Page 118 of The Medici Return

Another failure with the burning car?

His finger went to the trigger.

STEFANO SPOTTEDCARDINALRICHTER. IN THE PIAZZA. EXPOSED. HEbegan to run, his legs stretching effortlessly as they had on the calcio ball field.

Casaburi was down.

Shot. Twice.

Ascolani was fleeing the piazza about thirty meters to his right. He called out to Richter but there was too much commotion, too many people darting in every direction. If Dewberry was inside the Hotel Duomo he’d have to wait until the field was clear to fire.

Unless he didn’t care who he shot.

COTTON HEARD SOUNDS FROM INSIDEROOM408AND KNEW WHATthey were. High-pressure exhaust.

He banged on the door. Hard.

No answer.

He tried the knob. Locked.

No sense being subtle.

He raised his right leg and kicked the door.

THOMAS WAS STARTLED BY BANGING ON THE DOOR.

Then the knob rattled.

He needed to finish. Now.

People began to clear. He centered Richter in the scope.

And fired.

STEFANO RACED ACROSS THE CHAOS ON THE PIAZZA, SHOVING PEOPLEaside. Richter was beginning to leave, but he was still an easy target.

So he kept running.

Then leaped from his feet and tackled Richter hard.

Taking them both to the ground.

THOMAS GRIPPED THE RIFLE AND LIFTED IT FROM THE SOFA, SWINGINGaround just as the room door burst open. He leveled the weapon and fired two rounds through the open doorway. There was no leaving this room by the windows, no balcony, no ledge. His only means of escape was to deal with whoever was forcing their way inside.

Yet nobody was there.

COTTON HAD ANTICIPATED THATDEWBERRY WOULD NOT BE HAPPYwith the intrusion. What would he do? Simple. Use the rifle. So he stayed to the side of the doorway, conscious of the fact that Dewberry’s high-powered weapon could inflict a lot of damage at close range. Even worse, the hotels olden walls would offer little to no protection.

Which Dewberry seemed to instantly realize, readjusting his aim and sending rounds through the walls, which thudded into the other side of the corridor. Cotton kept retreating down the hall until he was beyond the corner of the room. He’d only have a moment. So he had to make it work. He fell to the floor with his legs limp, allowing them to stiffen slightly as he landed, forcing his body into a forward roll that ended him on his belly. He reached up and banged the wall with the Beretta. Dewberry reacted as expected and fired at the noise. Cotton used the moment to wiggle forward to the door’s edge.

He gritted his teeth and lay on his back.

One. Two. Three.

He rolled away from the door into the corridor and came to his knees. In one fluid motion he pivoted into the doorway and aimed the gun. Dewberry stood across the room—thick shoulders, strong neck, flat stomach, tapered waist—with the rifle at chest level. It would take a moment for him to realize the situation and readjust his aim.

Cotton fired once.

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