The doors to the elevator chimed and then slid open.
“Hey, you, stop!” called out Fahimah as the woman went to enter the elevator.
Turning her head slightly, the double saw Fahimah barely five meters from her. In a flash, she dropped her purse, brought up a small .22 caliber pistol, and fired it straight at Fahimah. At this range, she couldn’t miss.
In Fahimah’s mind, she saw the pistol and nothing else. Less than a second later, she doubled over from the impact of the bullet hitting her midsection. She never heard the sound of the pistol firing, or the screams of the terrified guests, only the sound of her heart rhythmically beating in her ears as she tumbled down onto the cold, granite-tiled floor. Pain and fear filled her body and mind. Gasping for air, it felt as if her chest was held in a vise that was slowly pushing the life out of her. Fahimah struggled to turn her head. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the elevator doors sliding shut. The image forever burnt into her mind was the look of regret on her attacker’s face as the doors closed. As she struggled to breathe, Fahimah’s world began to narrow into an ever-constricting tunnel. A second later, she blacked out.
Pushed back against the glass doors, Jackson fought against being swept outside as the sea of people rushed past him and out into the open. He could hear sirens in the distance, but they would arrive too late to help, of that he had no doubt. Towering over most of the patrons, Jackson tried to spot Atsuko in the throng of panicked guests, but it was proving fruitless. He had already seen three women who looked just like her, but none of them looked to have been in any distress. At the back of the crowd, he spotted Mitchell fighting his way through the mob. Raising his hand to wave, Jackson noticed a young Asian woman in a dark gray suit step out of the onrushing swarm. Before he could react, she jammed a handheld Taser into his right thigh. In less than a second, his muscles constricted throughout his body. Burning pain seemed everywhere. White light filled his vision as Jackson dropped to the floor, his body covered in sweat. He could feel his leg still twitching involuntarily from where he had been struck.
“Jesus, Nate, are you all right?” asked a voice, barely audible over the sound of the stampeding people’s feet rushing past Jackson’s head.
When he opened his eyes, Jackson at first saw a blur and then slowly his eyes focused on Mitchell pulling him away from the rush of people. Mitchell propped his friend up against the wall.
“Some Asian girl stepped out of the crowd and used a Taser on me,” mumbled Jackson as he fought to control his ragged breathing. He had never been subjected to a Taser before; it even hurt to breathe. In that instant, he knew he would never again make light of the time Mitchell had been attacked by a thug with a Taser in Charleston.
“Seems to be a lot of that happening here tonight,” replied Mitchell as he quickly undid Jackson’s bow tie and the first couple of buttons on his dress shirt, allowing him to breathe easier.
“Have you found Miss Satomi?” asked Jackson, starting to feel a fraction of a bit better now that he could breathe.
Mitchell looked over his shoulder and said, “No, no I haven’t, and I don’t think that this was the work of some amateur eco-terrorists, either.”
A new voice filled both Mitchell and Jackson’s earpieces. “Agent down! I repeat agent down!” Both men recognized the voice of Bill Masters, the limo driver.
Dread filled Mitchell’s heart. “Report, Bill,” said Mitchell, knowing there could only be one response.
“Miss Nazaria has been shot. I’m with her on the third floor. An ambulance is on its way,” succinctly reported Masters.
Their simple assignment had degenerated into a bloody nightmare. Atsuko had been kidnapped, Matsuda and his men lay dead on the floor of the lobby, and now Fahimah had been shot. Everyone involved had grossly underestimated the opposition, and it had cost them dearly. Mitchell felt the muscles in his jaw tighten. Someone was going to pay, and he intended to collect.
Mitchell felt a hand on his shoulder. Looking over, he saw Jackson grimace as he tried standing. “I’ll head below and check on Fahimah. You find Miss Satomi before it’s too late.” Leaning his back against the wall, Jackson just needed a few more seconds before he could move about on his own.
With a nod, Mitchell patted his friend on the shoulder. Then with anger swelling in his heart, he charged into the crowd, pushing people aside until he stood in the open. The cool night air felt refreshing on his face. Turning on his heel, he could see people streaming to the exit on Independence Avenue while a few others made their way along the pathways beside the Haupt Garden. Some of the terrified guests lay on the ground, struggling to breathe, suffering from the effects of smoke inhalation. All around him, mayhem reigned. Looking back over his shoulder, Mitchell could see a couple of mounted police officers making their way through the panicked mob of people streaming away from the gallery. No matter where he looked, he couldn’t see Atsuko. His rage began to boil up inside him. He couldn’t believe how badly things had gone tonight, when he unexpectedly heard the sound of a motorcycle engine coming toward him. Like the Red Sea parting for Moses, the crowd moved aside as two black-and-yellow motorcycles, driven by a pair of riders dressed in all-black leather clothing, their faces hidden under shiny black helmets, raced through the crowd and came to a sliding halt in front of a group of women. Almost right away, two of the women jumped on the back of the idling bikes. Mitchell swore one of the women was Atsuko Satomi. She was no longer wearing her gray jacket but a black one. No wonder he had lost her in the crowd. He sprinted after the two bikes.
“Stop those bikes,” yelled Mitchell as loud as he could at the two mounted police officers as he vaulted over a man helping a woman lying on the redbrick pathway. Landing like a sprinter doing the hurdles, Mitchell jumped over a couple more people as he closed in on the bikes.
A head turned. Seeing Mitchell charging his way toward them, one of the women said something to the lead motorbike driver, who looked over and then leaned down over the bike’s handlebar. A second later, she popped the clutch and revved her bike’s engine. Like a horse waiting at the start line of a race, the motorbike leapt forward and then began to weave its way through the throng of people standing about in-between the garden and the other buildings lining the path, closely followed by the bike with Atsuko on it.
Mitchell saw all of the other Asian women, less one, fade away into the crowd. Stepping forward to block Mitchell’s path, her eyes burnt with resolve. She reached behind her back and pulled out a small sword. Gripping it tight between her hands, she balanced her weight between her feet and calmly waited for her opponent to arrive.
Mitchell saw the woman standing there with a sword in her hands and Mitchell swerved to his right, trying to avoid the woman. As fast as he could, he kept running; he had no time to waste with her, not while Atsuko Satomi was still in sight.
With a snarl on her lips, the woman saw the move and ran at Mitchell, intent on stopping him.
Quickly looking over his shoulder, Mitchell tried to see where the two police officers were, but saw that they had stopped to help the people behind him. With only feet to go before he smashed into the woman, Mitchell dug his heels in and stopped sharply, reaching behind his back for his pistol. He drew it and took aim.
Challenging him in Japanese, the woman raised the gleaming blade above her head and then, with a loud cry, she went to bring it down on his head, when Mitchell fired a single shot, killing her. The woman’s body fell to the ground with a smoking hole blown into her forehead. Mitchell regretted killing her. He would have preferred to take her alive, so the police could have interrogated her, but there had been no time, and she had been hell-bent on killing him. He placed his pistol into a jacket pocket. Mitchell sprinted once more after the escaping bikes. Behind him, one of the police officers heard the shot and hurried to get back onto his horse.