Page 53 of France Face-Off
Griff crossed to the woman, holstering his weapon. He bent and felt the base of her throat. After a moment, he looked up. “She’s dead. Time to leave.”
Striker clutched a hand to his side as he pushed to his feet. He held out his other hand to help Alex up from the floor.
She stood, her brow dipping low as she stared at where he held his hand to his side. “You’re bleeding.”
He retained his hold on her hand. “I’ll survive,” he said. “The main thing is to get the hell out of here before the entire German police force and army come down on us.”
“We’re in Germany?” Alex laughed. “I knew we were in a gas facility, but I wasn’t sure what country. They knocked me out. I don’t know for how long.”
“Bastards,” Striker swore. “Come on. There’s a plane waiting for us. But you’ll have to share a seat with me in the getaway car.”
“I guess I didn’t think that detail through,” Griff said. “Doesn’t matter as long as we can get to the airport fast.”
Striker laughed. “I think you can handle that.” He took Alex’s hand and led her through the maze of corridors.
With the alarm still blaring, security personnel rushed in, passing workers on their way out. They hurried through the building, presumably heading for a control room. Several times, Alex, Striker and Griff had to duck into a dark corner to avoid being stopped and questioned.
After dodging several security guards, they approached a corner in a hallway. Griff took the lead and came to an abrupt halt.
Alex slammed into him and bounced back into Striker.
He grunted as pain shot through his wound. He shoved Alex behind him.
Two men dressed in security guard uniforms stood in front of Griff, handguns pointing at his chest.
Griff raised his hands.
A shout sounded over the blaring alarm. It came from behind the two guards. Four men ran toward them, the one in front shouting at the two guards in German.
“Shit,” Striker murmured. Soon, they’d have the entire security staff and the German army surrounding them.
The men wore dark pants and dark leather jackets; their faces were hard to make out in the dim lighting, with the red strobing lights distorting the view.
The man shouting in German raised some kind of badge. Among all the German he was rattling off, Striker heard the word Interpol.
The guards backed away, allowing the three men to move in. They each carried handguns. The one speaking German lifted his chin toward Griff, Striker and Alex. The other three of his people moved in. One man, in particular, looked vaguely familiar. He stepped past Griff and gripped Striker’s arm. Another man grabbed Griff’s arm, and the last man hooked Alex’s arm.
Striker started to fight off the man holding his arm.
The man leaned close and whispered in English. “Be cool. It’s me…Ace.”
Griff and Alex must have gotten the same message, since they didn’t struggle as they were led away from the guards. Once they were out of sight of the security personnel, Ace released his hold on Striker’s arm. “You know a different way out of here? I doubt we’ll be able to go back the way we came. The German Polizei should be here momentarily. I’d like to get out before we have to explain why Atkins here is carrying fake Interpol credentials.”
Griff nodded. “Follow me.”
Soon, they arrived at the side door Griff and Striker had entered after destroying the lock.
Once outside, they ran for the Ferrari.
Workers in coveralls stood outside in clumps, staring back at the building. The blinking red lights and alarms were still going.
“We have an SUV parked at the side of the road outside the gate, if you think you can make it,” Ace offered.
“We have something better,” Striker said. “And it’s here in the parking lot.”
“Great, see you at the airport.” Ace and the three men with him sprinted toward the gate.
Griff led the way to the sports car.
