them until a man steps out of a room behind them.
Isak Vural.
He’s wearing sunglasses and has a rag shoved against his face. He’s got a briefcase clutched in one hand. There’s no doubt in my mind what’s inside.
I throw myself to the floor, down beneath the smoke, and start firing.
I catch the guards by surprise. Their legs aren’t well armored, and I manage to mow down three. The wounded fall, their shins, knees, and ankles shredded by bullets, turned to pulp and meat. They scream, knocking into their friends, as I roll to the side. I barely avoid the return fire. I look around for cover, but there’s nothing—I’m caught out in the open?—
When more figures appear in the gloom. It’s Prime and his squad. They hit Vural’s men from the side, killing two more guards, but taking some casualties of their own.
Vural doesn’t hesitate. He sprints away from Prime, leaping over bodies and into the fire. I try to chase, but my leg’s killing me. There’s so much pain I can barely think straight. The flames are everywhere, the heat oppressive, and I struggle to keep up. Vural reaches the end of the hallway, turns right, and makes for the elevators.
“You’re pinned in,” I yell, staggering up against the wall, teeth gritted in agony. “There’s nowhere to go.”
“Do you have any idea what you’re doing here? You’re burning down an entire fucking hotel.”
“Give me the book, Vural.”
He laughs wildly, looking around in a panic. “I’d rather die.”
Flames roar around him. The fire’s getting closer. He jabs at the call button, but I can’t wait around to let my men downstairs take him.
Vural’s mine. I have to end this now.
I throw myself forward into the fire. My skin bubbles and screams in pain as I stagger at Vural, roaring like a madman. He pulls a pistol, aims at my chest, and fires.
It’s like getting hit by a dump truck. More pain fills my body like lightning. I keep going, more by momentum now than anything else, and slam right into Vural, knocking him over. We fall to the floor in a tangle of struggling limbs.
“You never—should’ve come—here.” I rip a knife from the sheath at my hip and jam the blade down into Vural’s shoulder, pinning him to the floor. He screams as blood wells around the pommel.
“That book’s mine by rights!” He snarls, kicking and punching. I eat the pain. I take the blow. I lean into the knife, driving it deeper.
“It was never yours.”
“He sold it to me! That Italian bastard!” Vural’s eyes are wild and filled with hate as I rip the knife from his shoulder. “It was supposed to be mine!”
And it finally clicks. That’s how he knows about it. That’s why he’s here.
Vural waited for my father to die before making his move. Because Bryan had stolen the book and was planning on selling it to the Turks all those years earlier.
Funny how the past comes back to haunt you.
I slam the knife into his heart. This time, I don’t mess around. He stiffens, legs kicking, the anger gone now, replaced by pure fear. I dig it in, twisting, cutting veins, muscle, tissue, so much blood pumping from the wound. I wrench it back and he gasps, flailing, but his strength is gone.
I’m drenched in his blood. It starts to sizzle in the heat as Isak Vural dies beneath me.
I grab the suitcase, flip it open, and let out a groan of relief.
The Black Book.
The cover is black, aged leather. The pages are thin and crinkly. Inside, names, dates, numbers, and paragraphs of information are written in different tight, neat scripts. This Book has been updated by my family for generations now.
And it’s finally mine again.
