The four who survived scrambled for cover. One got behind some overturned furniture. Another staggered to his feet and hid behind a marble pillar in the left corner. The third crawled towards his pistol, which had been knocked free
The final soldier made the mistake of seeking cover next to the fountain. He was so focused on Jones that he neglected to see Payne easing his head out of the bloody water. From a crouch position, the soldier fired a few shots at the third-floor balcony. Although they missed their mark, they were close enough so Jones temporarily stopped shooting. Gaining confidence, the soldier took a step forward to improve his angle, and when he did, Payne pulled his trigger.
From close range, automatic fire wasn’t necessary; in fact, it would have been a waste of ammo. A single round fired from an assault rifle was more than capable of killing a man, especially if it caught him under the chin. Thanks to Payne’s accuracy, he hit his target with precision, blowing his brains through the top of his skull.
One of the other survivors — the soldier who had hustled behind the pillar — saw Payne in the water and tried to clip him from the side. He
Ignoring the sting, Payne turned towards the line of fire and spotted the gunman by the column. Both men pulled their triggers at the exact same time, but there was a major difference in the outcome. A single bullet left the barrel of the soldier’s pistol while multiple rounds left Payne’s F2000. A moment later, the soldier was dropping to the floor in tatters, his body mangled by multiple hits, and Payne was thanking the Belgians for making such a quality rifle and for being such poor shots.
The remaining soldier, who was cowering behind an overturned table, tossed his pistol forward and raised his hands above his head. ‘Don’t shoot!’ he begged.
Jones readjusted his aim, waiting for the guy to do something stupid. ‘Jon?’
Payne stayed in the fountain, not saying
With his rifle pointing forward, Payne stepped out of the fountain and went across the lobby. Bodies and debris littered the floor. After kicking the pistol away, he dragged the lone survivor to the middle of the atrium where Jones could keep an eye on him.
Payne growled, ‘If you move, you die. Understand?’
The guy nodded, then laid on his stomach in a submissive position.
‘Is anyone else coming?’ Payne demanded.
‘No! I’m all that’s left!’
‘If you’re lying to me, I swear I’m gonna—’
‘I’m not lying!’ he screamed. ‘He only sent us! I swear to God he only sent us!’
Payne dropped to one knee and put the rifle in the man’s face. ‘Who the fuck is
The man gulped, trying to decide whom he feared more: his boss or Payne.
And Payne sensed the hesitation. ‘Righty or lefty?’
‘What?’ he asked, confused.
Payne got closer. ‘Are you a righty or a lefty?’
‘Why?’
‘I don’t understand!’ he whimpered.
Payne took a deep breath, annoyed. ‘I’m about to shoot off one of your fucking hands, and I’m willing to start with the hand you use less. So, which is it? Righty or lefty? Or do you want me to take a guess?’
‘Francois!’ the guy shouted. ‘Francois Dubois! He lives in Bruges!’
Payne smirked. The ruse worked every time. ‘What was your mission?’
‘To kill you and your friends.’
‘What else?’ Payne demanded.
‘Nothing! That’s all we were supposed to do!’
‘What about the letter?’
‘What letter? I don’t know anything about a letter!’
Payne stared at him. He seemed to be telling the truth. ‘Your
‘I don’t know what you did, but Francois wants you dead!’
58
Jones remained in his perch until he heard the squawking of police sirens in front of the Beau-Rivage. Only then was he willing to stand and survey the scene. The front half of the lobby had been heavily damaged by the HELLHOUND. Not quite obliterated — because it was still structurally sound — but several levels beyond scarred. It would take more than a paint crew to whip it back into shape. The same thing with the atrium. Everywhere he looked, Jones saw blood and bodies, not to mention dozens of bullet holes and a few stray limbs.
Simply put, the housekeepers were going to be pissed.
‘Hey Jon,’ Jones called from above. ‘I don’t want to pay for this shit. Let’s blame the grenade on them.’
Payne nodded and looked down at their prisoner. ‘You got that, Lefty?’
‘It was Francois!’ he shouted. ‘Francois did it!’
‘That’s the spirit. Keep saying that, and we’ll get along fine.’
‘Speaking of cops,’ Payne said, ‘we should have Nick back our story. Can I borrow your phone? Mine’s kind of wet.’
Jones shook his head as the Geneva police stormed through the front entrance. ‘
Payne laughed. ‘In this case, they’d be right!’
Jones ducked into the stairwell and went up to the fifth floor. He figured the higher he was in the hotel, the more time he’d have to make his call before the cops found him.
Sitting in his office at Interpol, Dial answered on the third ring. He was pleasantly surprised to hear Jones’s voice. ‘It’s about time you guys called me at a decent hour. Did you finally figure out the time difference?’
‘Nope. We’re actually in Geneva.’
‘Switzerland? I thought you were in Philly.’
‘We were, until someone tried to kill us. So we snuck over here.’
‘Define
Dial sighed. ‘Fine. Then why are you calling?’
‘Why? Because they just attacked us again. And this time, we hit back.’
‘How hard?’
Jones did the maths in his head. ‘Eleven dead, one captured.’
‘You killed
‘None that I know of. But I haven’t checked the wreckage yet.’
‘Wreckage? What wreckage?’
Jones didn’t want to lie to Dial about the grenade, so he skirted the question. ‘Let’s just say the Beau-Rivage is no longer a five-star hotel.’
Dial took a deep breath and tried to remain calm, but it was tough since he knew he was about to be pulled into this mess. He just wasn’t sure how. ‘What do you want?’
‘Surprisingly, not much. Maybe a few kind words to the Swiss police if they don’t believe our story. Other than
