The man looked to be in his mid-to-late thirties, with clean-shaven face and a hairless head that reflected the ceiling lights in the suite. At five-nine or five-ten, he had a slim build. His eyes were framed in prescription glasses, but it was the man’s bright turquoise eyes that stood out the most.
Gotta be tinted lenses.
Without checking in with the head staffer, the employee stared piling the discarded plates, silverware, and glasses onto the empty cart. Teddy scanned for a name tag, but he wasn’t wearing one. Every other server wore one from a lanyard dangling from his or her neck.
After pulling up a photo of Haqazzii on his phone, Teddy compared the two men. Muhammad Haqazzii had short dark hair, dark eyes, a full beard and mustache, but no glasses.
There was something compelling about the man that had adrenaline pumping through him.
Go check him out.
When the man turned, he locked eyes with Teddy, then reached down. As soon as the butt of a semi-automatic rifle came into view, Teddy grabbed his Glock, aimed, and opened fire.
BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG!
In a swoop of action, Secret Service rushed around the President and his family, shielding them with their bodies. The shots rang out so loudly, guests and waitstaff screamed or hit the floor. Teddy bolted around everyone, eyes on his target, now on the floor.
“Shots fired,” Teddy said calmly into the comm. “Gunman down in Presidential Suite.”
The door to the suite burst open, Greystone rushed inside. He eyed the body before jumping his attention to Teddy.
“We have to get the President and his family out,” said a Secret Service agent.
“No one leaves,” Teddy said. “You’re safer in here until the area has been swept for explosives.”
“You hit?” Greystone asked him.
“No, just the gunman,” Teddy replied.
Greystone felt the fallen man’s carotid, but Teddy knew he was gone. The mission he’d been tasked to complete had beenaccomplished, but the blood was still rushing through his veins at a maddening pace.
Greystone stood. “Who is that?”
“Muhammad Haqazzii,” Teddy replied.
Up went Greystone’s eyebrows. “Him?”
“Yeah, him.”
“Jesus,” Greystone bit out.
“Yeah,” Teddy replied.
The President’s youngest son squeezed through the agents and ran toward Teddy. He holstered his Glock before scooping the youngster into his arms.
“You okay, bud?” Teddy asked the child.
The screaming had subsided, and the shocked group stared at him while Secret Service tried ushering the President past him.
“No,” Teddy said. “The President can’t leave until the area has been swept for explosives.”
Teddy tapped the comm. “Sydney.”
“I’m here,” she replied.
“Haqazzii got into the suite. He’s down.”
“Nice work, boss,” she said, her calm voice a godsend as the reality of the situation came crashing down on him.
