Karl Vogel’s Audi was in the economy parking lot P5. Gage had parked the car on the top level, recalling that he’d barely found a spot. The Audi was on the far row of the top deck, quite a distance from the stairwell and elevators. Once he’d made his way past the two higher-priced garages, Gage found P5. He skipped the elevator and jogged up the flights of stairs, exiting at the 5th level into the frigid and blustery night. The wind was strong on the top deck, unabated by anything nearby. Running up the stairs had provided a jolt to his heart rate—which is what he wanted. He was tired and didn’t need to doze off on the half-hour drive back to the Vogel estate.
That wouldn’t be a problem.
As Gage cleared the second line of cars, he touched the key fob to unlock the Audi. The blipping of the parking lights helped Gage remember exactly which spot he’d parked in.
Funny how the mind forgets things. It wasn’t that many hours ago that I parked here. But after today’s meeting, with so much focus and concentration, along with all the miles of travel, I’d already forgotten which spot I’d—
From behind him, the sudden scream of a highly tuned engine snapped Gage from his reflection. He instinctively halted his motion and began to lurch backward.
Before hearing the engine, Gage had just been about to cross the last row of cars. Admittedly, he hadn’t looked to the left, numbly assuming he’d see headlights if anyone was driving the aisle. The car had probably been idling, but Gage hadn’t heard the engine due to the constant drone of jet engines in the distance. After he’d taken two steps out into the aisle, whoever was behind the wheel of the car had floored it.
Had Gage not lurched backward, he’d almost certainly be dead. And had Gage tried to sprint across the aisle, he’d also likely be dead—run over in both instances. But because of his movement and the angle, Gage was struck by the car’s right front headlight and fender, catching him in his left thigh and buttocks.
The impact, along with Gage’s position, sent him cartwheeling upward. After a twelve-foot ascent, Newton’s law of universal gravitation kicked in. Gage descended, landing partially on the hood of a nearby car. The impact set off the car’s alarm.
Stunned, Gage shook his head, trying to clear it.
He watched as the assailant car—a BMW, judging by the taillights—skidded around the end of the aisle before racing to the spiral ramp that led to the exit.
Shaking his head again, Gage came to his feet, testing his left leg. It worked.
But he’d lost the Audi’s small key ring and fob during the impact. Gage whirled his head around, not seeing the key anywhere. Regardless, the car should have been unlocked since he’d blipped the fob before getting hit.
Boosted by an adrenaline shot from his mounting anger, he sprinted to the Audi, ignoring the pain from the back of his left leg. Even though he couldn’t chase the BMW without the Audi’s fob, perhaps he could catch his assailant on foot. Gage yanked open the driver’s door and spirited the Heckler & Koch P9 pistol from its hiding spot in the door pocket. He turned and ran back to the stairwell adjacent to the spiral ramp, descending as fast as possible.
The screeching tires of the fleeing BMW could be heard below.
At the third level, Gage turned to look out of the glass window of the enclosed stairwell, seeing no trace of the BMW. Hopefully it would get stuck behind another slower moving car. Regardless, the exit gate at the bottom would certainly delay it.
Gage continued his descent, his feet hardly touching the steps. At the bottom level, he exited just in time to hear a terrific crash. Sprinting from the stairwell, he only saw the last milliseconds of the car wreck.
The BMW, which he could now see was a brilliant blue 3-series, had scraped past an Opel that had halted at the pay exit. With just enough room on the right side, the BMW had torn the hell out of the Opel as it smashed by, taking out the orange and white mechanical arm in the process.
Gage didn’t get a look at the license plate and there was no way he was going to start shooting in an area such as this. He slid the pistol into his pants and covered it with his shirt as the frightened driver of the Opel exited her car, walking around to view the damage with her hand covering her mouth.
As his adrenaline abated, Gage realized the intensity of his pain. It fired up and down his leg, and radiated into his back. Grimacing, he surveyed the area, noting that several bystanders had appeared after hearing the commotion.
After making sure the Opel’s driver was okay, Gage limped back into the stairwell. He didn’t think anything in his leg was broken, but he dreaded the days of approaching soreness after such an impact. While repeating in his mind the details of the blue BMW 3-series, he skipped the elevator and gritted his way up the stairs, back to the top deck. He wanted to see if there were parking cameras up there and he definitely needed to conceal this pistol.
On the way to the Audi, Gage counted four security cameras, including one in the stairwell. If they checked the videos, the polizei would see exactly what had happened, and would see that he’d been carrying a pistol.
Regardless, Gage found the key fob under a car near where he’d been hit. After trudging to the Audi, he slowly exited the parking deck and drove down the ramp. By the time he was at the bottom, there were several airport security cars on the scene. They asked Gage if he’d seen anything related to
