But it wasn’t the cleaner.
Pressed against the wall, craning her neck to see through the door, allowed her to see a sliver of mirror in the interior hallway. Reflected in it was the unmistakeable figure of Montgomery. What the hell was he doing back here at lunchtime? He usually went to a café in Agenbeux. Bridge had never heard him, or anyone else, suggest he ever returned home for lunch. And yet, here he was.
She instinctively thumbed the safety catch on the Grach, not taking her eyes from the mirror. Montgomery had moved out of sight, into the kitchen. She heard the sounds of him opening cupboards, rifling through drawers, looking for something. Bridge moved to the door, still watching the mirror. Montgomery’s kitchen search was keeping him occupied. Good. If she was quick she could sneak out and, missing gun notwithstanding, he’d be none the wiser. She contemplated tossing the gun on the bed, but a man as neat as Montgomery would know it was out of place, and she didn’t have time to return it to the bedside table. Better to take it with her, let him think he’d been burgled, or mislaid the weapon. She could return later for a better look around.
It was a nice theory, while it lasted.
She made it through the interior hallway, into the lounge. Montgomery’s briefcase lay open on the couch, suggesting he’d returned to find something he’d forgotten to take to the office. She was almost out, just passing the very clean occasional table, when she heard footsteps behind her and Montgomery call out, “Qui va là?” Bridge continued to the door, not turning to look back. If he was asking, that meant he didn’t recognise her, and if she could get out quickly, he’d never know it was her.
Another nice theory that didn’t last.
She knew she wasn’t going to make a clean exfil in the split second before it struck, as she struggled to identify an odd sound. She was already ducking on instinct, but while her perception was working at double speed, her own movements were merely normal, and it was only immediately after impact that she realised the sound had been an almost imperceptible whistling.
The cup glanced off the back of her head, smashing to pieces as it hit the floor. She stumbled, more from shock than pain, as her mind struggled to catch up with events. Montgomery had…thrown a cup at her? There it was, in a hundred entropy-fuelled pieces on the floor. She put out a hand to stop herself from colliding with the front door, and the impact pushed the Grach’s hard steel into her palm. Behind her she heard Montgomery gasp, followed by a sound she could now identify with ease. Footsteps, fast and hard on the wooden floor. He was running towards her.
Bridge turned, letting herself fall back against the front door so she could brace herself, and raised the gun. “Stop,” she said, but he didn’t. Montgomery had picked up his briefcase, and was swinging it above his head like a mallet. His face was a strange, twisted mixture of surprise and fury, and Bridge had no doubt in her mind that he would beat her to death if he could. She had no choice, but she needed him alive to interrogate. She aimed for his knee and pulled the trigger…
The firing pin clicked. Twice. The gun wasn’t loaded, and Montgomery had known all along.
He caught her with a downward swing of the briefcase, striking her head and one shoulder. It was only a briefcase, but it was surprisingly heavy. Combined with Montgomery’s desperation, plus her own surprise at the gun’s failure to fire, it made a blow strong enough that she fell to the floor, the gun escaping from her fingers. The case burst open on impact, spilling its contents, and as Bridge fell with them, she couldn’t help identifying what she saw; three briefing folders, two notepads, three ballpoint pens, a roll of English mints, a mini-tablet, a micro-USB cable and power brick, and two hardback novels.
Montgomery stood over her in the narrow hallway and shouted, “I knew it!” She wasn’t sure what he’d known, but there’d be time to ask later. Right now she was more concerned with regaining control of the situation, if she’d ever had it to start with. From this position on the floor there were limited options to attack a standing opponent, but Bridge knew them well enough, and decided that in the narrow confines of the hallway, simplicity would carry the day.
She kicked out, bracing her shoulder against the door for extra leverage as she slammed the sole of her boot against his shin. It didn’t crack, but it made him yelp and stagger back, giving Bridge enough time to scramble to her knees and deliver a rising punch to his kidneys. It was minimal power compared to what she could do while standing, but she was gambling that Montgomery wasn’t a practised fighter, and not used to taking body blows. Sure enough, he doubled over in pain, giving Bridge time to get to her feet. She moved around, standing tall and imposing behind him. “That’s enough, James,” she said between breaths, “you’re coming with me.” She reached out a hand for his shoulder.
“No!” he roared and, still doubled over, rushed at her. His head and shoulders slammed into her chest, driving them both back into the lounge. Bridge stumbled, bracing herself for impact with the floor, but instead hit the back of the couch and fell backwards
