The sound in the enclosed space was calamitous. It was so loud and deafening that the girl’s shriek could barely be heard afterward. Boden scampered backward, burrowing his backside into the pillows as his face contorted in fear.
Gage made sure he mouthed his words very well. “Do not move.”
He made the girl turn, and zip-tied her wrists behind her. Gage kept his eyes on the Ministerpräsident, satisfied that the warning gunshot had done its job. Despite being visibly petrified, the man wasn’t moving other than some involuntary shivering.
To Gage’s right was a plantation style slat door. Gage flipped the adjacent light switch and pushed it open, finding a vast closet as large as an ordinary bedroom. It was filled with what appeared to be expensive suits, fine shirts and polished shoes. In the center of the closet was a squat upholstered stool, underneath of which was an open drawer with shoeshine implements. Gage instructed the girl to go in and have a seat. He again mouthed the words clearly due to everyone’s temporary deafness from the gunshot. She understood and he had no doubt she would obey.
That settled, Gage turned back to Boden. He was in the same position, but had relaxed slightly. On the bedside table directly in front of Gage was a mirror with a residual of cocaine dust. Beside that, a prescription bottle. Gage knew what the coke was for, and would bet his pickup truck the prescription bottle was loaded with pills to temporarily help with erectile dysfunction.
Now for the fun part.
“Can you hear me?” Gage asked, speaking loudly.
Boden nodded.
“You nearly got away with it.”
“Got away with what?”
“Your master plan. You almost pulled it off.”
“Master plan? What the hell are you talking about?” Boden asked, cutting his eyes to the bedroom door.
Gage didn’t turn. “No one’s coming to help you, Boden.”
“How’d you get in?” he asked.
“I snuck in. I’m good at sneaking, just like you.”
The Ministerpräsident said nothing.
With the pistol, Gage made a quick motion down. “I saw the cars in your garage.”
Boden frowned. “So?”
“You know…the blue BMW you tried to kill me with, and the white BMW you used to kill Katja.”
“Why would you think that I—” Boden halted his words midsentence. Then, the accomplished courtroom lawyer and politician gave a master’s level acting performance. His first expression was one of confusion, then shock, then sadness. Finally, his face transformed to one of knowing. Grim knowing.
“What?” Gage demanded.
“Oh no.”
“What?”
“Gage, you might be correct—well…partially correct. When I arrived here yesterday, I noticed the damage on the white BMW. Scratches, right? And I didn’t even see the M-three’s damage. It shows how out of touch I am with what goes on here.”
“Yeah, well, your M-three is banged up where you tried to run me down, and the white BMW has Katja’s Mercedes’ silver paint on it from where you killed her.”
“I haven’t driven either car in many weeks. When I do drive, I take my Porsche Carrera. That white BMW is what I let my girlfriends drive and I purchased the BMW M-three on a whim. I’ve hardly driven it.” Boden looked away, nodding to himself. When he turned back to Gage, his face was somber. “Now that I think about it and put everything together…it could have been Stephan.”
“Who is Stephan?”
“You met him, remember? He’s my head of security, the former KSK commando.”
Gage nodded. “Yeah, I remember, but that makes zero sense. Don’t even try pawning this off on someone else, you prick.”
“I didn’t do anything, Gage.” Boden gestured to the closet. “Do I step out on my wife? Yes, but she knows. In fact, she’s currently involved in an affair with—”
“Shut up, Boden. You used your cars on me and Katja. You had Il Magnifico killed as if it was some bullshit drowning, and you orchestrated the entire Rainer Schulz arrest and murder—using your influence to make it appear that a shamed fallen leader took his own life.”
Boden again glanced at the doorway.
“There’s no one there. I took care of everyone. And guess who helped me?”
“Who?”
“The French mafia, you piece of shit—Les Glaives du Peuple. Hell, they might actually have less use for you than I do.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Your guard at the front and back have been neutralized. And your rover, he’s currently tied up in the trunk of the BMW you let your girlfriends drive.”
“Gage…please…you’ve got this all wrong. You need to—” Midsentence, Boden’s eyes cut to the doorway again and widened. He pushed himself further back into the pillows.
It wasn’t hard to read the Ministerpräsident’s reaction. Gage knew, with the sudden feeling of cold dread, that he’d somehow overlooked someone. Perhaps a guard, or maybe someone else.
Then he thought about the three closed doors…
Oh, you stupid, careless bastard…someone else was upstairs.
With the dreadful knowledge that every millisecond might be the difference between life and death, Gage hurtled himself down and to the right.
If he hadn’t, he’d have been killed by the shot from the FP6 “Entry” short shotgun that emanated from the doorway. Instead of tearing Gage’s flesh apart, the blast blew a coffee cup size hole in the wall just behind the bedside table. The shot must have struck the wiring in the wall, because the bedroom lights went out, almost certainly tripped by the circuit breaker.
Gage had instinctively spun upon hitting the floor, wildly yanking off three rounds back to where he assumed the shooter had stood. There was a bit of light bleeding in from the hallway but no evidence of a shooter or a body. Chancing a quick glance to his right, Gage saw that Boden had predictably moved, probably hiding on the other side of the bed. There was always the chance
