Page 28 of Triple Threat

“Location?”

“They seem to be gathering in the front lobby, west lower floor, and the vestibule to the chapel, south lower floor,” Roan said.

“Conan?” I heard someone speak, a light feminine lilting voice coming through my earpiece.Sadie…The knowledge sent a frisson of energy through my chest.

“Give me a few moments, I’m working,” Roan said gently, his voice muffled as he likely put his hand over the mic. He took it away and I heard her again…

“Oh, sorry,” she said and she sounded... I don’t know… Lonely?Fuck.

“Alfred, what’s Sadie doing in the Bat Cave?” I demanded.

“Keep your mind on the mission, Bruce. Looks like the Prince of Persia is leading the counterattack, he’s in the vestibule. They have rifles,” Roan said.

“Kill the lights and keep me appraised,” I said. Rather than taking the stairs at the end of the corridor, I opted for the express and grabbed the rail and hopped over the edge. It took two lurching seconds before I hit the lower floor and rolled to a concealed position behind a planter. The lights went out, and then I heard the shouting and the cussing explode from the direction of the front lobby. I felt like a walking gun store sometimes, but cases like this justified the weight. I unslung the AR-15 and checked the magazine and walked toward the front lobby. My target wasn’t in there, the Iranian, the Prince of Persia, was a take-chard and lead-from-the-front sort of asshole. I was counting on that.

“You know that being caught in a pincer is a tactical disaster,” Roan said primly in my ear.

“It’s not being caught if it’s a trap,” I muttered back.

“It’s not a trap if theyknow where you are. Blast it,” Roan countered.

“It’s still a trap,” I said.

I pulled the Colt and fired several times toward the front lobby. The gun was loud, and its voice distinctive. They would know it wasn’t one of theirs, and they would start their action. I drew down into a concealed position behind the large stone planter that had cigarette butts in it instead of some oversized mall palm. I let the alpha types burst into the room like the commandos they thought they were. These weren’t the French Foreign Legionnaires that the Death Squad had come from, these were locals; Texans and Mexicans with a wild hair up their ass about being mercenary badasses, and getting paid to strut around with guns.

I let them sweep twenty feet into the common area, moving around the cafeteria-style tables, some bumping into chairs. They all had their rifles up, flashlights in hand; a few carried pistols and were comically using their phone flashlights. Idiots, the only advantage they had was numbers, and that was all.

The AR-15 fired in three-round bursts. Where they had flashlights and phones, I had a night vision scope. Several of the men screamed and fell, clutching at wounds, dropping their weapons. The gunfire was loud in the confined space. Some tried to drop and take cover, others tried to fall back to the lobby, but the men and folding chairs behind them tangled up their feet. They had no line of escape.

Fucking amateurs.

On cue, the Prince shouted and his group came up from the vestibule. Their guns were raised and as soon as they saw the confusion and muzzle flashes in the dark, they started firing too. Part of me wondered what they thought they were shooting at. It wasn’t me; I could hear the bullets flying through the air, and the ones that hit walls, or the floor near me. The dark, the confusion, how long would they shoot at each other before realizing it?

One of these Texas cowboys might do my job for me. I still got paid, but there was something that irked the professional in me. I ducked away from the planter, back toward the staircase, toward the Prince’s flank. Or it would be his flank if his men had considered such things. As it was, they had just run into the room and started shooting. To their credit, some of them had considered taking cover behind tables they flipped over, or behind doorways. None of these things were reinforced or bulletproof.

One of the reasons I carried the AR-15 as one of my choices was for situations just like this one. They all had AR-style rifles, and it was sheer tornadic noise they were making with the guns. I took a knee and started picking my targets, one at a time, one shot.

“Getting noisy, mate,” Roan said in my ear.

“Just a little,” I remarked. I picked another target and put a round through the turquoise bolo tie he was wearing. Another man with a horrible mustache earned a .223 through his belt buckle, which I could have seen even without the night vision. I can only assume the bullet deflected upward from the thick metal and decided to tumble through his abdomen. He went down in a terrible mess. That was one of the reasons I hated these rifles, tumbling rounds were sloppy.

The rate of gunfire rapidly dwindled, and the Prince started shouting a mangle of French and Spanish, with a few words that I could only assume were curses in Farsi. It was a beautiful disaster.

He stood and waved his flashlight at the remaining men who had come from the lobby. I switched the AR to full auto and lit the Prince up like a blue-light special.

This set off a second round of blind shooting and I made for my escape, heading back toward the door I had barred behind me. I knew it would still be clear, since it couldn’t be opened from the outside. There was a surge of people running down the stairs and I fired a suppressive burst, pelting the walls and ceiling. They screamed and tried to run in a dozen different directions at once. I saw they were the women who had been in other rooms upstairs. I was glad that I hadn’t fired into them, it didn’t look like any of them were armed.

It was pandemonium.

“Is Lock okay?” I heard Sadie ask, and I scowled.

“He’s fine, I told you I'm working right now, Poppet,” Roan said. “Go on.”

“Poppet?” I asked. “You must be getting annoyed.” A burst of gunfire shredded the wall entirely too close to where I was standing. I took a knee and put a three-round burst into the wanna-be killed, and dropped him like a bad habit.

“What is your exit strategy?” Roan asked, ignoring my remark about Sadie.

“East door should be clear,” I said.

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