Page 29 of One Minute Out

My ears ring and pain fires from my head into my spine, but he falls back towards the wall and slides to the pavement, and I can tell by the blood that his nose is broken, as well.

No gunfire so far, which is good news, but this hasn’t exactly gone down quietly. All three of them made some sort of loud noise when I struck them, and the inevitable echo through the alley into the square makes me certain that the lookout in the alcove fifty meters away is aware his associates are in some sort of a melee.

I pull the gun out of the center man’s shoulder holster as he falls onto the cobblestones, conscious but temporarily out of the fight because of his broken nose. The guy on the right also has a busted snot box, but he’s pulling himself up by the back bumper of the gray van. From the looks of him I’ve got three seconds or so before he becomes dangerous again, so I turn back to the man on the far left.

Instantly I see that this dude still has a lot of fight left in him.

He’s lost his pistol but he draws a hooked knife from a belt sheath at the small of his back under his jacket, and he slashes wildly with his uninjured hand as he lunges my way. I duck the blade, shift to his right, and use the pistol I just lifted from the leader of the group to bash him in the left temple as hard as I can.

His arms cartwheel, he drops the knife, and he hits the back of the van face-first.

I thank the Lord the van doesn’t have a burglar alarm, because his impact shakes the vehicle on its shocks.

The Hungarian who had been on my right has pulled himself halfway back up to his feet, but by doing so he’s put his head in a perfect position for me to drop-kick him in the chin. He probably already has whiplash, but this time I just about decapitate him.

He falls down on his back, unconscious like the man next to him.

I point the leader’s gun in the leader’s face as I kneel and speak softly but quickly, knowing Vukovic should be pulling up right now, so there is no more time to hang out in this alley in plain view of the entrance to his building behind me.

“Call your friend. Where’s your radio?” I fish around in his jacket but don’t find anything. “You’re using your mobile phones for comms?”

The man’s nose bleeds freely into his open mouth as he says, “What friend?”

“The lookout over by the mosque. The other—”

The headlights of two vehicles flash in the square behind me, reflecting off the glass of Vukovic’s building, and I know that in seconds the occupants of both vehicles will see me. I’m sure it’s the police chief and his security entourage, so I have to get out of their line of sight somehow. I hoist back my right hand and punch the leader in the jaw, knocking him out cold, same as his colleagues. Hurriedly I drag him behind the van, grab the second man by the arm, and pull him most of the way behind cover.

And then, just as a pair of Mostar Police vehicles turn onto the street that gives them a clear view straight ahead into my alley, I grab the third man, heave him up off the ground, shuffle one step back, and then fall with him onto the other two, mostly out of view behind the van.

But not totally out of view. My feet are sticking out from behind the van, as are those of the dude I’ve got in a bear hug. Looking down I see that the legs of the two men under me are protruding, as well. We’re a big pile of bodies, and we’d be obvious to anyone looking right at us.

But we’re twenty-five yards away, in a relatively dark alleyway, and I’m hoping like hell everybody in the two vehicles rolling to a stop now has their attention elsewhere.

Otherwise I have a shit-ton of explaining to do.

To my right the leader of the group moans softly and starts moving. I slam an elbow into his face, knocking the back of his head into the cobblestones, and the noise and movement stop.

Looking down between my legs, I see three men get out of the two vehicles. Vukovic is in the group, and they all head towards his building.

Nobody looks my way, which is good, but when the three go inside, the two vehicles roll off, which is bad.

Chief Vukovic has company tonight. A pair of bodyguards. It’s too late to snatch him on the street, and breaching his house without getting into a gunfight in the center of town isn’t looking too likely, either.

But just as I sit up and start trying to come up with a plan C, the man in my arms wakes up. He looks around slowly; clearly he’s in no position to put up a fight. I lean into his ear.

“Take your pals and go home. Heal up. If you’re ready in two weeks, come back for Vukovic. Kill him. But I need him alive right now.”

I don’t know if Niko Vukovic will be here in two weeks. He might be in jail, he might be in hiding, and he might be dead. But the Hungarians are my backup if I fail.

I climb to my feet, pushing the dazed man off me.

And then, just as I stand upright, I see the man in the black raincoat from the alcove step up onto the sidewalk, walking towards the police chief’s house.

He starts to turn in my direction, and I freeze again, but this time it doesn’t work. The man’s eyes lock on mine.

And now I see that this is not a man.

A young woman stares at me, mouth agape. She stops walking and stands there in the middle of the street.

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