Barry Eisler - The Detachment

I turned to them. “When you all arrived, was there a security detail at the other end of the hallway on this floor?”

They all shook their heads.

Well, that was odd. These weren’t the kind of men who would overlook something like that.

“Why are you asking?” Larison said.

“Because there was one when I got here. Two bodyguards, who must have taken up their position after you all arrived but before I did.”

No one said anything, so I went on. “Could be a coincidence, of course. Just a high-profile guest who happened to check in after you arrived but before I did. But still.”

I paused and considered. As always, I assumed the worst, the worst in this instance meaning that Horton had somehow anticipated us, or followed the others, and had people in place in the hotel even now.

Put yourself in their shoes. They’d be expecting you to take the stairs, not the elevator. Which, from their perspective, would be perfect. Suppressed weapons, no witnesses, all loose ends disposed of quickly, quietly, cleanly.

“Here’s how we’re going to play it,” I said. “Treven and I are going to head out into the main corridor first. If those two guys I saw are just someone’s diplomatic security detail, fine, we’ll hold the elevator for Dox and Larison and we’ll all go down together. But if they’re not just security, and we have a problem…”

I thought for a moment. I wanted Treven alongside, not behind me, so that was good. But…

I looked at Dox and Larison. “If we have a problem, Treven and I will drop and create a clear field of fire for the two of you. Whatever happens, we’re going to use the elevator. I don’t like the idea of the stairs right now. Everyone okay with this?”

They all nodded. I checked the peephole again, turned the handle with my jacket sleeve, and opened the door. The three of them moved out past me and I closed the door behind us as softly as I could. Then I moved ahead again.

I looked at Treven. “You’re too tight,” I said softly.

He frowned. “What do you mean?”

“I mean you look tense. Even if those guys are legitimate, they’re watching for trouble. I don’t want to do anything that makes them remember us. And if they’re not legitimate, let’s not do anything to make them feel like we’re clued in. Not until we’re clearing leather and putting rounds in their heads. Okay?”

He frowned more deeply.

“Goddamn it,” I said, “it’s not a criticism. Just relax and follow my lead, okay? Relax.”

We turned the corner into the main corridor. I saw the two bodyguards, same position as before. My heart kicked up a notch.

“I told him,” I said, remembering a banal sports conversation I’d once overheard. “I told him, ‘What the hell were they thinking, trying to play a zone defense against Kentucky?’ I mean, you don’t play a zone against Kentucky.” I actually had no idea what this even meant, but it must have meant something.

To his credit, Treven picked up the vibe immediately and ran with it. He laughed and said, “I was saying the same thing. Told them, ‘not unless you want to get your ass kicked, you don’t.’”

The two bodyguards peeled off from the wall and started moving toward us. Rather, the two not-bodyguards. My heart started hammering harder.

“Best part?” I said. “Those dipshits were betting. Against someone trying to play a zone against Kentucky! Kentucky, can you believe that?”

The two not-bodyguards’ hands were empty. But they were wearing suits. There were a lot of possibilities for concealed carry.

“You know what?” Treven said. “I love people like that. People who bet without thinking. Think they know the odds when they don’t. Means more money for me.”

We reached the elevator bank. The not-bodyguards were ten meters away. “Excuse me,” the one on the left said, his eyes invisible behind his shades. “We’ll need to see some identification.”

“Identification?” I said, my tone indicating this was the most absurd sentence anyone had ever uttered. I reached out and pressed the down button with a knuckle.

I saw movement at the far end of the corridor. Two more guys in suits and shades, rounding the corner. These two holding guns.

“No problem,” Treven said. He reached down as though for a wallet, instead coming out with a Glock and shooting both of them in their foreheads so instantly that the first guy hadn’t even begun to drop by the time the second had been drilled clean, too. The bam! bam! of the two shots was thunderous in the long corridor. I pulled the Supergrade and dropped to the floor so fast I actually reached it before the two dead guys. Treven was right there next to me, already firing at the two new guys, as was I. There were more shots from behind us, and the two new guys were suddenly jerking like puppets on strings, convulsed from multiple hits.

The shooting stopped and the corridor was suddenly silent again, the air pungent with the smell of gun smoke. I glanced back and saw Larison and Dox moving smoothly forward, each with his weapon out at eye level and in a two-handed grip. I looked at the two guys farther down the corridor. They were splayed face-up on the carpet, their legs twisted beneath them. I kept the Supergrade on them and came to my feet, staying close to the wall. Treven changed to a kneeling position just below me. The second two downed men were too far away for us to be sure they were dead, and we weren’t taking any chances.

“Was that relaxed enough?” Treven said mildly, keeping his eyes and the muzzle of the Glock pointed downrange.

“That was very relaxed,” I said.

The elevator chimes sounded-the doors on the far left. “Shit,” I said, fighting the urge to approach it tactically with the Supergrade out. If there were more opposition inside, I wanted to be ready. But if it were a bunch of civilians, we’d have major witness problems.

But they hadn’t known when we’d be leaving the room. And elevators are too unreliable to use tactically. If there were more opposition, they’d be pouring in from the stairwells. Assuming they weren’t deliberately waiting there.

I walked over, getting the Supergrade back into my waistband and under my jacket just as the doors opened. I glanced inside. Two young Indian men, fresh-faced, navy slacks and starched white shirts. Wearing American Constitution Society badges on lanyards. They were close to the back wall, from which they wouldn’t be able to see the carnage outside.

“Hi there,” I said, with a friendly wave. I was trying to indicate to Treven, Dox, and Larison that there were civilians in the elevator, and that they should put away the hardware so we could get the hell out of there.

“Going down?” one of them said to me, in the characteristically sunny accent.

“Yes,” I said, putting my arm out to block the doors. “Could you just hold the elevator for a second?” I turned toward Dox and Larison and called, “Someone’s being kind enough to hold the elevator for us. Let’s hurry.”

We were lucky no one had poked a head out into the corridor so far. I supposed most of the rooms were empty at this time of day, but still, we had to beat feet.

The second Indian guy sniffed. “Do you smell something strange? Smoke, I think. Like something is burning.”

“Yeah,” I said, “a maintenance man just came through here. He said it was a problem with the ventilation system, nothing to worry about.”

Dox, Larison, and Treven all collapsed into the elevator and I followed them in. The Indian guys suddenly looked very small. They backed up against the wall but it was still a tight squeeze. I pressed the garage floor button with a knuckle and the doors closed.

“Thank you,” Dox said, smiling a smile that to my mind looked completely maniacal. “Would have hated to have to wait for the next one.”