top of his lungs, “Drop it, asshole!”
The would-be assassin’s own weapon began to rise, but he seemed to realize he had no chance against two shooters.
He lowered his gun, and Court moved quickly between him and Zoya, who was now behind Court in the corner of the room. He was covering her with his body, and he was also preventing her from taking a clean shot.
He shouted to her, “Don’t shoot! Don’t shoot!”
“Why not?” Zoya asked breathlessly, the fight with the big older man having left her utterly wasted.
“Overpenetration.” The room on the other side of the wall behind the man was where the family of six were staying. He said, “I’ll fire if he poses a threat.”
The surviving would-be assassin slicked back hair that had fallen in his face with his free hand. He dropped his gun to the ground, then looked up and smiled at the pair of armed opponents in front of him.
Zoya shouted, “Move! I’m shooting this bastard anyway!”
“No!” Court said. “We’ve got him. Where’s he gonna go?” Court asked.
“Yes,” the man said in panting English. “Where . . . can I . . . possibly . . . go?”
The only sound for a moment was the heavy breathing of the three people left alive, but quickly, with a continued smile towards both Court and Zoya, the man in the server’s coat turned to the open window, and then he rushed forward.
He dove out, headfirst, over the railing, making not a sound as he did so.
Zoya’s fourth-floor suite was five stories above the street.
“What . . . the . . . fuck?” Zoya muttered.
Court dropped back on his butt on the floor in utter exhaustion, sitting down on the eggs and blood smeared all around. He lowered his pistol as he did so. “I didn’t see that coming.”
Zoya moved to him, but she kept her weapon trained on the door to the hallway. “There’s at least one more of them out there, somewhere.”
Court blew out an exasperated sigh and hefted his own weapon with his bloody right arm, and he fell down onto his left elbow; the rapid onset of the fatigue in his body made him worry he was about to faint. “Shit.”
* * *
• • •
Inna Sorokina couldn’t believe what she’d just seen on the monitor from her suite up the hall. Maksim had taken a nose dive out of the building. Quickly she shouted an order through her earpiece to Anya, who was moments away from entering the fray.
“Hold! Come back here.”
“I’m at the door, I can—”
“Sem and Maksim are dead. Both hostiles have the door covered. Return.”
And with that Inna pulled off her headset and quickly slammed the laptops shut, then shoved them in the two backpacks remaining in the room.
When Anya made it back up the hall, Inna met her at the door and handed her one of the packs. Anya slipped her Grach pistol into it, and the two women headed for the nearby stairwell. Along the way, Inna pulled the fire alarm, hoping the two of them could blend in with the crowd of evacuees and escape.
* * *
• • •
Zoya crawled over to Court and hugged him with the arm that wasn’t holding the SIG pistol on the door. “What’s wrong? Are you hurt?” she asked, clearly seeing his utter exhaustion.
“Not . . . not too bad . . . you?”
She looked down at herself. Her bloody nose had soiled her torn white blouse, she was covered in jelly that had broken from a jar, coffee and juice dripped off her, and bits of egg covered her arms. But she appeared to be otherwise fine. She said, “We have to get out of here, fast.”
Court looked at the window the man had just flung himself out of, and he said, “Quickest way’s not always the best way.”
She helped him up to his feet, saw the blood running from his arm. “Tie that off. I’ll fix it when we’re clear.”
It took less than a minute for Zoya to change into a black turtleneck and to throw her important belongings into a bag, while Court used the time to stagger into the bathroom and cinch a hand towel around his injury with the belt from Zoya’s bathrobe. Soon the two of them moved carefully into the hallway. The space was already full of people, all of whom, they assumed, had heard the gunfire, but Court and Zoya were banking on the confusion buying them the time they needed to get