Chapter 11

ELEVEN

Krav Maga, literally “contact combat,” is a style of fighting developed in Israel. Emphasizing the art of counterattack, it is the embodiment of street-fighting. There are no rules, and any and all resources are used to neutralize opponents. In training, emphasis is placed on reacting to unexpected and immediate threats, the worst-case scenario. In the real world, however, the preference is to recognize potential adversaries in advance and formulate preemptive strikes.

Operating under this mind-set, Slaton had been positioning for his assault ever since the katsa had sat down. In truth, even before the katsa had sat down. He knew a great deal about the table in front of him. He knew that it weighed very near fifteen pounds and was not secured to the floor. He knew it rested on three legs, two of which were now perfectly bracketing the katsa’s chair. He understood the table’s distribution of weight, and that its center of gravity lay just below a blunt edge that was situated between the katsa’s solar plexus and his holstered gun. The katsa’s chair was identical to his own, a typical four-legged affair, but atypically light and unstable. Slaton knew all of this because he had studied and weighed and measured for the better part of two hours. He also knew that the area behind the chair was clear, nothing but five feet of cold, hard concrete.

So before the katsa’s hand had even reached his windbreaker, Slaton was countering. Perfectly balanced by his right foot and left arm, his left foot hooked a front leg of the katsa’s chair and pulled, while at the same time his right hand pushed the tabletop in the opposite direction. The only possible result was for the man to rotate uncontrollably in his chair. The katsa’s free hand went up and back, a foreseeable reaction to falling blindly backward. His right hand cleared his jacket as he fell, and the predicted Beretta was there. But he was completely off balance, more flying than sitting, and his head slammed into the concrete.

Everything on the table flew to the floor, a clatter of breaking china and spinning utensils. Slaton moved instantly over the stunned katsa, but the man recovered quickly. He still had the Beretta, and started swinging it forward. Slaton lunged for the gun but got only a wrist. He grappled with his other hand and reached the weapon, covering the katsa’s desperate grip. The gun was frozen between them, two big men, but gravity was on Slaton’s side. He levered all his weight, and applied the hand and arm strength of a man who in the last months had moved three hundred tons of stone. The katsa buckled, and Slaton forced the barrel away from his own chest and toward his opponent.