‘Hurry.’
The instant she’d finished, Victor led her into the kitchen, took her by the shoulders and guided her to where he wanted her to stand.
‘What are you doing?’
He then wrenched the string to pull up the blinds and shoved the broker out of the way of the window.
She grunted, fell, but the window was still intact, the wall opposite unmarked. No sniper.
The broker scowled. ‘ What the hell was that for?’
He didn’t answer her, opened the balcony door, stepped out, looked around. There was a drainpipe. If it was strong enough, it would take him straight down to the ground in less than a minute. He grabbed it, pulled sharply. It moved, but not much. It would do for the short time it would take.
Victor turned and saw the broker pulling herself upright and knew there was no way she would be able to climb it. He hated having to compromise his course of action to take into account the abilities, or lack thereof, of another. He had to find a different way.
There it was. At the end of the building a black metal bar protruding from around the corner. A fire escape. There were two more balconies between them and it. Victor turned to the broker.
‘Take off your shoes.’
‘Why?’
‘If you want to live just do as I say.’
She kicked them off and he pulled her out onto the balcony. He pointed.
‘I’m going to jump across.’ He tucked the HK into the front of his waistband and climbed onto the rail, holding the drainpipe for support. ‘When I’m over there I’ll reach back for you.’
She shook her head violently. ‘What? No way, I can’t do it.’
‘Then you stay here and die. Either way I’m gone.’
He was glad she had a cheap apartment; there was only a gap of a few feet between each balcony. If he had no other choice, he could do a standing leap from the railing to the next balcony. But the railing was wet. If he pushed off too hard, there was a chance his shoes might slip and he could fall. He looked down. It was a long way.
Instead of jumping, he stood on the railing, body twisted, facing the wall. He gripped the drainpipe hard with his left hand and reached out with his right leg until his foot touched the railing of the next balcony.
Victor extended his right arm as far as it could until he had a grip on the brickwork above the other balcony. He then pulled with his right arm and pushed off with his left leg. His left foot touched the railing just in front of his right.
He looked back to the broker. ‘Come on.’
The broker climbed up onto the railing the way he had done, only painfully slowly. Her breathing was heavy. He could see her fighting not to look down.
He reached out to her. ‘Give me your hand.’
‘Oh God.’
‘He can’t hear you. Now give me your hand.’
She reached out a shaking hand across the gap. He grabbed her wrist hard.
‘You’re hurting me.’
‘Then you won’t fall. Leave your left foot on the railing and reach out with your right. I’ll keep you steady.’
She stretched, but couldn’t reach her foot all the way across. ‘It’s too far.’
‘It’s not. When I say, push off hard and I’ll pull you the rest of the way. Okay?’
‘Yes.’
‘Are you ready?’
She nodded.
Victor tightened his grip. ‘Now.’
He pulled hard, and she pushed, but she lost her balance, and her left foot slipped. She cried out. Victor grunted under the strain but managed to swing her into the railings. She banged into them — crying out — but he heaved her up, and she scrambled over them, finally collapsing onto the balcony.
She lay gasping on the wet stone, eyes squeezed tight. He dropped down beside her and pulled her up by the armpits. He climbed up onto the railing on the far side.
‘Same again,’ Victor said. ‘And then it’s not so easy.’
A figure turned into the hallway, his eyes staring down the iron sights of his MP5SD submachine gun. He was dressed in black combat fatigues, heavy Kevlar body armour, tactical harness loaded with grenades and spare magazines. A handgun was strapped to his right thigh. Over his eyes protruded night-vision goggles.
Four identically equipped men followed fluidly down the corridor, each covering a different field of fire, no one crossing the path of another’s weapon.
They reached the target’s apartment, taking up their positions, one on either side of the door, the others spaced out along the hallway, waiting for the ram to be brought over. The bearer was 240 pounds of muscle and temper and he hurried down the corridor, ram held in both hands. Sixty pounds of black steel with a crude white skull painted on the business end.
He stopped in front of the door, saw his commander give the hand signal, and swung the heavy ram back.
Victor heard the crash as he crossed to the second balcony. The broker, still on the previous balcony, started at the sound and immediately pressed herself harder to the wall, clearly terrified.
Victor pointed. ‘Get onto the railing.’
‘I can’t.’
‘Do it.’
The broker shook her head. ‘I can’t.’
She’d barely made the first one without the pressure of enemies bearing down upon them. It would be even harder now. There wasn’t enough time as it was. He looked to the jutting bar of the fire escape. He could get to it or take a drainpipe and be on the ground in thirty seconds. But it would take minutes to get away with the broker slowing him down. Minutes they didn’t have.
It would be so easy to abandon her. His instincts told him to leave her and just go. What else could she really know that would be of any use to him? A lot was the answer. But together they wouldn’t make it. She’d heard his voice, seen his face, knew more about him than probably anyone alive, and that was before they’d actually met. Victor couldn’t allow her to be taken.
He looked at her. Her eyes were still closed. Victor drew the HK and levelled it at her head, took a breath. Held it. But didn’t fire.
He kicked open the balcony’s French window and charged through even as shards of glass were still falling away. He hurried through the apartment’s kitchen, into the lounge. The layout was identical to the broker’s rental.
Victor peered through the spy hole into the corridor outside. There was just enough light from a window farther along the hallway for him to make out the black-clad figure standing directly in front of the door. He could discern the shape of the MP5, the bulk of the bulletproof vest, the edges of the night-vision goggles.
Victor took a deep breath. Assassins with pistols were one thing, a fully armed and armoured tactical team was another. He could hear the grunts and crashes as more were trying to fight their way through the barricaded door farther along the corridor. They were assaulting the wrong room, had no idea he wasn’t there.
If he was going to do something it had to be now.
Victor flung open the door, grabbed the stunned gunman by the arms, and pulled him into the room. He was taken completely by surprise, didn’t even cry out. Victor swept his feet out from under him and smashed the butt of the broker’s handgun into the floored man’s jaw.
Victor slammed the door shut again, locked it.
The other gunmen in the corridor heard the noise, spun around, saw that one of their own was no longer there.
‘What the fuck was that?’
‘Shit, shit, he’s got Xavier.’
‘He’s in a different fucking apartment.’
‘Withdraw, withdraw, he’s in 305.’
In the broker’s apartment the gunmen withdrew before they’d completed the search. They hurried back out into the hallway, taking up new positions to assault the target’s apartment.
‘Right,’ the commander whispered. ‘Let’s nail this bastard.’
Victor wedged a chair under the door handle and grabbed stun grenades from the gunman’s tactical harness, stuffing them into the pockets of his jacket. He took a handful of spare magazines for the suppressed MP5.