That Time in Paris, Logan Ryles [room on the broom read aloud TXT] 📗

Wolfgang broke toward the fire door, pausing long enough to scoop up the Russian’s fallen pistol. He wasn’t sure how many rounds were left, but he wasn’t about to crash through another door unarmed.

Biting night wind stung his eyes as he burst into the narrow street behind the hotel. The fire alarms faded behind him, but now he could hear the distant scream of European fire trucks hurtling toward the hotel. Voices shouted from the front of the building, but in the back, all was dark and still.

Wolfgang raised the pistol and turned down the street. It was framed on both sides by tall buildings that blocked out the street lights and gave shelter to the dumpsters and heating units that lined either side of the road. Beneath the screech of the fire engines, the heaters hummed softly, masking Wolfgang’s footfall as he eased down the alley.

“I’m in pursuit,” Wolfgang whispered.

He looked to the end of the alley, then behind him toward the hotel front. In truth, he had no idea which way to go or where to look. Spider could be anywhere by now. He could be halfway out of the city.

Wolfgang’s stomach twisted in knots as he took another two steps into the alley. Maybe their mission was already accomplished. Raven had plenty of time to talk to Spider. Maybe he had already ascertained the date and location of Spider’s planned attack, and maybe it didn’t matter where Spider was anymore. He was the CIA’s problem now.

But no. Something in Wolfgang’s gut warned him that this wasn’t over. Something was still wrong. Something felt cold and uneasy.

The sharpening breeze that whistled down the street bit through his tuxedo. He took another few steps into the alley and paused when something on the ground beyond the next dumpster caught his eye. He couldn’t tell what it was, but by the soft angles and irregular shape, he knew it wasn’t made of metal, and probably wasn’t manmade at all.

Wolfgang broke into a jog, leading with the gun and closing on the object. His stomach churned as he heard Edric call through the earpiece again. Broken and distorted, his voice was becoming more difficult to discern, but Wolfgang wasn’t listening anyway. He approached the dumpster from the back side and held the gun at eye level, then slowly turned the corner.

Spider lay on his back, staring skyward, his throat slit from ear to ear. Blood spilled across the pavement in a growing pool of rapidly cooling crimson. Wolfgang swept the gun left and right, but there was no sign of the killer, or of Raven.

Wolfgang stepped back. “Charlie Lead, I’ve located Spider. He’s dead. Repeat, Spider is terminated.”

Wolfgang’s earpiece clicked and hissed.

Edric’s reply sounded distant. “What is your location, Charlie Three?”

“Behind the hotel, in the street.”

“Repeat, Charlie Three. You’re breaking up.” Edric’s voice faded and clicked, then the earpiece beeped.

Wolfgang knelt next to the body, quickly digging through Spider’s pockets, searching for anything useful. The pockets were empty, but as Wolfgang moved to search Spider’s coat, another beeping filled his ears, this time not from the earpiece. It was from his watch.

He twisted his arm. The watch face blinked red, with a yellow message flashing in the middle of the screen: RADIATION DETECTED.

Wolfgang pulled his hand back, almost rolling onto his ass, then looked down at the body again as he remembered Lyle’s description of the watch. “I call it a sniffer . . . It even has a built-in Geiger counter.”

Wolfgang pushed himself to his feet and took another step back as he scanned the length of Spider’s body, from his slit throat all the way to his shoes.

His shoes. Wolfgang’s gaze stopped on the exposed soles of Spider’s dress shoes. They had leather soles, and the bottoms were stained with bronze-colored patches, from the heel to the toe. Wolfgang knelt down, leaning close to the shoes as the watch buzzed again. He reached out and scraped at the stains. Some of the substance lifted free of the soles in gummy strips. It was half-dried paint.

Wolfgang stood up again and took a step back, his mind racing.

A nuclear scientist, exposed to radiation, walking through paint . . .

The realization hit Wolfgang like a ton of bricks. He turned toward the alley and broke into a run, pressing his hand over his ear. “Edric! Edric, the attack is today! Here in Paris! There’s a bomb in Paris!”

The earpiece remained quiet. Wolfgang pulled it out and tapped it against his leg, then jammed it in again and repeated his frantic monologue. Once more, he was answered only by silence, and a lead weight descended into his stomach as he remembered Lyle’s other words about his gadgetry. “The battery life isn’t great.”

Wolfgang had neglected to charge the earpiece after the café mission. It was dead now—completely useless. He gritted his teeth and dashed around to the front of the hotel. People were everywhere, crowding around the firetrucks as firefighters dashed into the hotel, towing canvas hoses. Red lights flashed, and alarms screamed. Charlie Team was nowhere in sight.

Wolfgang pressed through the crowd, frantically searching the faces for Megan or Lyle, Edric, or hell, even Kevin.

Somebody. Now.

The breeze on his face intensified, bringing with it an omen of doom. He didn’t have time to find the team. He was already out of time. His hands shook, and he scanned the parking lot. He needed a car. Something fast.

A low snarl echoed across the parking lot, and Wolfgang looked to his left. A knot of gala attendees had gathered around a substitute valet stand. They waited in line, shouting for their cars to be brought around as the wives shivered and the men cursed. The sound had come from the race-red Ferrari he’d seen earlier that night. The beast growled as it approached the valet stand, its lights flashing across the faces of the waiting gala attendees. Wolfgang broke into a run, shoving through the crowd as the driver’s door of the Ferrari swung open and the valet stepped out.