Black Flagged Apex

Chapter 35





8:22 PM

Ritz Carlton Hotel-Buckhead

Atlanta, Georgia



Daniel stood to greet his guest. He wished their first meeting could be under different circumstances, given the debt he owed the young man. He took Enrique Melendez's hand and pulled him in for a man hug and a pat on the back, which was a stretch for Daniel. He'd never been an expressive kind of guy. He glanced briefly at Jessica over Melendez's shoulder, noting that she remained focused on the Cosmopolitan in her hand, still paying little attention to the man sitting next to her at the bar.

Jessica had kept the seat available for Benjamin Young's arrival, which had been no easy feat on a Friday night in Buckhead. The swank Lobby Bar at the Ritz Carlton proved to be a popular destination for the affluent, after work crowd, which hung around sipping cocktails well past the dinner hour. Gradually, the expensive suits and slacks surrendered to country club chic, replete with muted pastel blazers, tailored dress shirts, tight cocktail dresses, and more wheat-toned gabardine than he'd ever seen in one place.

Young arrived at 7:45, and Jessica lifted her Chanel 2.55 black lambskin bag from the seat as he approached the bar. He took the bait and ordered a scotch served neat, cordially confirming with her that the seat was still available. Daniel had noticed that Young's eyes had followed the handbag. He was impeccably dressed in an expensively cut navy blue suit, with white dress shirt and gray tie. It was easy to tell that he appreciated fine goods and the people that chose them. A faded pink pocket square peeked out of his jacket's left breast pocket at the requisite half-inch height. Thick brown hair, tan skin, chiseled features, blue eyes—he looked like a Brooks Brothers model.

He took notice of Jessica immediately, but didn't initiate any contact. Likewise, Jessica didn't invite any additional attention at first, wanting to let his situation simmer for a little longer. As the eight o'clock hour passed, and Young started to fidget, she began to exchange glances with him. His "date" hadn't arrived, which heightened his anxiety. He touched his nose several times, indicating his need for a little nose candy booster.

Daniel was amazed to see how quickly Benjamin Young unraveled, as the prospect of being stood up by a prostitute became more likely.

"Good to see you again, my friend," he said, releasing Melendez and putting a hand on the chair meant for him.

He had selected a table at the back of the lobby, giving away two of the four chairs to an ever-expanding group of well-groomed men at the table next to them. The remaining chairs were arranged behind the table to give them both a full view of the Lobby Bar, which would be a necessity given the number of people pouring into the tight room. By 7:55, it had become standing room only, and he couldn't keep an eye on Jessica without moving his head in an obvious manner. Given the recent arrival of two men, who had taken an obvious interest in Benjamin Young, he couldn't afford to tip his hand here in the bar.

"Likewise. Young's eight o'clock appointment is taking a nap in the parking garage. We're clear for at least three hours. Here's her phone," Melendez said.

The stocky Latino took his seat and casually scanned the room, signaling for the cocktail waitress two tables away. Daniel's anxiety level dropped a few notches with Melendez at the table. He'd been nervous using Jessica like this. True America wanted Benjamin Young off the street sooner than later, a fact reinforced by the quick replacement of the original assassination team. The two men standing at the end of the wide, mahogany bar gave away their intentions as soon as they arrived. Sipping club sodas, the two had spent the last twenty-five minutes stealing impatient glances at Young.

Their tradecraft skills were nonexistent, which signified that they were either operating well out of their comfort zone or that they had never been trained for the more subtle aspects of their work. Either scenario worried Daniel. A combination of the two terrified him. There was little doubt that "Ben and Jerry" had been given orders to kill the man sitting less than six inches from Jessica. The hazard lay in their interpretation of the orders and their professionalism. Had they read the situation correctly and realized that he'd be headed up to his room shortly? Would they panic when his escort failed to show and try to kill him in the bar? Daniel wished Jessica would double her efforts. Based on the increasing severity of their facial expressions, he calculated that Ben and Jerry would make a bad decision within the next ten minutes, maybe sooner.

He saw Jessica lean over and say something to Young. Finally. She could read the situation better than any of them. If he knew Jessica, they'd be out of there shortly. Daniel smiled and faked a quiet laugh, turning to Melendez.

"Time to send Young a text from Natasha's phone. Type this…ready?"

Melendez pulled the phone out of his blazer and held it under the table. "Shoot."

"Something came up. Sorry. Will call later," Daniel dictated.

"That's it?"

"That's it. The message should frustrate him enough to turn all of his attention to Jess."

"Sending," Melendez said.

Daniel watched Young shake his head upon reading the message. Jessica immediately leaned in and said something, which caused Young to put the phone down on the bar and engage her in conversation. It looked like their mark had conveniently forgotten all about Natasha. Jessica could have that effect on men. He noticed that she had started to touch the bottom of her nose like Young. She was definitely expediting the process. Daniel took a sip of his vodka martini and shifted his gaze to Ben and Jerry, who looked even edgier than before. The mystery text had probably shaved three minutes off their bad decision timeline.

"She'd better hurry this up," Petrovich said.

"You got that right. Those two look ready to start shooting," Melendez said.

"If this gets out of hand, grab Young and get him out of the hotel," Daniel said.

"What about you?"

"I have Jessica."

"Got it," Melendez said.

"We'll get a real drink when this is over. I owe you my firstborn. I'll never forget what the two of you did for her," Daniel said.

"As long as the kid comes with a return option. F*cking scary concept, the two of you having kids," Melendez said, and they both laughed for real, though it was short lived.

Jessica moved her purse, and Benjamin Young put his cell phone away. A few seconds later, Jessica swirled her index finger around the rim of her half-finished cosmopolitan and removed the maraschino cherry inside. She slipped the cherry in her mouth, sensuously pulling the stainless steel pick clear of her lips.

"Time to move," Daniel said and placed a pair of twenty-dollar bills on the table.

The cherry trick was their prearranged sign that departure was imminent.

"Are you sure you want to work it this way?" Melendez asked.

"Yeah. I'll babysit them on the way up. Get going," Daniel said.

"All right. See you upstairs," Melendez said and walked through the bar to the lobby.

The plan was simple, but required careful timing. Melendez would leave the bar a minute before Jessica and their mark, taking the elevator directly to the eighteenth floor. He'd join Munoz in the room across from Benjamin Young's suite and wait. Munoz had been watching the suite most of the afternoon, making sure that Young didn't have any uninvited guests. He'd sent Daniel a text message indicating that nobody had approached the suite after he left tonight, leaving him relatively confident that the two men standing at the bar comprised the entire team sent to eliminate Young.

Jessica stood first, clutching her purse and making brief eye contact with Daniel. He quickly shifted his eyes to Ben and Jerry, both of whom had placed their drinks on the bar. Jessica walked past Young before he could stand up. She placed herself close to the bar and pulled him to her left side, ensuring that her new friend would walk out of the bar with a human shield as they passed the two men on their right. It would probably be enough to discourage the two men from taking a hasty shot in the bar, but it involved unnecessary risk.

Jessica clung onto Benjamin Young's arm, and they started walking together toward the spacious lobby opening. Daniel watched Ben and Jerry closely, knowing that the two men would be too focused on Young to notice. He rose from the table as the new couple passed the two operatives. Jessica said something to Young as they passed in front of them. Whatever she said seemed to put their countdown on hold. He saw one them place a hand against the other, in a subtle restraining motion. He'd be willing to bet that Jessica made it clear they were headed to Young's room and said it loud enough for the assassins to hear. Still, he wasn't going to rely upon this assessment. They could follow him to the elevator and shoot him as the doors started to close, or take the elevator up with him. He could think of a dozen scenarios, all of which put Jessica right in the line of fire.

One of the men checked his watch and spoke to the other. Daniel couldn't believe it. They were actually timing how long they would wait. At least they had enough sense to avoid a bloodbath in the lobby. He left the bar, trailing his wife at a respectable distance. He decided to ride the elevator up with Ben and Jerry, so he diverted toward the concierge for a few moments. From there, he could watch Jessica and Benjamin Young and make sure the two idiots in the bar didn't change their minds about a public murder. The two men emerged from the bar just as his wife stepped on the elevator ahead of Young. For a brief second, a shiver of panic ran down Daniel's spine.

The two men looked like they might go for Jessica's elevator. Daniel tensed, ready to sprint across the lobby to intercept the men. Ben and Jerry exchanged words and started to walk rapidly toward the elevator bank. Daniel's right hand drifted along his beltline, pushing the bottom of his suit jacket back. He tried to keep the motion subtle, but they weren't making it easy for him. They walked directly at the open door, closing the distance to thirty feet. The door started to move at twenty feet, which still didn't relieve him. One of them could press the "up" button, while the other blasted away into the carriage.

He firmly grasped the polymer grip of his HK USP Compact pistol and loosened it in the concealed holster. He started to edge toward the elevator bank, hoping to close the distance for a more accurate shot. If either of the men glanced in his direction, there would be little doubt about his intentions. The lead operative reached the elevator buttons a few seconds after the door closed. The illuminated numbers above the elevator door had not started moving, and he looked back at his partner, who shook his head. Daniel eased the gun back into the holster and approached the elevators, pulling out his cell phone.

Once the illuminated numbers above Jessica's elevator started moving, the man pressed the elevator button. The closest elevator was on floor three, which should give Jessica enough time to make sure they were in the room before Ben and Jerry appeared on the eighteenth floor. He had no doubt they wouldn't waste any time eliminating Young and any witnesses that could identify them.

He dialed Munoz and waited for the elevator.

"Hey, Jeff. Are the ladies ready for dinner?" Daniel said.

"Yep. We're all set here. Are you on your way up?" Munoz replied.

"I just left the bar. I'll run by the room and grab Jess. See you in a few."

Daniel put the phone in his jacket and nodded cordially at the man who had just stepped away from the glowing elevator button. Instead of returning the nod, the light-haired operative started conversing quietly with the wiry dark-haired man to his left. He watched them while they argued in harsh whispers for several seconds. The dark-haired operative, possibly the leader, ended the argument by telling the blond not to worry. He examined them a moment longer and started to wonder if they had any experience whatsoever with this kind of an operation. The only thing the two of them had going for them as covert operatives was the fact that they were both utterly unremarkable in every way.

It didn't really matter. He could in no way afford to underestimate them, no matter how inept they appeared. He was about to spend nearly a full minute alone with them, packed tightly into an enclosed space. If they were craftier than they appeared, Ben and Jerry might try to kill him in the elevator. Daniel wanted to avoid this at all costs. Skill levels didn't mean much in an elevator.

He followed them into the elevator, moving to the left corner. He pressed the button for the seventeenth floor.

"Which floor?" Daniel asked before the man could press the buttons on the other side of the open door.

"Eighteenth, please," the man with the thick eyebrows said.

Daniel pressed the button and settled in for the ride, avoiding eye contact in accordance with the universal code of elevator conduct. His peripheral vision served as his only early warning system in this enclosed space. Any quick movements from either Ben or Jerry would be met with extreme violence. Both of them stared at the numbers above the elevator console. Within several seconds, the elevator started to slow, arriving at the seventeenth floor. Daniel nodded at them and walked briskly to the right, toward the stairs. When he heard the doors close, he broke into a full sprint for the exit sign thirty feet away down the hallway.


**

Jessica hung on Young's arm as they walked down the hallway to his suite. She couldn't wait to end this deception. Benjamin Young was an arrogant creep. Once in the elevator, he'd cast off any subtlety and began to inquire about her menu of activities. She'd almost broken out of role in the elevator and put a knife to his throat. She was slightly surprised by his quick change of demeanor. Charming and suggestive in the bar, he'd shown the kind of confidence expected from a man receiving flirtatious advances from a beautiful woman. She could have easily lured him upstairs without the overt hints that she was "on the clock," but they didn't have that kind of time.

The two men at the end of the bar smacked of intense desperation and took few measures to conceal their interest in Young. Daniel had locked eyes on them, confirming her suspicion and advancing the timeline. She needed to get Young out of there within the next few minutes. It didn't require a great deal of effort on her part. Young asked her what she was doing in Atlanta, and she told him that she had recently moved down from Raleigh to find new clients. The follow-up question about her clients led to the immediate departure for his suite on the eighteenth floor.

The elevator transformed him into a sex fiend. He put his hands on her thigh, sliding them deep into private territory on both sides of her body. She could feel his hot breath on her neck, as he licked the small of her neck and whispered something about putting his cock somewhere she'd considered permanently off limits. She fought every instinct in her body to keep from tensing, responding with a subtle, sensuous exhale, but nothing more than that. She didn't want to encourage him to the point where he might try to stop the elevator. His hand slid deeper along her inner thigh, and all she could think about was the serrated blade in her purse. Mercifully, the elevator doors opened on the eighteenth floor, putting his disgusting behavior on hold. She couldn't imagine how bad it would get when he closed the door to Suite 1812.

Benjamin Young sported all of the prerequisites that would identify him as a wealthy, well-heeled gentleman: Armani suit with pocket square, $350 haircut, custom leather shoes, Clive Christian cologne, Rolex, diamond cuff links. But beyond this ungodly expensive, thin veneer, he was no different than the body-odor-soaked, soulless murderers and rapists she'd lived among in Belgrade. He might smell better, but ultimately, he behaved like the rest of them. Countless women and children suffered because of men like Benjamin Young. She hated his type and looked forward to getting him behind closed doors. His reign of terror permanently ended tonight.

They arrived at his door, and she stole a glance at the peephole on the door directly across from the suite. Munoz and Melendez were waiting patiently for Young's admirers, which should give her some time alone with Young. He slid the key card in the door and opened it, inviting her in.

As she entered, he spoke quietly but urgently. "I couldn't tell from our elevator conversation whether you were into anal play or not. Money isn't a problem, in case that's your hang up."

She almost started laughing at the absolute desperation of his comment. This appeared to be all he was worried about. His previous "date" had apparently cleared him for rear entry, and this was his sole point of focus. She couldn't wait to disappoint him. Instead of answering his question, she walked deeper into the suite, placing her handbag on a marble-topped counter. He closed the door and rushed to catch up with her. She felt his hand grip her upper left arm tightly and try to pull her back to face him. He was really concerned about his menu options tonight. She shirked his hand and turned to face him, keeping the matte black, serrated blade concealed along the side of her right wrist.

"I'm not paying you to ignore me," he said.

She just stared at him with a smile, until he stepped forward and reached out to grab her wrist, committing a rookie mistake. She lifted her wrist slightly, just far enough to make it easier for him. Once his hand tightened around her wrist, missing the concealed knife blade by less than a centimeter, she flexed her hand upward and broke his grip. Before he could react, she stepped forward and rapidly slid her hand over his extended arm toward his throat. As he tried to wrap his arm around her, she pivoted on her right foot, which brought her body flush against Young's back. Her left forearm braced his chin backward as she eased the tip of the five-inch blade against his throat.

"This ass isn't for sale," she hissed in his ear.

"Everything is for sale. Whatever your game is, I'm into it…but without the knife at my throat. This is definitely something new, but it makes me a little nervous."

"Move into the bedroom. Now!" she said, manhandling him toward the bedroom door.

"Look. This is a little rougher than I expected. Maybe I should pay you for your time and we'll call it good. Sorry about the misunderstanding," he said. Jessica could detect fear in his voice.

"There hasn't been a misunderstanding, Mr. Young, and no amount of money is going to buy your way out of this one," she stated, moving him through the door into the bedroom.

"I never told you my last name. Who are you?"

"Time to shut the f*ck up. If you say another word without my permission, I'll take a big slice out of that pretty face."

"What is going—"

His comment was interrupted by her left forearm, which exerted incredible pressure on his larynx and prevented him from either speaking or breathing. She shifted the knife and gently placed it near the outside corner of his right eye socket.

"I'll give you one more chance. If you say another word, I'll start cutting. Do you understand me? Nod if you understand me," she said, and he nodded quickly.

The quick movement of his head caused the knife to penetrate the skin on his forehead, a consequence that Jessica had foreseen. Young winced, but held steady, not making a single noise when she released the grip on his neck.

"You need to think carefully about everything you do. Every thought. Every movement. From this point forward, every action has a consequence. Take a seat on the edge of the bed, and don't fall off. This knife stays right here until my friends arrive."

She felt his jaw start to move, as he fought the urge to ask about her friends.

"Very good. A quick learner. You just might survive the night, Ben. Personally, I hope you don't, but if you keep following directions, I think you'll see your family again."

Benjamin Young didn't move a millimeter in response to her comment, which made Jessica smile. Fully compliant in less than a minute. Maybe Sanderson wasn't full of shit for once. They might even be able to fly back to the coast tonight if Young behaved. If not, they could still enjoy a late dinner and some nightlife in Buckhead. She could think of worse places to be trapped on a Friday night.


**

Enrique Melendez sat forward in his chair and watched Jessica Petrovich and Benjamin Young approach the door to Suite 1812 on his monitor. The small, flat-screen monitor was mounted to the edge of the desk in the living area of their two-room suite. Jeffrey Munoz stood next to the door, holding the second monitor, ready to intervene in the hallway if the situation deteriorated. Melendez seriously doubted that Jessica would require their assistance with Young. He'd seen her in action at the high-rise apartment in Buenos Aires and taken part in her knife training drills. Even with an injured hand, Young would be absolutely no match for her skills. Their job was to take care of the two True America operatives, who were most likely a minute or two away from breaking into Suite 1812.

They had drilled through the glass peephole and replaced the lens with a fiber optic camera capable of providing a high resolution, wide-angle view of the hallway, vastly improving upon the image afforded by the peephole. The fiber optic cable fed into a small digital recorder on the desk, which split the signal to the two monitors and allowed them to rewind and review the feed.

Just as importantly, it permitted them to closely monitor traffic in the hallway, without standing with their heads pressed to the door for hours on end. Each monitor was attached to fifty feet of video cable, giving them full range of the suite. This had come in handy for Munoz, who had been trapped in Suite 1811 most of the day, making certain that nobody besides Benjamin Young entered Suite 1812. He'd alternated that duty with babysitting the original occupants of Suite 1811, who lay unconscious on the floor of the bedroom, zip-tied and neatly arranged next to each other with pillows under their heads.

Mr. and Mrs. Hines, a young black couple from Birmingham, Alabama, had checked into the hotel around 4 PM, with 8 PM dinner reservations at Restaurant Eugene. Unfortunately, the exclusive Friday night reservation at this chic gastro destination had already expired, and the rest of their weekend getaway would be ruined by a lingering headache, coupled with a hotel-wide police investigation. Mr. and Mrs. Hines had been hit with a powerful, yet relatively harmless neurotoxin, which would leave them disabled for a few hours. A smaller dose of the neurotoxin would be administered every few hours until the mission was completed.

Working together earlier in the afternoon, Munoz and Melendez borrowed the housekeeping master key from one of the carts left unattended in the hallway and made a copy with a handheld scanner. Within thirty seconds, they had swiped the master key, storing the key card's electronic signature in their scanner, and created four copies with blank key cards. The Hines' were in the middle of unpacking, when two well-dressed Latino gentlemen suddenly appeared in the bedroom doorway holding small metallic tubes. They wouldn't remember anything beyond that.

"How was Daniel taking her little show?" Munoz asked.

"He appeared to be one hundred and ten percent operational," Melendez answered.

"We'll see. I feel bad for the guy."

"Why's that?"

"He's up against the two of them," Munoz stated.

"Yeah. Tough break for the guy. All right, they're in the room. Man, I wish I could see through that door," Melendez said.

"You and me, both. She's probably bitten off one of his ears by now."

Munoz's phone vibrated, and he took the call.

"Got it. We'll take them down when they reach the door," he said into the phone, then cut the call. "Petrovich just hit the stairs. He'll back us up in the hallway."

Several seconds passed before Melendez saw the elevator doors open. Two men walked out, stopping to check the elevator vestibule before proceeding briskly down the hallway toward Suite 1812.

"They're moving fast," Munoz noted.

Melendez stood up and moved over to the door, grabbing his HK USP Compact from the foot of the bed. The pistol was fitted with a suppressor that appeared longer than the pistol itself. Munoz sat his monitor against the wall, on the small table to the right of the door, and gripped the suppressed Steyr TMP submachine gun attached to the sling over his shoulder. Melendez grabbed the doorknob and watched the two men fill the monitor's screen. The dark-haired man standing to the left held a pistol in his right hand and a key card in his left. Melendez nodded quickly and quietly pulled the door open.

Munoz slipped through and stepped to the right, aiming at the light-haired man. Melendez moved straight forward, centering his pistol on the top of the dark-haired man's back. The dark-haired operative managed to turn his head over his shoulder before Munoz hissed a warning.

"Do not f*cking move. You each have a weapon pointed at your back. Nod if you understand," he said, and both of them nodded quickly.

Daniel Petrovich appeared in the hallway, near the elevator vestibule. The light-haired man turned his head an inch, and Melendez could tell that the dark-haired operative had seen him. His pistol hand tensed. He probably recognized Daniel from the bar. This had the potential to go south really fast if Munoz didn't take control of the situation.

"That man is one of ours. You've been under surveillance all afternoon. Listen to me very closely. You will drop your weapons to the floor. Simply release them from your grip. On three. You will not get a second chance to do this. One. Two. Three."

One of the guns clattered to the carpeted floor. The other remained in the dark-haired man's grip. Melendez shifted his aim and fired a bullet through the man's right elbow. The bullet passed through his arm and lodged in the door, spraying the soft, salmon-colored paint with bright red arterial spray from his brachial artery. The suppressed gunshot had the desired effects, dropping the second gun to the carpet and stopping a more lethal chain of events.

Melendez kicked the man against the door, further stunning him, and yanked him back. He locked his arm around the man's neck and placed the end of the suppressor behind his ear.

"The next one goes through your skull," he whispered.

Munoz pulled the light-haired operative to the side and pushed him into the wall, giving Daniel room to pass. He turned to room 1812, withdrew another key card from his pocket, and approached the blood-splattered door, glancing down at the pool of blood at his feet.

"Nice mess. A little trigger happy tonight?" Daniel said, inserting the card while furtively glancing in both directions down the hallway.

"He was a fraction of a second from making it a whole lot worse," Melendez replied.

Inserting the key card, Daniel opened the door and stepped inside the vestibule, ready to draw his pistol.

"Is Mr. Young still breathing?" Daniel asked.

"He's fine, but you need to take him off my hands before I start cutting," Jessica replied from another room.

Upon hearing Jessica's comment, Melendez glanced at Munoz and smiled, but his partner didn't look happy. Glancing at the mess on the door and the blood still pumping onto the carpet, he wasn't surprised. There was no way they could wipe this clean enough to avoid unwanted attention. The hallway carpet contained deep red patterns, which helped; however, the carpet pattern was symmetrical and the bloodstains were irregularly spaced. Only the most intoxicated or oblivious hotel guest would walk by without wondering whether Hannibal Lecter was waiting behind the door for them.

Melendez followed Daniel into the room, forcibly shoving the gunman against the wall next to the bathroom doorway, searching him for a second weapon. Munoz followed at a safe distance behind with the second man. Melendez found a small knife strapped to his ankle, along with a wallet, car keys and a cell phone in his trouser pockets. His jacket held two additional magazines for one of the semiautomatic pistols that Munoz had kicked inside of the room when Daniel opened the door. Melendez threw all of these items onto the nearby table while Munoz kicked the door shut with the heel of his shoe.

"Give me a hand here. I need to tie off this arm, or we'll lose him. The bullet hit an artery."

Daniel emerged from the bedroom doorway to help.

"Keep him covered," Munoz said, handing the pistol to Daniel.

Melendez reached into his right pocket and fished out a black plastic zip tie restraint. He placed the zip tie around the wounded man's lower bicep area and connected the plastic coupling. He pulled the tie as tightly as possible, causing the man to scream in agony. The steady stream of blood had slowed, but still poured onto the floor. He braced the man's arm against the wall and yanked on the end of the zip tie again, putting all of his strength into pulling the thick plastic band tighter. The man reached around with his free hand, but Daniel was there to grab it and jam his pistol into the back of his neck. Melendez backed up and examined the blood trickling down the man's hand. The flow had stopped, which would give them some time to extract information, or do whatever Daniel had planned for him.

Daniel grabbed the man's jacket collar and pulled him into the sitting area, throwing him down onto one of the tan couches. He handed Melendez the pistol and pulled his own out of the concealed holster along his waist. Munoz covered the two men while Daniel took a few seconds to screw a short suppressor onto the threaded barrel.

"I hope you brought some cleaning supplies," Daniel said, nodding toward the door.

Munoz tossed the second man onto the same couch and replied, "We have a kit in the other room. We'll do what we can with the mess, and I'll stay in the other suite to keep an eye on the hallway. We have enough neurotoxin to knock out the entire floor if necessary. Shouldn't be an issue."

"Perfect. We'll get things started in here," Daniel said.

Melendez appreciated his partner's calm attitude about the situation. Neither of them said a word as they exited the room, careful not to step in the massive dark red stain in front of Suite 1812. Munoz immediately opened the door to Suite 1811 and disappeared, leaving Melendez to close the door to 1812. When he turned to face the door, he grimaced. What a f*cking mess.

"Grab the big towels from the bathroom," he said.


**

Daniel stepped over to the sitting area and pulled one of the plush taupe wing chairs away from the large coffee table in front of the couch, dragging it against the wall behind him. He pushed the other chair to the side and kicked the small round end table out of the way, knocking it against a smaller chair near the conference table. The Buckhead Suite offered three distinctly separate living areas for the discerning business guest: a spacious bedroom with a glass enclosed, marble shower; a sitting area occupied by two terrorists, one of whom was grievously wounded and ruining the furniture; and a conference area, featuring a mahogany table with seating for six. Mr. Young certainly spared no expense while he was in town.

"Bring out tonight's guest of honor," Daniel said.

Jessica wrenched a ruffled, despondent-looking Benjamin Young through the bedroom door and jammed him into the wing chair against the wall. Daniel backed up a few steps toward the conference table and pointed the pistol at Young.

"If you try to get out of that seat, the young lady here will stab you through your armpit all the way to your heart. The blade's long enough, right?" he said.

Young looked torn, like he wasn't sure if he had permission to respond.

"It might be an inch short. You can talk now. I give you permission," Jessica said, standing next to him.

Daniel winked at her, when he thought Young was distracted.

"I saw that. All right, all right. Enough already. You guys got me good. Seriously. I'm f*cking freaked out of my mind right now. Whoever put you up to this earned their f*cking money tonight. This is by far the best joke ever. Really. Can you tell I'm freaked out? No need to continue. I'll pay you double to call it quits," Young said, starting to get up from the chair.

Jessica turned the knife in her hand and brought the end of the handle down on his face, shattering the cartilage in his nose and splitting his top lip. Young shrieked and dropped back into the chair.

"My f*cking face! What the f*ck is going on here? Who the f*ck are you people? I told you this was over!" he screamed.

"Lower your voice," Daniel said.

He nodded at Jessica, who immediately raised the knife in front of Young, causing him to cower in the chair, flailing his hands above him in a sad, useless display.

When he spoke again, he whispered. "Look, whatever is happening here…it doesn't have to happen. I have a lot of money, and I can access even more if necessary. I guarantee I can double or triple what you're being paid now."

"I'm not being paid anything," Daniel said. He turned to Ben and Jerry. "Are either of you being paid?"

Neither of the men answered, prompting Daniel to aim at the dark-haired man's head.

"Are either of you receiving a fat paycheck to be here tonight?" Daniel asked.

"F*ck you. I'm not saying a word," Dark Hair replied.

Daniel fired a single Hydra-Shok hollow-point round through the man's head, snapping it back against the top of the couch. A dark red stain splashed the tan curtain panel behind him, rustling the thick material. The light-haired man scooted away from his now deceased friend, struggling to move with his hands tied behind his back.

"Oh f*ck," Young whimpered. "He did not just kill that guy. This is a joke, right? He did not—"

Daniel turned his head and arm at the same time, firing a bullet into the wall less than six inches from Young's head. The suppressor reduced the gunshot to a subsonic crack. Jessica gasped. Young's face went blank as he examined the damaged drywall near his head.

"Holy shit," he whispered and closed his eyes.

"Did I shatter the window?" Daniel asked, turning back to the couch.

Daniel hadn't heard the glass shatter, but he couldn't be sure. The decision to kill Dark Hair had been a last-second decision. He could tell by the man's defiant expression that he'd be nothing but trouble during the interrogation. His light-haired accomplice looked a little softer. The man stared at him quizzically.

"You don't like to talk either?" Daniel asked, raising the pistol again.

"No. No. I'll talk. You asked about the window. I didn't hear it shatter. I didn't hear anything like that," Light Hair pleaded.

"I hope not. If the police arrive before I'm finished, they'll need at least two SERVPRO teams in here to scrape you off the walls."

"It didn't shatter. I think I would have heard that happen. Yes. I know I would have heard that happen."

"You're sure? Sure enough to bet your life on it?"

"Yes. No. We're good," he said.

"I hope so. Next question. How many more can we expect?" Daniel asked.

"What?"

"You're either purposely ignoring me, or you're scared out of your mind. Either way, it's starting to piss me off," Daniel said, closing the distance to the couch while pointing the pistol at the man's head.

"I can't concentrate with a gun to my head."

"Really? You came here to put a gun to Mr. Young's head, but this bothers you? I'm done repeating questions. Are you and your dead partner working alone, or can I expect amateur hour to continue?"

"We're working alone. We weren't expecting any obstacles," the man replied.

Daniel walked over to the conference table and removed both of the wallets. He glanced at the driver's licenses. Both of the men carried South Carolina licenses. Theodore Kindler sat before him on the couch, still breathing for now.

"Ted? Theo? I like Theo. Let's get the introductions out of the way. Benjamin Young, meet Theodore Kindler. He was sent here to put a bullet through your head."

"Come on, guys. This is crazy. Did my wife hire these guys?" Young said.

"She should have," Jessica snapped.

"I couldn't agree more, but this goes way deeper than your extracurricular activities. Would you care to explain this to him, Theo? Tell him why you're here to kill him?"

Theodore Kindler opened his mouth, but the words faltered. He wore a painful look, torn between preventing his own death and maintaining loyalty.

"Don't know where to start? I'd be happy if you simply identified your organization. That'll be enough to keep your brains off the curtains," Daniel said.

"I really can't—"

"Yes, you can. I already know the answer. I just want him to hear it from you. Three. Two. One…"

"True America," he grunted, looking disgusted and frightened.

"True America? Why would they want me dead? I'm about to close a deal worth a healthy sum of money for their organization," Young said perplexedly.

"Oh, you haven't heard?" Daniel said snidely. "True America is up to something big. Much bigger than a campaign announcement or a string of expensive primetime television ads. Big enough to start tying up loose ends. By our estimation, you're one of the biggest. We took down the first assassination team in New York. You're looking at the substitutes."

"Jesus Christ. What about my family? Who's watching them right now?" Young asked.

He tried to stand up again, but didn't get more than three inches off the chair before Jessica's knife appeared at his throat. He sat back down, and Jessica eased the knife away.

"What about my family?" he hissed at Kindler.

"Answer the man," Daniel ordered.

"Our mission didn't involve your family," Kindler said.

Young didn't look convinced. His face showed an unsure anger that Daniel knew had already turned Young against True America.

"If these are the bad guys, why am I being forced to sit in this chair with a knife to my throat?" Young asked.

"Because I haven't decided which side you're on. True America wants you dead. We need to figure out exactly why this is the case. Until then, your brains are just as likely to hit the wall as Theo's," Daniel said.

"This is un-f*cking-real. After all I've done for Greely and the rest of those rednecks, they turn around and stab me in the back like this. F*ck them! I'll tell you everything I know. I have records, all kinds of shit. I'm good at covering my ass. We're talking detailed records. I've been diverting large amounts of money earmarked for True America's D.C. office to Greely and Harding. The f*ck if I know what they're doing with it."

"Apparently, they used some of it to hire contract killers," Daniel said.

Kindler lurched forward on the couch in a useless gesture of anger, bringing the full attention of Daniel's pistol to his face. Daniel simply shook his head, and Kindler settled back into the blood-soaked couch.

"None of you get it," Kindler said. "We're not being paid. We're part of the revolution to put America back on the right path. There are hundreds of us. Soon to be thousands…"

One of the cell phones on the conference table vibrated, shaking the car keys. Daniel stared at Kindler and examined his response. He wasn't pleased with what he could read on the man's face. Kindler managed to keep his eyes off the table, but the strain was evident.

"Expecting a call?" Daniel asked.

"It's probably just a standard check-in."

"With whom?" Daniel replied.

"I really can't say," Kindler said, avoiding eye contact.

Daniel shot Jessica a glance, which she returned without changing her expression. They were prepared to evacuate the room at a moment's notice.

"Mr. Young, do you have remote access to these records?"

"Most of them. We'd have to visit my office in D.C. to access some of the deeper account specifics. We don't have remote access for regulatory reasons. What are you looking for?"

"Anything related to True America, directly or indirectly."

"And you'll let me go if I give you everything?"

"I won't kill you, if that's what you're asking," Daniel said.

"Can you protect my family? Is there a witness protection program or something?"

"We'll cross that bridge when you provide us with the information," Daniel said.

"How do I know you won't just kill me?"

"This may sound kind of cliché, but you don't."

"That's reassuring," Young said.

The cell phone stopped buzzing, which caused Daniel to glance in the direction of the small pile of wallets, pistol magazines, cell phones and keys in the middle of the table Less than a second later, the second phone started to vibrate, which didn't surprise him in the least. He didn't need to look at Kindler's panicked face to figure out what would happen next. Theodore Kindler launched forward, successfully propelling himself off the couch and onto the coffee table, careening desperately toward Daniel with his hands behind his back.

Daniel extended his hand and fired a single round through his face, stepping aside as momentum and gravity carried the corpse into Benjamin Young. The dead weight slammed into Young, momentarily pinning him to the wing-back chair before sliding to the floor. Kindler left a considerable portion of his head in Young's lap, causing him to instantly vomit a brownish-yellow stream onto the lifeless human pile at his feet. He turned his head to the side of the chair opposite of Jessica and vomited again.

"We need to move. Prep Mr. Young for immediate departure. Make sure we have all of his electronics," he said and sprinted for the door.

Munoz nearly stumbled into the room when Daniel yanked the door open. He held a bloody towel in one hand and a spray bottle in the other. The air reeked of bleach solution. Melendez was on his hands and knees scrubbing a soapy liquid into the carpet.

"We've got company. Unknown disposition. We need to move Young to a more secure location. Do you need anything from your room?"

"Just our backpacks. Spare magazines, money, ID. The essentials," Munoz replied.

"Grab the packs, and cover the hallway. Both directions. We'll be ready to move in fifteen seconds," Daniel said.

He grabbed one of the killer's discarded pistols from the tile floor bathroom and took two magazines from the conference table. He considered grabbing their cell phones and wallets, but decided against it. Their mission was to secure Benjamin Young, or more importantly, any useful information he could provide. He returned to the sitting area to find Young on his feet, vigorously wiping his face with a wet towel. Jessica snatched the towel out of his hand.

"You look beautiful again," she said and pushed him toward the door.

"F*ck. Will you take it easy?" Young complained.

"You got everything?" he said, reaching out to grab Young by the shirt collar.

"Two laptops, Blackberry, some kind of crypto-key fob, wallet, cash…Mr. Young is ready to roll," Jessica replied.

While she hiked a dark brown leather satchel over her left shoulder and made a last second adjustment to the straps, he pulled Young in close.

"Listen to this woman, and don't think for one second that you can escape us. Is that clear?" he said, shaking Young's collar. "Things will get hectic on the way out of this hotel. If you try to run, you're a dead man."

He winked at Jessica behind Young's back. "Keep him low and behind cover. How's your hand?" he whispered in her ear, kissing the nape of her neck.

"It's fine. Do I really have to babysit him?"

"I agree. I'd feel more comfortable with someone else," Young interrupted, without turning around.

"Shut the f*ck up," Daniel said.

Turning toward Jessica, he said, "You're not exactly dressed for a running gunfight. Sorry."

She kicked her high heels onto the floor. "Next time I'll wear a track suit."

Jessica was dressed in a sleeveless black turtleneck dress, cut at mid-thigh. Not exactly the best outfit for urban escape and evasion, unless you planned to take refuge in a chic nightclub. He wished they had brought a more practical pair of shoes for her. Running barefoot through the streets of Buckhead on a Friday night wouldn't be a pleasant experience. He smiled at her.

"Ready?"

"After you," she replied.

Daniel moved Young out of the way and paused at the door. He replaced the magazine in his pistol with a fresh magazine from one of his inside jacket pockets, giving him thirteen rounds. Glancing through the doorway, he saw Munoz and Melendez crouched behind the corners of the recessed hallway vestibule outside of Suite 1811. Munoz covered the elevator with his suppressed TMP submachine gun, and Melendez watched the long hallway leading to a set of stairs toward the far end of the hotel. Daniel decided against taking the furthest set of stairs. The elevator vestibule was closer, giving them access to a stairwell that led right into the lobby and a quick exit onto the street.

"Stairs by the elevator. Munoz first, then me. Package in the middle. Melendez covers the rear. Move out," he said and stepped into the hallway.

Munoz burst into the hallway with his weapon trained in the direction of the elevators, followed closely by Daniel. They hadn't taken five steps before the elevator bell rang.

"Cover," Daniel said, bumping into Jessica and Young as he stepped back into the vestibule.

The elevator doors opened, and the carriage appeared empty for a moment. A head poked out from the right side, quickly followed by an unsuppressed automatic weapon. Daniel didn't linger long enough to determine what the figure had fired at them. The rounds tore into the drywall and wooden framing around the vestibule, showering the floor and Daniel with fragments. Bullets snapped by as the staccato hammering of the gunfire pounded his ears. Munoz and Petrovich dropped to the ground, simultaneously leaning out to fire their weapons. Their bullets caught the shooter in an attempt to sprint clear of the elevator, throwing him back into the carriage amidst a cascade of mirrored glass shards. Daniel noticed a steady bright red spray pulsing into the air above the body.

A second shooter sprayed bullets down the hallway from a position outside of the elevator, shattering light fixtures and damaging more drywall. Daniel wasn't sure if this shooter had exited the elevator or joined the fight from the stairs. Munoz caught the shooter's head with a short burst of fire from his TMP, dropping the figure to the ground along the left corner of the hallway.

"She's down. Head shot," Munoz said.

The words caused him to glance back at Jessica in a moment of panic.

"Jess is fine. Shooter was female," Munoz said.

"Targets from the rear," Melendez said, immediately firing three rounds down the long hallway.

Daniel jumped to his feet and pressed his body against the wall, moving to the opposite side of the vestibule to reduce his exposure to fire from the other direction. He kept his aim centered on the elevator hallway. Munoz shifted positions across the hallway, barely avoiding a fusillade of bullets. He reloaded the TMP as Daniel watched several bullets puncture the drywall and splinter the painted wood immediately behind both of them. Nothing moved in Daniel's sector near the elevator. Munoz's TMP cracked to life, spitting several tightly controlled bursts at their new assailants. Munoz expended thirty rounds in less than five seconds and pulled another thirty-round magazine from the top of his backpack.

"I hit one of them. We need to make a move, man," he said.

"Flashbangs. Both directions. We make a run for the elevator," Daniel said.

Another torrent of bullets pounded their position, missing them by inches and causing them both to hug the wall. Melendez responded with his pistol, but the suppressed snaps of his well-aimed shots sounded pathetic compared to the explosions blasting at them from the end of the hallway. Munoz opened his backpack and removed two black cylindrical objects. He tossed one of them to Daniel, amidst another burst of gunfire. One of the bullets grazed the top of his hand during the throw.

"Motherf*cker," Munoz said, grimacing.

"You all right?" Daniel yelled.

"I'm fine. Let's get this over with. Pull!" he said.

They yanked the safety pins out of their flashbang grenades at the same time and threw them in opposite directions. Daniel's landed in the middle of the elevator vestibule, and Munoz's landed somewhere near the closest shooter down the long hallway. The M84 stun grenades had a time delay fuse of 1 to 2 seconds. By the time the grenades had landed and stopped rolling, they were milliseconds away from exploding. Daniel didn't wait. He reached inside Suite 1812 and pulled Young into the vestibule. Young fought him, trying to hold onto the doorframe, but Jessica hit his hand with one of the pistols she had grabbed from the bathroom floor. Young let go, and they nearly tumbled into the hallway as the flashbangs detonated. Everyone sprinted toward the elevator as Munoz unleashed a long burst from his TMP into the cloud of smoke billowing from the far end of the eighteenth-floor hallway.

Daniel reached the elevator vestibule first, sweeping from left to right with his pistol. Through the thin haze produced by the flashbang's magnesium/ammonia nitrate pyrotechnic mix, he saw nothing beyond the corpse at his feet and a bloody lump inside the elevator. The reflective polished copper elevator doors repeatedly opened and closed when they encountered the pair of lifeless legs protruding out into the hallway.

"Clear!" he said.

He walked swiftly toward the illuminated exit sign, turning his head once to confirm that Young and Jessica were following him closely. Munoz and Melendez ducked into the elevator lobby, taking cover behind the corner, while firing controlled bursts down the hallway. Their disciplined gunfire was immediately returned by a wild, three second hammering from one of the opposing submachine guns. Both of the operatives moved back from the corner as 9mm rounds slammed into the elevator doors and skipped off the walls. Munoz signaled with his hand for Daniel to proceed into the stairwell.

Daniel dropped the magazine from his suppressed pistol and replaced it, staring at the door leading into the stairwell. Anything could be waiting for them on the other side. F*ck it. They needed to keep moving. Police would hit the lobby within minutes, if they weren't already on-scene. They needed to be down these stairs and merging with evacuating guests immediately.

"Move to the side," he said, directing Jessica and Young to the wall next to the door.

Once they were clear of the opening, he pulled the door open, pointing his weapon forward. He instantly saw two men turn the corner at the bottom of the stairwell leading up to the door. They were armed with pistols and moving too quickly for him to apply any rules of engagement. His left hand flashed to meet his HK USP, and the gun kicked repeatedly as he rushed forward through his own shell casings.

His first rounds hit the first man center of mass, knocking him back into the second man. He heard one of their guns discharge in the tight stairwell, as he adjusted his aim while still firing. The remaining rounds from his pistol connected with the second shooter, splashing the painted concrete wall behind the man with a disturbing scarlet pattern. When the slide on Daniel's pistol locked back, indicating that he had expended the magazine, he realized that the first shooter was still alive and well. The man had been spun around by Daniel's bullets and dropped to one knee, but he hadn't collapsed.

His mind flashed with options, none of them good. He could stand his ground, reload and fire; try to close the remaining distance down the staircase and physically disarm the man; or retreat and hope that the man is too stunned to hit a moving target. Already halfway down the stairs, with his momentum moving toward the shooter, retreat was no longer a viable option. Stopping to reload didn't seem realistic either. The shooter's pistol hand was free from the limbs and body of his partner, already extending toward him up the stairwell. The grimace of pain and determination on the man's face sealed Daniel's decision. He charged down the stairs, trying to stay outside of the shooter's pistol arc.

A deafening boom pounded his ears as he collided with the man, viciously hammering the shooter's head into the concrete wall with his left hand, while pinning the pistol against the wall with the other. He felt the man's pistol tumble along his arm and hit his leg on the way to the carpeted floor. The shooter suddenly lurched upward and kicked out at Daniel, in a last, desperate attempt to survive. The kick caught Daniel off guard, striking his left hip and knocking him clear. The two men scrambled for the closest pistol, which teetered on the edge of the stairs.

Before either of them could reach it, the shooter's head snapped backward and hit the bloodstained concrete with a sick thud that could be felt over the ear-splitting echo of the gunshot. He glanced up and saw Jessica aiming down the stairs. A shell casing tumbled down one of the carpeted stairs in front of her and stopped. He really hoped these weren't cops. Jessica didn't deserve to have blood like that on her hands. The burden of unintentionally killing an off-duty police officer two years ago in Silver Spring, Maryland, still haunted him.

This type of mental reflection didn't fit the psychological profile identified by days of testing and interviews. The stone-cold, pathologically practical covert operative thought about the consequences of pulling that trigger nearly every day. Officer Samantha Rockwell had been executing her duties as a sworn law enforcement officer when her path crossed Daniel's. She'd caught him by surprise at the worst time possible and had been unceremoniously killed in a grocery store parking lot. It was unintentional…collateral damage. Not that it mattered to her husband and three children. Maybe the government psychologists had been full of shit from the very beginning, or maybe an "extremely functional sociopath" can have an emotional breakdown from time to time. Whatever the cause, he needed to convince himself that he hadn't killed another law enforcement agent.

Once again, there had been no time to assess the situation. He'd applied basic rules and assumptions before entering the stairwell. He didn't think the police could have reacted this quickly. If anything, a pair of uniformed officers would reach the scene first, and they would be unlikely to head toward the sound of automatic gunfire. If they'd run into these two on a lower level, most of his assumptions would have been different, along with his reaction. He quickly searched their torsos for badges or identification, finding nothing along their belts or attached to their shirts. He turned one of the bodies on its side and retrieved a wallet, flipping it open. Nothing. If these were cops, they weren't carrying identification.

"Keep moving!" Jessica yelled at him.

He looked up and watched her reach through the doorway to pull Benjamin Young into the stairwell. She didn't seem to have any reservations or concerns about killing these men. He needed to snap out of this funk immediately. He couldn't afford to get tangled in his guilt again tonight. Getting through the lobby might get messy.

Daniel retrieved his HK USP Compact from the snarl of legs and arms slumped against the wall and reloaded his magazine before proceeding to clear the next level. He moved quickly but cautiously down the stairs, paying close attention to corners and doors. Jessica dragged Young down each staircase as he cleared them. On the fourth floor, Melendez rushed past Jessica and caught up with him.

"We took down the last shooter on the eighteenth. Munoz has our back. He told me to give you this. Said we might need it soon."

Daniel took his eyes off the next landing long enough to see what Melendez had pushed against his left shoulder. An olive drab cylindrical object with "M18" etched in white on the side. Munoz certainly didn't disappoint. A smoke grenade was exactly what he needed to ensure the success of their escape plan.

"Keep that close by. We will need it soon," he said, continuing downward.

"What's your plan for the lobby?" Melendez asked.

"Something that will hopefully preclude us from shooting our way out."

"I can't wait."


**

Officer Paul Anthony tried to calm the guest services manager and the two front desk agents that had been called to an impromptu meeting in the far recesses of the lobby, away from the growing mob of new check-ins. One of the front desk agents had remained behind the lobby counter, politely telling the guests that the computer system had experienced a glitch. This had been his idea and the only thing that appeared to stop the flow of check-ins without creating a general panic. Judging by the size of the line and the desperate looks flashed at them by the young black woman behind the marble counter, the computer glitch story had a two-minute lifespan. They needed to think of something quick. There was no way they could let anyone head up onto any of the floors.

Dispatch had received a single phone call from a frantic woman on the eighteenth floor, claiming that a gang war had broken out in the hallway. The dispatcher confirmed an incredible amount of background noise coming from her phone, though the woman's screaming made it nearly impossible to determine what she was hearing. Anthony and his partner, Officer Sandra Kingston, had been located less than a minute away, having just turned north onto Lenox Road from Wright Avenue. By the time they arrived at the hotel, two additional calls had hit northern zone dispatch, confirming automatic gunfire on the eighteenth floor. SWAT was ordered to mobilize a response.

One of the calls had been placed by the guest services manager and was still in progress when they walked through the revolving lobby door. The dark-haired woman handed the phone to one of the agents and scurried to meet the officers. She explained that calls had started to flood the front desk and she didn't know how to proceed. He gave her the computer glitch idea and asked her to bring two of the agents to this quiet corner where he could work out a plan that would keep guests safe until SWAT could take control of the scene. A second pair of police officers pushed through the leftmost set of mahogany-encased, glass swing doors and entered the lobby. He waved them over.

"More officers are on the way. The two of you need to instruct guests to stay in their rooms and lock the doors. Both locks. For their own safety, they need to remain behind locked doors until further notice. Don't give them any details. Let them know the police are taking control of the situation and move on to the next caller. Get another agent to help you with this. Do you have an automated system that can leave hotel-wide messages?"

"Yes. We use it for emergencies. I can access it from the security office," the manager said, looking dazed.

"I think this qualifies as an emergency. I need you to record a message informing guests to stay in their rooms until further notice. Start sending the calls immediately. We'll handle the check-ins. Where are your security people?" Anthony asked.

"They just started up the rear stairwell before you arrived."

"Recall them to the lobby immediately. Are they armed?"

"One of them. Maybe. I think he took something from his locker," she said furtively.

"Get them back here now. They'll get themselves and other hotel guests killed if they try anything crazy. Tell them this is a police order, and if they argue with you, come get me. All right, let's get this place locked down for SWAT."

Officer Anthony examined the luxuriously appointed lobby and made a quick assessment of the situation while the hotel staff swarmed the front desk. He counted three elevators in the elevator lobby adjacent to the front desk. To the left of the entrance to the elevator lobby, an unmarked mahogany door stood next to a fire alarm, resembling the most likely stairway exit. Discreetly placed illuminated exit signs situated deeper in the lobby indicated a second exit accessible from the lobby level.

"Hey! Do the elevators reach the parking garage?" he yelled.

"The one on the right, but guests can't take it directly to the garage. They have to use the other two to arrive in the lobby, then change elevators," the manager replied.

"Is that the front stairwell door?" he asked, pointing to the inconspicuous wood-paneled door.

"Yes. The other stairwell is beyond the shops and past the side entrance."

He nodded and greeted the two arriving officers. "Here's the deal; we have multiple reports of automatic gunfire on the—"

His sentence was interrupted by a double klaxon sound that echoed through the lobby and was followed by a soothing, recorded female voice. Harsh white strobe lights competed with the soft glow of the lobby's ceiling tray lighting.

"May I have your attention, please? May I have your attention, please? There has been a fire reported in the building. Please exit the hotel using the nearest exit stairwell. Do not use the elevators."

"Shit," he muttered, just as the high-decibel double klaxon penetrated his ears again.

"Get everyone out of the lobby and grab the other responding officers to help. Kingston and I will cover the lobby exits," he said, slapping one of the officers on the back.

"Who the f*ck hit that alarm!" he screeched at the front desk clerk.

"I'm trying to figure that out!" she yelled back at him, clearly becoming unglued.

"This is about to become a f*cking nightmare for us," he said to Kingston.

"Shit. I think our best position will be to the right of the front desk. We'll have good cover and an angle on the elevator lobby. The stairwell door is right in front of us," Officer Kingston said.

"That's about all we can do. We'll put more officers on the service elevator and rear stairs as they arrive. Let's go."

They jogged over to the front desk as the crowd of new check-ins started to pull their luggage toward the double lobby doors.

"Leave your luggage!" he yelled at them.

His order emboldened the other officers, who actively corralled and hustled them to the door, enforcing Anthony's impromptu "no luggage" rule. Of course, he'd be relieved of this temporary command as soon as their shift's senior patrol officer or one of the sergeants arrived, which should be any minute now. The sooner the better. The prospect of facing automatic weapons with his Smith and Wesson .40 S&W semiautomatic pistol didn't appeal to him. Anthony and his partner would be hopelessly outgunned, and their bulletproof vests would offer little resistance to the new breed of high-velocity calibers they were seeing on the streets.

As the first responding officer, he felt compelled to remain in the lobby and offer what little firepower he had available to protect hotel guests. It wasn't the best idea, but there was little doubt that it was the right one. If his sergeant wanted to pull everyone out and wait for SWAT, that was his call. Until then, they'd try to cover four approaches with two guns. He turned to the terrified front desk staff.

"Get out of here with the rest of them. Where's your manager's office?"

One of the women pointed behind the desk to the right at an open doorway before scrambling around the side of the counter and running for the exit. The guest services manager reappeared in the doorway.

"The alarm was set off on the ninth floor," she said, eyeing her staff as they disappeared with the crowd into the front parking lot.

"Did you send the message to all of the rooms?" he said, shifting his gaze back and forth between her and the four possible approaches to their position.

"No. I can't do that with a fire alarm. Someone reported an explosion up there. The entire hotel might be on fire."

"F*ck," he hissed.

She was right. If the gun battle on the eighteenth had started a fire, the message might confuse guests and keep them in their rooms. Then again, a general exodus down the stairwells could lead to a massacre or a hostage situation. He had run out of good options for handling the hotel's guests, so he sent the guest manager on her way to the exit. He would hold this position with Kingston until they were given different orders. All he could do was continue to move guests out of the hotel. He'd already started that. When the first wave of evacuees arrived, he'd help them onto the street, keeping a close eye out for the shooters.

He grabbed his handheld shoulder-mounted microphone to pass this plan onto the other officers, but something hit the stairwell door hard and caused him to stop. He heard some yelling on the other side, then pounding. Was it locked? He looked at Kingston, who raised her shoulders. The yelling intensified, along with the pounding. The guests pouring out of the Lobby Bar started to push and shove to get through to the hotel's front entrance. Several turned for the hallway containing the shops and an escape through the side entrance onto Peachtree Road.

The lobby would be clear in a few moments, giving him the opportunity to open the door without exposing guests to automatic gunfire. He had no idea who was knocking on that door, and he didn't want to unleash a bigger problem. The pounding beckoned him as the last of the guests cleared the front lobby door. Two police officers from his precinct pushed through the doors with their service pistols drawn, focused on the stairwell door. They took cover behind the sturdier pieces of lobby furniture as the pounding continued.

Officer Anthony slid past the corner of the front desk, pointing his pistol in the direction of the service elevator to the left. He approached the stairwell door cautiously, expecting it to burst open at any moment. Based on the location of the door handle, he could tell that the door would hinge open in his direction, providing him momentary concealment from any shooters that might emerge. He'd have time to duck into the elevator lobby and return fire. Unfortunately, the elevator lobby was a dead end if they pursued him, though he might be able to use one of the elevators for further cover.

He wouldn't be able to escape without a fire service key. He knew from experience that a hotel fire alarm would automatically engage the elevator system's fire service mode and send all of the elevators to the Fire Recall Floor, where they would remain until the alarms were reset or bypassed by a fire service key. He might not be able to use the elevators to escape, but at least he could rule out the possibility of surprises from the elevator lobby.

He spun into the rectangular-shaped area, leading with his pistol. He quickly confirmed that one of the guest elevators was open and empty. The second elevator's doors remained closed, and he had no way to tell where the elevator car might be. God forbid the Ritz Carlton disturb the precious, polished mahogany wood interior to install a floor indicator. He could barely find the buttons that activated the elevators. Maybe you had to be rich to see them. He edged forward, aiming at the open door across from the guest elevators. He "sliced the pie," moving slowly to his right, gradually exposing more of the parking garage elevator car to the sight picture over the barrel of his pistol. Empty.

He rushed back to the elevator lobby opening and nodded to his partner, who concentrated her pistol on the stairwell door. He heard frantic screaming from behind the door and decided that he had no choice but to open the door.

"Hold your fire. No shooting!" he yelled.

The three officers in the lobby nodded, though he didn't get the sense that the order registered. He edged up to the door and reached across the mahogany panel to grip the thick metal handle. The door swung open easily, which almost surprised him more than the thick volume of smoke that immediately billowed from the open doorway and swirled toward the front lobby exits. At least a dozen people initially poured out into the lobby, pushing each other out of the way, coughing and hacking. This group was followed by another surge of guests, assisting each other and yelling. Anthony didn't see any weapons evident, though he admittedly couldn't see very effectively through the thick acrid smoke. He holstered his weapon and rushed in to stabilize an elderly woman, who looked confused.

"Where was the fire?" he asked.

She looked up at him, coughing and squinting. "I don't know. Where's my husband?"

"We'll find him, ma'am," he replied. "Head out the door to get some fresh air."

He singled out a young couple that appeared to be under control. They were headed toward the far right exit, helping another man with a smashed nose. Needing some basic information about the situation, he approached them. As their features became clearer through the smoky haze, he noticed the woman had short brown hair and deep blue eyes, resembling a movie star that he thought he recognized. She was dressed in a black turtleneck dress. Her shoes were missing, but she had probably ditched them in the stairwell. He imagined she'd worn high heels with this outfit. She grasped hands with a serious-looking, well-heeled gentleman with jet-black hair, who supported a slightly taller, equally well-dressed injured man.

The taller man had brown hair and leaned heavily on the other man, unable to put weight on his left leg. His nose was clearly broken, with the bright crimson evidence still pouring down his face and chin onto his crisp white shirt. They were all coughing as they trudged toward the exit. He stepped in front of the group. Nothing about this group set off any internal alarms for Anthony.

"What happened to him?" he said.

They stopped, and the black-haired man leaned his friend against the wall.

"He fell on the stairs and hit his face. We couldn't see a f*cking thing in there, Officer. We were waiting for the elevator on five when the fire alarm went off. We hit the stairs, but they were already filled with smoke," he said, coughing into his elbow.

When the man raised his right arm to cough, his suit coat opened, briefly exposing a gun tucked into his right waistline. Officer Paul Anthony instantly felt sick as an incredible surge of adrenaline coursed through his veins. He fought against every panicky instinct telling him to pull his weapon. The man's steely gaze told him that he'd probably never clear the pistol from his holster. He wasn't some brash mafia hit man or wild-eyed gang-banger. Anthony was staring at the real deal. Something he had never seen before. He didn't know how he knew this, but the sudden realization saved his life.

"Officer Anthony?" the woman said, no longer holding the man's hand.

He barely nodded and muttered, "Yes?"

"We're going to walk past you now to seek medical attention. That's really all you should remember about us. Does that sound like a fair assessment of the situation?" she said, smiling.

"What happened up there?" he automatically replied, now scared that he might have signed his own death warrant.

"Nothing worth the life of a police officer. You should help some of the guests now."

He glanced at the mayhem through the thinning smoke and saw several people lying on the tan marble floor, coughing and wheezing.

"I suppose you're right," he said, betraying a hint of regret in his decision.

He heard his sergeant's voice and watched the uniformed police officer push his way through the leftmost lobby entrance, along with two plain-clothed officers, both armed with short-barreled M-4 Carbines. The sergeant spotted Anthony immediately and started walking over. He now had three police officers focused on his gathering. He detected a shift in intensity from the couple standing in front of him. The man previously leaning against the wall now stood on both feet, his leg wound suddenly healed. Anthony made a decision that he'd professionally regret, but personally cherish. He extended his right hand and placed it on the woman's shoulder, raising his voice over the din of confusion that seemed to envelop the whole lobby.

"Head out into the parking lot and check in with a paramedic," he said, patting her on the back to move them along and through the doors.

He never looked back at them.

"What are you doing?" the sergeant asked.

"What does it look like I'm doing? I'm screening the guests. We have no information about the shooters. They could be up on any of the floors or trying to sneak out in the stampede!" he yelled over the noise.

"Nice job, Paul. I need you to head outside and organize the rest of the officers as they arrive. I want teams of three or four on each exit screening guests. I'll get you some tactical support assets to beef up your presence." The sergeant turned to the first response tactical officers, not waiting for Anthony's acknowledgement.

He issued orders to the two tactical officers and jogged into the smoky chaos to try to gain control of the situation. Anthony turned to the door, surprised to see that his mystery guests were no longer in sight and had been replaced by several other desperate hotel guests. He made his way through the people, careful not to jostle anyone, and emerged under the roof of the guest drop-off area. He glanced around, relieved to discover that they had already disappeared. Unless the hotel crashed down on all of them, he'd make it home in time for the morning ritual. He'd kiss his wife goodbye before work and walk his two boys to the bus stop for school. Priceless moments like those left him with no regrets about letting those three vanish.


**

They fast walked toward Peachtree Road, hoping to catch a taxi within the next minute, before the Atlanta Police Department threw the full weight of their resources into the containment effort at the Ritz Carlton. Daniel could hear multiple sirens in the distance as they approached the crowded six-lane city street. They needed to get as far away from Atlanta as possible. Normally, he fled toward crowds, but tonight was different and their evening was far from over. It would take them a while to find a secondary location safe enough from the public eye to sit down and have an earnest chat with Mr. Young. He sensed that Young would give them everything, but they had to be sure he didn't play them. Sometimes that could get messy, or at least a little loud. Either way, he didn't expect to be on a plane headed back to the South Carolina coast tonight.

"That was beautiful! Who the f*ck are you people? You just stared down a police officer. I've never seen anything like that. He saw your gun. You know that, right?" Benjamin Young said.

Daniel flipped his right hand back and slapped Young directly in the face, connecting with his broken nose. The man howled and cursed, stopping in his tracks before Jessica moved slightly behind him to provide a razor-sharp reason to keep moving.

"What the f*ck did you do that for?" Young mumbled.

"To remind you that we're not friends," Daniel said.

"Now shut the f*ck up and keep walking. I don't want to hear another word out of you unless I ask a question. Got it?"

"Yes or no works for us," Jessica said.

Young simply nodded, clearly struggling to walk after his focused strike. Daniel saw several taxis pass in the minute it took them to arrive at Lenox. His cell phone vibrated, and he hoped it was good news from Munoz and Melendez. They had poured out of the smoke-filled stairwell a few people back from Daniel's group, prepared to run interference if the police had already locked down the lobby. He'd watched them slither past the sergeant and his two heavily armed police escorts, just as Officer Anthony made a decision in everyone's best interest. One wrong move by Anthony might have led to a bloodbath that no presidential amnesty could forgive and an even bigger rip in his soul that could never be mended.

"Where are you guys?" he said in greeting.

"Headed northeast on Lenox. Looking to pick up a cab. What's the rendezvous point?" Munoz said.

"I think we should circle the city on the two-eighty-five and meet up at Hartsfield-Jackson. We can grab a rental at the terminal and head east into South Carolina. Find somewhere outside of Columbia to stop and have a chat with our friend here."

"All right. I'll call Sanderson with an update. I don't know what Jessica said to that cop, but it avoided a messy situation."

"Tell me about it. I'll pass that on to her. We'll meet you at the baggage claim inside the north terminal," Daniel said.

"See you there," Munoz replied, ending the call.

Daniel held out his hand to hail a cab, hoping the growing number of blue police lights wouldn't scare off their easiest and most secure form of transportation to the airport. They could always walk down Peachtree Road for about ten minutes to Buckhead Station and take the MARTA to the airport, but one glance at Young's bloodied face and scarlet-stained collar shelved that idea. They would need to clean him up before arriving at the airport. Their best course of action might be to head into the side entrance of another hotel along Peachtree Road and take him to a bathroom.

"Let's take a walk," he said, staring down the street at an illuminated "Westin" marquee sign.

Several police cars converged on the intersection of Peachtree and Lenox, screeching around the corner toward the main drive-up entrance to the Ritz Carlton. Two of the cars remained in the intersection, blocking traffic from reaching the main entrance to the hotel. It wouldn't be long before they started expanding their cordon. He turned southeast on Peachtree Road and started walking.