the air. Startled, the gunman ducked out of sight.
Smith rolled away across the floor, trying to find better cover. He stopped about midway down one of the U- shaped bays formed by three joined tables and risked a cautious glance back the way he had come. Nothing.
Then he looked up at the TV monitor on the table in front of him. He froze suddenly, seeing his own death reflected in its darkened screen.
The third enemy gunman rose up from the next bay over — already aiming a combat shotgun right at the back of his head.
Poised on the edge of the roof, Peter and Randi heard the sudden burst of gunfire, saw the blinding flash of a grenade, and then watched Jon abruptly hurl himself into the building below them. They exchanged appalled glances.
“Dear me. So much for subtlety and discretion,” Peter murmured. He pulled his Browning Hi-Power clear of his holster and held it ready.
More gunshots rang out in a rising crescendo, echoing back from the brickwork and stone of the surrounding buildings.
“Come on!” Randi snarled, already rappelling down the wall in short, fast bounds. Peter came flying down after her, moving with equal speed and longer jumps.
Knowing it was far too late, knowing that the gunman's finger was already starting to squeeze the shotgun's trigger, Smith twisted around desperately, trying to bring his own weapon on-target. The adrenaline pulsing through his system seemed to slow time itself — stretching out the nightmare moment before a hail of twelve-gauge buckshot blasted his head into bloody ruin…
And then another window exploded inward — torn apart by multiple 9mm rounds fired through it at close range. Hit several times in the chest and neck and head, the enemy gunman staggered to the side and then sagged across one of the tables. The shotgun fell from his lifeless fingers and clattered to the floor.
First Randi and then Peter swung in through the shattered window and dropped to the floor. Quickly they detached their ropes and took up positions on either side of Jon, scanning the long, narrow room around them for signs of movement.
Smith smiled weakly, still shaken by his narrow escape. “Glad you could make it,” he whispered. “Thought I'd have to handle this all on my own.”
“Idiot,” Randi murmured back, but her eyes were warm.
“Never miss a party,” Peter said softly. “How many have you left us?”
“One for sure,” Smith replied. He nodded toward the far side of the room. “He's in cover somewhere off that way. Another guy, their leader, I think, already hightailed it out through the door.”
Peter looked at Randi. “Shall we show our medical friend here how professionals flush game?” Peter turned to Smith. “You cover the door, Jon.” Then he took a flash/bang grenade out of the pouch on his thigh, pulled the ring, and held the safety spoon closed. “On five. Four. Three. Two…”
Peter popped up briefly and lobbed the grenade over the table. It sailed through a long, low arc, dropped out of sight, and exploded. A new cloud of smoke boiled across the room, lit from within by blinding, strobe-like flashes.
Randi was already in motion, running fast and bent low. She caught a glimpse of a darker shape moving in the smoke and dived for the floor. The surviving gunman staggered toward her. She fired her Beretta twice and watched him go down. He shuddered once and then lay still, staring back at her with lifeless eyes.
For a moment longer Randi stayed prone, waiting for the smoke and haze to dissipate. “All clear on this end!” she called out when she could see well enough to be sure.
“Check around to see if you can find anyone else still alive,” Smith suggested, rising painfull}' to his feet. He glanced at Peter. “Meanwhile, I think we should go after that other big bastard I saw.”
“The one you say scarpered out the door?”
Smith nodded grimly. “That's right.” He explained the uncanny resemblance between the tall green-eyed man he had seen here and the terrorist leader he had watched die in New Mexico.
Peter whistled softly. “Now, there's a nasty coincidence.”
“That's just it,” Smith said slowly. “I don't think it is a coincidence at all.”
“Probably not,” Peter agreed. He looked troubled. “But we'll have to be quick, Jon. The French may have most of their police deployed outside Paris at the moment, but all this racket is bound to attract their attention.”
Weapons drawn and ready, the two men moved cautiously toward the narrow arched doorway. Smith pointed silently at the smeared bloodstains on the floor. The large red drops led straight toward the open door. Peter nodded his understanding. They were tracking a wounded man.
Smith stopped just inside the room. He stared out through the doorway, seeing part of a black-and-white- tiled landing enclosed by a waist-high wrought-iron railing.
The spatters of blood continued on, heading right for the wide marble staircase that led down to the building's lower floors. The big man they were hunting might be getting away! Determined not to lose him, Jon impulsively darted forward through the arch, ignoring Peter's startled warning.
Too late Jon realized that the blood trail ended abruptly just two steps down. His eyes opened wide. Unless he had somehow learned to fly, the green-eyed man must have doubled back….
Smith felt himself hurled violently to the side. Knocked completely off his feet, he slid across the landing and slammed shoulder-first into the iron railing. His SIG-Sauer skittered away across the tile floor. For a moment he stared through the bottom of the railing out into a dizzying void.
Sickened and dazed by the impact, he heard a sudden muffled cry and then saw Peter thrown past him. The Englishman tumbled head over heels over the wide lip of the staircase. He disappeared out of sight in a diminishing clatter and rattle of loose equipment.
Smiling cruelly, the auburn-haired giant swung back toward Smith. His face, flayed by razor-sharp shards of glass, was a mask of bright red blood. One ravaged socket was empty, but a single green eye gleamed fiercely out of the other.
Jon scrambled to his feet, coldly aware of the enormous drop right at his back. Quickly he drew the combat knife sheathed at his waist. He crouched lower, holding the blade at his side.
Undeterred by the sight of the knife, the big man stalked toward him. His huge hands moved in small, deceptively lazy circles as he came forward, ready to strike out, to maim, and then to kill. His smile grew wider.
Through narrowed eyes, Smith watched him come closer. Just a bit nearer, you son of a bitch, he thought. He swallowed hard — fighting down a growing sense of fear at the other man's implacable approach. He did not have any real illusions about the likely outcome of sustained close-quarters combat against this man. Even half- blinded, this foe was much taller, stronger, and undoubtedly far more skilled in hand-to-hand fighting than he was.
The big auburn-haired man saw the fear on his face. He laughed and shook more blood away before it dripped in his one good eye. “What? No stomach for battle without a gun in your hand?” he asked softly in a cynical, mocking tone.
Refusing to be goaded into premature action, Jon stayed still, ready to react fast to any opening. He kept his own gaze fixed on the other man's single eye — knowing that it would telegraph any real move.
The bright green eye flickered suddenly. There it was!
Smith came on-guard.
Moving with terrifying speed, the big man spun through a tight arc, aiming a dazzlinglv fast elbow strike at Jon's face. He yanked his head to the side just in time. The killing blow missed by a fraction of an inch.
Smith blocked another powerful strike with his own left forearm. The world blurred red around him and he felt the stitches there rip loose. The massive impact knocked him backward against the railing. Panting, he crouched lower still.
Grinning hugely now, the green-eyed man closed in again. One of his hands stayed ready to block any knife thrust. The other powerful fist drew back, preparing yet another hammer blow — one that would either drive Smith back over the railing to his death or crush his skull.
Instead, Jon threw himself forward, diving right under the taller man's legs. He whirled around and
