Contents (84)
- ONE
- TWO
- THREE
- FOUR
- FIVE
- SIX
- SEVEN
- EIGHT
- NINE
- TEN
- ELEVEN
- TWELVE
- THIRTEEN
- FOURTEEN
- FIFTEEN
- SIXTEEN
- SEVENTEEN
- EIGHTEEN
- NINETEEN
- TWENTY
- TWENTY-ONE
- TWENTY-TWO
- TWENTY-THREE
- TWENTY-FOUR
- TWENTY-FIVE
- TWENTY-SIX
- TWENTY-SEVEN
- TWENTY-EIGHT
- TWENTY-NINE
- THIRTY
- THIRTY-ONE
- THIRTY-TWO
- THIRTY-THREE
- THIRTY-FOUR
- THIRTY-FIVE
- THIRTY-SIX
- THIRTY-SEVEN
- THIRTY-EIGHT
- THIRTY-NINE
- FORTY
- FORTY-ONE
- FORTY-TWO
- FORTY-THREE
- FORTY-FOUR
- FORTY-FIVE
- FORTY-SIX
- FORTY-SEVEN
- FORTY-EIGHT
- FORTY-NINE
- FIFTY
- FIFTY-ONE
- FIFTY-TWO
- FIFTY-THREE
- FIFTY-FOUR
- FIFTY-FIVE
- FIFTY-SIX
- FIFTY-SEVEN
- FIFTY-EIGHT
- FIFTY-NINE
- SIXTY
- SIXTY-ONE
- SIXTY-TWO
- SIXTY-THREE
- SIXTY-FOUR
- SIXTY-FIVE
- SIXTY-SIX
- SIXTY-SEVEN
- SIXTY-EIGHT
- SIXTY-NINE
- SEVENTY
- SEVENTY-ONE
- SEVENTY-TWO
- SEVENTY-THREE
- SEVENTY-FOUR
- SEVENTY-FIVE
- SEVENTY-SIX
- SEVENTY-SEVEN
- SEVENTY-EIGHT
- SEVENTY-NINE
- EIGHTY
- EIGHTY-ONE
- EIGHTY-TWO
- EIGHTY-THREE
- Acknowledgements
Grace’s words broke into Dempsey’s thoughts.
‘What do you think happens now?’ Dempsey asked. He had not quite registered the question. ‘You think I can just let you walk out of here?’
‘Walk out? Are you serious? Have you not been listening? We’re in this together, pal.’
‘What?’
‘They’re coming, Dempsey. And they’re coming now. Whether I like it or not, that puts me on your team.’
Dempsey was surprised by the suggestion. Grace was not only trying to warn him, she was volunteering to put herself in harm’s way . . .
‘So what’s the damn plan?’
Dempsey hesitated. His every instinct told him that Grace was playing it straight. Instincts that were fighting to overcome his natural paranoia.
‘Dempsey, for Christ’s sake.’
It was time to make a choice.
He lowered his pistol.
‘OK. Where was the ambush supposed to happen?’
‘Seventy-Fourth Street,’ Grace began. ‘I was supposed to lead you out near to the parking—’
She did not get the chance to finish her sentence.
The side service entrance, at the end of the corridor to Dempsey’s left, was designed to keep out the uninvited. It was an expensive security door. Probably more than was necessary for a residential apartment building in a good Manhattan neighbourhood.
But all barriers have their limits. And whoever designed this one had not expected to contend with the point-blank blast of a Remington 820 Tactical shotgun.
The sound was unmistakable. An explosion of metal upon metal as the upper hinge of the security door was reduced to shrapnel.
There was no danger from where Dempsey stood; there was a corridor length between him and the damage. But still he felt his adrenaline spike, and with it he felt as if time around him was beginning to slow.
This was happening. And it was happening now.
FORTY-SEVEN
Dempsey had turned at the first shot. By the time of the second – another Remington blast, this time to the door’s lower hinge – he had stepped forward. Back towards the lobby and away from the corridor.
Grace had done the opposite. Her pistol was in her hand within an instant of the first shot. By the time of the second, she was at the corner of the corridor, her weapon ready to meet whoever came through the door at its end.
She assumed that Dempsey would have done the same. That he would have mirrored her positioning.
‘Where the hell are you going?’ she demanded.
‘It’s a diversion,’ Dempsey replied. ‘One man. The others are coming through the front.’
‘What? How the hell can you know that?’
Dempsey removed the Glock 26 from his ankle holster and a clip from under his belt. He threw both to Grace.
‘Because the entrance to this building is a forty-foot glass shooting gallery. You have that, why come through a door that needs an artillery to open it and leads directly into a bottle neck?’
Grace nodded.
‘They want our attention this way.’
‘They do,’ Dempsey answered. ‘And they can have yours. Put covering fire down that corridor and I promise you he won’t take a step inside.’