gun into position and fired two quick shots. The relative still of the night air was shattered by one of the men firing his gun. Since the weapon wasn’t suppressed, it cracked like a thunderbolt. Bramble heard the snap of the bullet as it whistled harmlessly past his head.
Both men were down, and Bramble did what he often did in the aftermath of a near-death experience. He began to laugh. Not a giggle or a chuckle, but a belly-splitting roar of a release of tension and an absolute euphoric embrace of victory. He was the king of the hill, the last man standing, a man among children. Five bullets and five bodies. “Shit,” Bramble said, “they should write a song about me.”
Bramble heard a moan and turned to see that one of the men fifty feet away was moving. “Damn it.” He liked the idea of five bullets for five men. It sounded like an Eastwood movie. Six bullets for five men had no ring to it. No flow. Bramble was pretty sure he’d hit the first guy in the face. He’d rushed the second shot a bit. It was always possible that the guy had a mortal wound and was simply in his final death throes. He started walking toward him and remembered that he had his knife on him. If he needed to he could save the bullet and slit the guy’s throat. It would still be five bullets for five men—kind of.
Bramble was right about the first shot. He’d caught the guy square in the middle of the face, right between his nose and upper lip. “Now that’s a hell of a shot.”
The second man was clutching at his chest. His pistol was five feet away, but it might as well have been a mile. There was a little blood at the corner of his mouth and he was looking up at Bramble with pleading eyes. Bramble smiled at the man, raised his gun, and was about to pull the trigger, when for the second time in as many minutes a bullet zipped past his head.
CHAPTER 35
THEY stood in silence for what seemed like an eternity, but was in reality only a prolonged moment. The van pulled around and Rapp saw a man get out. He was one of Hurley’s ex–Special Forces guys, and by the look on his face he was none too happy about what had just transpired. It looked as if he was yelling at Victor, and Rapp could tell by his body language that he was on high alert. Victor said something that appeared to calm the man down, and then the two of them grabbed Luke’s body and carried it to the van. They both disappeared for a moment, and then Victor stepped back into sight. Rapp saw him raise his right arm, smile, and then there was a quick flash followed a few seconds later by another.
Greta asked, “What just happened?”
Rapp shook his head. “I think he just shot the two men.”
“Who?”
“The two men he was with.”
“Why?”
“That’s a good question. I think I’m going to go find out.” Rapp already had his gun in his right hand. “Greta, remember the plan. Go out the back door, get in your car, but don’t start it. Wait for five minutes and not a second longer. If I’m not there, leave. I will either call you at the hotel, or meet up with you by tomorrow morning.”
“But—”
Rapp cut her off. “Don’t! You promised me. No more questions. I can take care of myself.”
Greta bit her lower lip and nodded. She looked out the window, and Rapp could tell by the expression on her face that something was going on.
Rapp turned to see what she was looking at. Two men were coming up the sidewalk with their pistols drawn. Rapp knew what would happen next. Victor was not the kind of guy who would surrender. “Come on.” He grabbed Greta by the arm and pulled her toward the door. “Go straight to the car. Don’t stop for anything, and if you don’t hear from me by tomorrow morning, I want you to tell your grandfather what you saw. Tell him it was Victor.” He got the sense she was in a bit of shock so he added, “Now tell me what you’re supposed to tell your grandfather.”
“It was Victor. Victor killed everyone.”
“Good.” Rapp opened the door and they stepped into the hallway. She had tears in her eyes. “There’s no time for that, honey. Don’t worry, I can kill that fucker and still get to the car in five minutes and I don’t even need my good hand.” Rapp kissed her on the forehead. “I’ll see you in five minutes.” Rapp pushed her on her way. “Get going.”
He then turned and raced down the stairs. There were ten steps and then a landing and then ten more steps. Rapp burst through the first set of doors, and beyond the glass of the second doors he saw Victor with his damn gun pointed at what he assumed was a man on the ground. And he had that stupid grin on his face again. Rapp wondered what kind of nut job took such perverse joy in killing another person. Rapp knew he didn’t have time to strategize or get cute with this, so he burst through the second set of doors, raised his pistol, and fired. The silenced round whistled through the air and Rapp heard it slam into the building across the street.
“Victor, you asshole,” Rapp yelled as he bounded down the steps and squeezed off another round. This one hit the side window of the car in front of Victor. “You killed the wrong guy, you stupid prick.” Rapp hit the sidewalk and cut to his right. He had surprise on his side, but he needed to get Victor away from the men or man whom he was about to execute. Victor had dashed out of sight but even so Rapp squeezed off two more rounds. One of them hit the building and the other skipped off the trunk of the car Victor was hiding behind. Rapp moved down the sidewalk, putting more distance between himself and Victor and keeping his mouth shut. It worked. A gun popped up above the trunk and Victor fired three shots in the direction of the front door of the apartment building. Rapp swung around the back end of a big four-door Mercedes sedan and lay down under the trunk.
With his gun stretched out in front of him, he searched for movement under the cars across the street and to his left. Rapp saw part of a leg next to a rear wheel. He sighted in on it, fired two shots, and was rewarded with a howl and a string of expletives. Rapp rolled out from under the trunk, ignored the pain in his shoulder, and sprang to his feet. He looked over the trunk of the Mercedes and then darted across the street, moving one more car to his right. It was the basic rule of a gunfight: Fire and move.
Rapp found refuge between a small two-door Peugeot and an even smaller Ford Fiesta. This next part was the biggest gamble. He was about to place himself in a shooting alley with Victor, and he had no idea what kind of weapon the guy was carrying. Waiting was not to his benefit, though, so he shaded his right eye around the rear bumper of the Peugeot. Victor was moving as fast as his crippled leg would carry him toward the van. He was already two-thirds of the way there and a good eighty feet from Rapp.
Rapp broke from his cover and gave chase. After about ten steps he passed the two men on the ground, and he could see Victor was going to beat him to the van by a good distance, so he raised his gun and started firing one steady round after another. Victor’s running crouch made him a poor target. Rapp expended his last round and was in the midst of changing magazines when Victor dove into the open side door of the van.
