Chris Kuzneski - The Prophecy

Megan was about to question him further when Ulster entered the room. His cheeks were flushed, and he was out of breath.

Payne stood, concerned. ‘What are you doing here? You were supposed to call, so I could meet you at the bank.’

Grinning, Ulster collapsed into an armchair. ‘No need, my boy. I have great news, so I hurried straight here.’

Everyone .’

A few seconds later, he hustled out of the bar and into the atrium.

Confused, Ulster and Megan looked to Jones for answers.

‘Did I do something wrong?’ Ulster whispered.

Jones nodded as he eyed the room. ‘You were supposed to call us from the bank. That was the plan. You deviated from the plan.’

‘I know, but it was only a block. I might be plump, but I can walk that far by myself.’

‘Maybe so, but how do you know you weren’t followed?’

Ulster’s eyes widened. ‘Followed? Who would follow me?’

‘The same people trying to kill us,’ Jones explained. ‘If they know about the letter, there’s a possibility they know about Geneva, too.’

‘Yeah, but—’

Before Ulster could utter another word, Payne hustled back into the bar. The look on his face and the gun in his hand told them everything they needed to know.

They had company.

56

Urban warfare is particularly tricky, especially in a delicate environment like a five-star hotel. Before the first trigger is pulled, the combatants have to decide whether their impending battle is more important than the collateral damage that is bound to occur. Not only to the artwork and the architecture, but to all the people who might get caught in the crossfire. Ideally, Payne would have preferred a gunfight in the mountains or a desolate stretch of desert where he could utilize his training and minimize civilian casualties. However, when the enemy initiates a fight, a soldier has no choice in the matter. The field of battle has already been determined. All that is left is to make the best of a bad situation.

‘How many?’ Jones demanded as he pulled his gun from his belt.

Payne answered. ‘Four out front. Maybe more in the back. Didn’t have time to check.’

‘How do you want to play it?’

He yanked Ulster from his chair and grabbed

Jones said nothing as he hustled out of the room.

Meanwhile, the people at the bar realized that something bad was about to happen. Payne sensed their emotion and did his best to quell the panic. ‘You, behind the counter.’

The barkeeper froze. ‘Me?’

‘Call the cops and tell them armed gunmen are about to storm the hotel.’

‘What?’

‘I’m a US soldier on vacation. My partner and I will stop the gunmen, but we need reinforcements. Got it?’

The barkeeper nodded and picked up the phone.

‘White guy, green sweater,’ Payne said as he pointed at his own clothes. ‘My partner’s a black guy in a beige coat. Tell them not to shoot us.’

He nodded again. ‘White in green… black in beige… got it!’

‘What do we do?’ said a middle-aged woman on a nearby stool.

‘Get behind the bar.’ Payne quickly scanned the room, calculating how much space the

‘What about us?’ Megan asked.

Payne ignored her and focused on Ulster. ‘Where is Sotheby’s located?’

‘What?’ he asked, confused.

‘The auction house! Where are their offices in this hotel?’

Ulster pointed towards the other side of the building where some of the most spectacular auctions in Europe had been held. Over the past few decades, Sotheby’s had sold the celebrated jewels of the Duchess of Windsor, the princely collection of Thun und Taxis of Germany, and a pear-shaped diamond weighing over 100 carats for $16.5 million. In addition, they also auctioned art masterpieces and a variety of precious collectibles.

Payne asked, ‘Do they have a walk-in vault where they store their treasures?’

Ulster nodded, too panicked to speak.

‘Listen to me,’ Payne growled as he grabbed him. ‘You got us into this mess, now you gotta get us out.’

Ulster blinked a few times. ‘How?’

‘I can’t fight the bad guys if I’m worried about you and Megan, so you need to take her to

Megan overheard the instructions. ‘But what if—’

Payne cut her off. ‘No ifs! You got me? There are no ifs when I’m involved! I will come to the vault and get you. That’s a promise.’

Jones warned everyone in the lobby of what was headed their way and then dashed up the nearest staircase. He exited on the third floor and positioned himself in the back right corner of the atrium, lying on the carpet near a marble banister. From there, he had a bird’s-eye view of everyone who entered the plush atrium. Grand columns supported the surrounding walkways. Marble busts and tiny figurines filled the alcoves. A circular fountain, lined with flowers, sat in the middle of the tiled floor. Like the calm before the storm, the soft trickling of water would soon be replaced with the echoing blasts of gunfire.

Three days earlier, Jones would have displayed tactical restraint, refusing to fire until he had been fired upon. However, he had learned a lot about his enemy in the past seventy-two hours. They

Two men with buzz cuts crept across the deserted vestibule. Both carried F2000 assault rifles, manufactured by Fabrique Nationale of Belgium. The weapon has a unique ejection system where spent casings are ejected at the front through a tube running alongside the barrel. Gasoperated, the F2000 was capable of firing 850 rounds per minute. In the right hands, it was the type of weapon that could bring down a herd of elephants.

As soon as Jones saw it, he knew he wanted one for himself.

Armed with nothing but a Sig Sauer handgun — their larger weapons were locked in the SUV — Jones waited until both thugs were within range. They split up as they inched round the circular fountain, but as soon as they reunited, Jones fired his weapon with two quick bursts. The first bullet penetrated one gunman’s throat, severing his carotid artery and nicking his spinal cord. He staggered back from the bullet’s impact, and as

The other gunman was far more fortunate because the second bullet didn’t kill him. Instead it merely struck him in the right cheekbone with so much force that it snapped his optic nerve, blinding his right eye. In a wave of agony, he pulled the trigger of his F2000, sending a random burst of rounds from his barrel. Marble and tile exploded and tiny wisps of debris filled the air. But the blitzkrieg ended a few seconds later with a third bullet from Jones.

And this time, his shot was lethal.

Payne was positioned near the entrance to the L’Atrium Bar, waiting for Jones to eliminate the first wave of intruders. As soon as the second corpse hit the floor, Payne peeked round the column and tried to spot the next batch of gunmen. As far as he could tell, no one was coming.

‘Hold your fire!’ he yelled to Jones.

Tentatively, he moved deeper into the atrium, trying to get a better view of the surrounding corridors that spread throughout the hotel like a tangle of veins. The building itself occupied half

‘Am I clear?’ he shouted.

Jones scanned the terrain and saw nothing. ‘Clear!’

‘Coming out!’ Payne hustled across the lobby floor and ripped the F2000 from the dead man’s hands. He quickly searched the guy’s pockets and grabbed two thirty-round magazines. Suddenly, he felt a whole lot better about their predicament. ‘Incoming!’

Jones stood from his perch, and Payne tossed him their bounty. The magazines went first, one after the other, and then Payne sent the rifle skyward. It weighed roughly ten pounds, so it took some effort to throw it to the third-floor balcony. Jones snagged it cleanly, and quickly scrambled towards the left corner of the atrium where he repositioned himself along the floor, just in case some unseen spotter had locked onto his previous location.