Chapter 13 - The Second Squeak
Crack-crack-crack.
Three suppressed rounds punched through the limestone pillars behind the reception desk, sending white dust billowing into the air.
“Get down!” Gabriel roared, lunging forward and tackling the girl off the couch just as a second volley of gunfire shredded the leather cushions where she had been sitting a second prior.
Security guards scrambled for cover, drawing their sidearms, but the attackers weren't trying to storm the lobby. They were professional cleaners—mercenaries hired to erase whatever loose ends Viktor Volkov had left behind before his transfer.
Gabriel pushed the girl behind a massive structural concrete column, drawing his own customized Smith & Wesson with practiced, lethal speed.
“Stay down and keep your head covered,” Gabriel ordered.
“I told you he didn't call,” the girl muttered, wiping a speck of dust from her cheek without a flinch.
Gabriel didn't answer. He leaned around the edge of the pillar, scanning the shattered front entrance through the haze of smoke and falling debris. Two men in tactical black gear were stepping through the broken glass doors.
Squeak.
Gabriel’s eyes dropped downward.
The lead mercenary’s left boot was soaked in the wet, muddy slush of the Chicago sidewalk outside. Every step he took on the polished lobby floor produced that exact, high-pitched, mocking sound.
Squeak.
Two steps.
Gabriel didn't wait for them to spot his position. He stepped out from behind the pillar, two rapid shots echoing through the cavernous lobby. The lead mercenary dropped instantly, a clean headshot taking him down before his finger could even twitch on his rifle trigger.
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The second operative tried to spin toward the elevator bank, but a concentrated burst of fire from the second-floor security gallery caught him in the shoulder, spinning him around and slamming him hard against the glass wall.
Silence descended on the lobby once more, broken only by the distant wail of sirens outside.
