Reaching under their dresses, the three women pulled out the .32 caliber semi-automatic pistols that had been strapped to their legs. Looking about to make sure that they were still alone in the hallway, the black woman stepped over the dead bodyguards and listened at the door to the apartment. She didn’t hear any voices and took it as a good sign that their target did not know they were coming for him. The door was undoubtedly bulletproof; they would have to get someone from the inside to open the door for them.
With a smile on her face, the black woman looked over at the Russian blonde and pointed at the nearest dead body. Bending down, the blonde-haired woman ran her hand through the growing pool of blood on the dark green carpet and smeared some across her face. She pulled her hair down, messed it up and then stepped over to the door, so she could easily be seen through the peephole.
With a bloodcurdling scream on her lips, the Russian girl started to bang away on the door.
Even out on the terrace Mitchell heard the scream and turned his head back toward the apartment.
“What the hell was that?” asked Satomi.
“I don’t know,” replied Mitchell, regretting that he didn’t have a sidearm with him.
Inside the apartment, Satomi’s bodyguard drew his pistol and ran over to the locked door. He looked out through the peephole and saw a distraught looking blonde-haired woman with blood on her face. A second later, she began banging frantically on the door.
“What is wrong?” called out the bodyguard in English.
“The men… the men out here have been shot. I think one of them is still alive,” cried out the Russian.
Confusion flooded the bodyguard’s mind. He hadn’t heard any shots being fired.
“Please help me,” begged the woman.
“What is going on?” asked Satomi as he entered the apartment closely followed by Mitchell.
“Sir, a woman says that the two British men have been shot,” replied Satomi’s bodyguard in Japanese.
“Well, don’t just stand there, open the door and help them,” ordered Satomi.
Mitchell hadn’t understood a word, but the instant he saw the bodyguard move to open the door, alarm bells rang inside his head. “Wait,” called out Mitchell.
The warning came a split-second too late; the instant the door was unlocked, the blonde-haired woman kicked it open. Like a cobra striking at its prey, the Asian woman dove into the room and fired off two quick shots into the chest of the stunned bodyguard. Landing on her side, the Asian woman fired off another shot, which missed Satomi’s head by mere millimeters.
Taking Satomi by the arm, Mitchell pulled him back away from direct line of sight from the doorway. He dragged Satomi through the living room and out onto the terrace, Mitchell knew that he had seconds before their attackers were upon them. Realizing that there was only one way to go, Mitchell tightly grabbed Satomi’s arm with his left hand. Before Satomi could say a word, Mitchell pulled him off his feet and then threw him over the side of the terrace and out into the night. Grabbing hold of the terrace railing with his right hand, Mitchell leapt after Satomi. He prayed that his grip would hold. A second later, Mitchell felt a bone-jarring tug on his arms. Below him, Satomi cried out in panic. Like a swinging pendulum, Mitchell used their weight to propel Satomi down onto the terrace only a few meters below them. Mitchell let go of Satomi as he dropped to safety. Right away, he let go with his right hand and fell. A second later, both hands grabbed hold of the railing on the terrace below. His shoulders screamed in pain at the sudden, jarring stop, but Mitchell had no time to worry about how bad his body felt; he had one thought, and one thought only on his mind. He had to protect Satomi from his attackers. Digging his shoes in, Mitchell scrambled up and over the railing. From above he heard a woman curse in Russian. A second later, he heard a pistol firing. With a loud ping, the bullet struck the railing. He dropped onto the marble-tiled floor of the terrace. Mitchell looked over at Satomi, who was sitting on the ground, grimacing in pain, holding onto his left ankle.
“Are you all right, sir?” asked Mitchell as he stood and made his way over to Satomi. They had gotten away, but he knew their attackers would be coming for them. Mitchell knew they had a minute or less until they would be on them.
“I think I sprained my ankle when I landed,” replied Satomi.
“Sir, we have to go,” said Mitchell as he bent down and helped Satomi up onto his feet.
“Who were they?”
“I don’t know, but I think I tangled with them once before in Washington.”
Without warning, the lights on the terrace were switched on, momentarily blinding Mitchell. Voices called out in Chinese. An elderly man and woman in silk pajamas and robes opened the terrace doors and stood there with their mouths agape at seeing Mitchell and Satomi.
“There is not time to explain. Please help us. Someone is trying to kill us,” said Satomi in fluent Chinese.
Seeing the look of fear in Satomi’s eyes, the man said, “Get inside off the terrace right away.”
“I’ll call the police,” said his wife.
“Sir, we can’t stay here. They’ll come for us,” said Mitchell to Satomi.
Satomi asked the elderly man, “Do you have a gun?”
With a sharp nod, the man strode over to his desk and pulled out an old British Army Webley revolver. “It was used in the Boer War,” said the man proudly in English as he handed it to Mitchell. Looking at the antique, Mitchell prayed that it wouldn’t blow up in his face when he went to use it.
“It’s loaded,” said the man, seeing the look of hesitation on Mitchell’s face.
“Do you have a car we can borrow?” asked Mitchell.
“Here,” called out the man’s wife as she tossed over a set of car keys to Mitchell who grabbed them out of the air.
“It’s a silver 2014 Mercedes SUV on the far side of the parking garage in parking spot two hundred twenty-three,” hurriedly explained the man.
“Thanks,” said Satomi in Chinese.
Mitchell moved to the door of the apartment. He took a quick peek outside and was relieved to see that their attackers hadn’t made it down to their floor yet.
“Lock this door behind us and don’t let anyone in unless it’s the police,” said Mitchell.
“Good luck,” said the man, before closing and locking the door behind them.
Mitchell helped Satomi move as fast as he could down the long hallway to the dual elevator and then pressed the down button. He glanced up at the display above the elevator and saw that there was an elevator stopping on the floor above them. Cursing, he thought about trying for the stairs when the door in front of them parted. Mitchell dragged Satomi inside the empty elevator and pressed the button for the garage several times, as if it would somehow speed up their descent. Praying that their attackers would stop on the sixth floor, they needed time to escape; even a few seconds would be better than none. Mitchell took a deep breath, dug out the ancient revolver from his pocket, and steeled himself for the coming storm.