The study, dimly lit from a banker’s light on the desk, made Ramsland edgy. He didn’t like interior work. It was well outside his comfort zone. Sharp lines, smooth surfaces, and square forms were everywhere. He’d considered cutting the power, but that would immediately alert his target to danger. Normal citizens considered a power outage a pain in the rear, but a trained spook had a completely different reaction.

He eased to the double doors leading into the living room and heard a male voice say something he couldn’t hear clearly.

A few seconds later, he heard the same voice again. “Raul. I need your help. Now.”

Ramsland flattened himself against the jamb and froze. Was this his target and was he coming in here? The voice held a command tone, but that didn’t prove anything. He needed visual confirmation.

Just outside the study’s door, an indoor palm occupied a large ceramic pot. The base of the palm was surrounded by peat moss material, but the pot was too low to use for cover. He sidestepped toward the open side of the double doors and, inch by inch, peered around the corner. At the same instant he confirmed this man was his target, the man turned from the sliding glass windows and looked in his direction.

He pulled back. Had he been fast enough?

***

Montez pivoted away from the window.

As he did, he saw movement in the study.

He drew his pistol and, using his best lighthearted voice, said, “Raul, come out of there. I’m in no mood for a drill tonight.”

Raul didn’t come out.

A U.S. Marine did, wearing tactical gear and body armor. He recognized the combat utility uniform.

Montez crouched down, closed his eyes, and simultaneously pressed two buttons on the remote.

Six interior palm trees exploded, including one by the study door.

The flash-bang grenades detonated with thunderous concussions and blinding light.

The soldier dropped to one knee and fired his weapon.

The sliding glass door behind Montez shattered.

Knowing his opponent couldn’t see or hear his movements, Montez leapt over the leather couch, flattened himself into a prone position, and pulled the trigger. A forty-caliber armor-piercing bullet plowed into the soldier’s shoulder.

The soldier grunted and gained his feet. Still blinded by the flash-bangs, he ran head-on into the closed library door and bounced back. He whipped around and emptied the remainder of his magazine from one side of the room to the other.

All shots missed high.

Montez fired again, nailing the chest cavity. Remarkably, the Marine didn’t go down. He watched in awe as the soldier ejected the spent magazine and reached for another. This man was damned good, and tough. A shame to kill him. He wondered how this assassin would hold up under a controlled interrogation. Montez sent a third bullet before the soldier could slam the next magazine home.

That one did it.