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
It left him with a choice.
As dangerous as the SIG was in trained hands, the potential spray of an assault rifle was far worse. Thinking quickly, Dempsey changed direction to give the SIG carrier a difficult moving target while fixing his own focus on the agent in the lane.
The agent with the military-grade hardware.
Dempsey fired two shots. A double-tap. So close in time to almost sound as one.
The first bullet hit its target, leaving a hole in the front of the agent’s head. The second – unnecessary as it was – did the same.
As the agent fell lifeless to the ground, Dempsey moved on to the remaining threat.
The agent with the SIG.
In the instant he had available, Dempsey recognised the man. The front passenger from the Lincoln.
Still moving fast, Dempsey swept the barrel of his Glock 19 towards SIG. His intention was to fire first. To neutralise the threat before SIG could take a shot of his own.
The odds of achieving that goal were not in his favour.
His barrel swept towards its next target with inhuman speed. But before he was even halfway there, Dempsey knew that even this had been too slow.
Dempsey’s arm was still moving as he saw the tell-tale tightening of the man’s knuckles and the almost imperceptible upward movement of his forearms. Both natural precursors to a shot, designed to steady aim.
Dempsey knew in that instant that he could not beat the man to the pull. And so he did the only thing he could to survive.
He did not try.
Instead Dempsey threw himself into a dive, removing the target of his upper body as the other man pulled the trigger. Mid air the first shot passed harmlessly over his head. The second one did not.
The gunman had fired again immediately, just as Dempsey would have done, and this time he must have anticipated his target’s trajectory. He felt the bullet bite deep into his left shoulder. Ignoring the pain, Dempsey contorted himself in the air, and landed heavily on his back. The impact sent a surge of pain through his wounded shoulder, but it did nothing to slow him down.
The man could not be allowed another shot.
Dempsey’s gun had been aimed as he fell, and he opened fire the instant his movement stopped.
Six rounds. All found their target. First the chest, then the neck and finally the head of SIG. They sent him crashing to the floor while the arterial spray of his neck wound fired into the air.
There could be no doubt that the shots had been fatal.
Dempsey climbed to his feet. Slowly. The pain in his left shoulder was excruciating. The bullet had torn through essential muscle. He could feel that already.
Taking the leather envelope from his jacket pocket, he let his coat slip backwards to the floor and pushed the envelope into his belt, next to the spare clips.
With the jacket off, he ripped his shirt open to expose the wound.