The bullet whistled past Leopold’s ear and slammed into the wall behind him, throwing up brittle debris as it hit the stone. He dodged to the side instinctively and flattened his back against the wall to avoid a follow up shot. Mary and Albert did the same on the other side of the passageway. Leopold glanced around, feeling the adrenaline kick in, and checked for any sign of movement.
A tiny red dot of light, danced along the opposite wall, seeking out a target. The light made its way closer and closer to where the others were standing, now only partially hidden in the shadows. Leopold knew it was a matter of seconds before they would be forced to break cover and would be in full sight of the gunman. The red dot halted.
Seconds passed and nothing happened. Leopold listened for any sign of movement and caught the sound of fabric rustling about six feet in front of him. Without pausing to think, the consultant shoved against the wall with all his strength and launched himself at the rough area he expected his target to occupy. He lowered his shoulders as he charged to maximize the impact radius of his blow, a technique Jerome had taught him during their training sessions.
Leopold connected. He heard the shooter grunt in surprise and pain as he collided with the man’s rib cage, knocking him to the ground. The consultant spun in the darkness, brought the gun to shoulder-level, and adopted a square stance. He lowered the weapon to the ground where the shooter had fallen and aimed. There was nothing there but empty space.
Leopold felt the attack before he saw it. Grasping the consultant’s wrist like a vise, the gunman twisted it viciously, pulling his arm behind his back. A sharp blow struck his lower back, throwing him into the wall face first.
Twisting his head to avoid a broken nose, Leopold tasted hot blood as his face connected with the stone. Dropping and rolling, he avoided the attacker’s next blow, dodging the impact of the butt of his gun where his head had been just a split second earlier, causing the gunman to grunt with frustration. Glancing up from the floor, the consultant caught one clear glimpse of his attacker as he stood in a stray pool of light.
The man was tall and stocky, and wore a thin trench coat and hat, his features mostly obscured. Leopold recognized him by his strange clothes: one of the passers-by who had caught his attention outside Christina’s dorm room. The clothes looked brand new, probably thrown on earlier in the day to provide cover among the other people on the busy streets outside. He could make out several tattoos scrawled in German on the backs of his hands. There were probably matching tattoos under his clothes as well.
Dodging to the side, Leopold avoided Mary as she flew past him and tackled the shooter, knocking the man over and sending his handgun flying across the floor with a clatter. She straddled his chest and brought her own gun around under his chin. The gunman grinned.
“I’ve not enjoyed being between a woman’s legs this much in a long time,” he said in a thick German accent, licking his lips slowly.
“Shut up. You have the right to remain silent,” Mary began. She never got to finish.
The gunman brought his knee up sharply, connecting with the police sergeant’s lower back and throwing her forward. He used her momentum against her and lashed out with his elbow, knocking Mary hard in the ribs and sending her sideways. Rolling off him, she took up a kneeling position and brought her gun around for a second time. Too quickly, the German was off the floor again and he brought a foot down on her shoulder, his heavy boot knocking her violently to the ground, forcing her to release her weapon. He drew a slim, double-edged knife from his belt and grinned again.
“Time to die, bitch.”
Rousing all his remaining strength, Leopold lunged, throwing a fist at the man’s back as he faced Mary. He connected with soft tissue and felt the man tense as the blow hit home. The German swung his elbow around in retaliation, catching Leopold off balance and knocking him backward against the stone wall. Regaining his composure, the gunman aimed his boot at Mary and connected hard with the side of her head, knocking her out cold. He rounded on Leopold and advanced slowly, knife in hand.
“I think I’ll take my time with you,” he sneered. “I want you to feel it. Then I want you to watch me kill your girlfriend.”
With a cry of frustration, Leopold threw a wild punch, arching the blow in roundhouse fashion to reduce the ability of the gunman to parry. The German brought his elbow up high and took most of the force of the blow to his arm, knocking him off balance but causing no real damage. Desperate, the consultant followed with an uppercut to the stomach, but the gunman dodged and countered by bringing his other elbow around fast, hitting Leopold in the temple. Stars danced across his vision and he once again stumbled against the wall, hands splayed out for balance before toppling to his knees.
His vision cleared, and he saw his attacker throw his crumpled hat to the floor and approach, knife in hand. The blade neared his throat. He could smell sweat and steel. Suddenly, the German let out a cry of surprise as Albert crashed into him, head first, sending them both topping to the ground in a tangled heap.
“Don’t you touch my friends!” Albert screamed, throwing his fists feverishly at the man’s face.
The German was so surprised he didn’t register his attacker at first, but after a few badly aimed punches connected with his jaw, he snapped to his senses and fought back, twisting like a coiled spring. He escaped Albert’s grasp with little effort and lashed out in a dazzlingly quick counter-attack of his own.
Albert looked down and saw the blade of the man’s knife slide out of his shoulder, releasing a hot, thick flow of blood. His eyes rolled up into his head and he fell backward, unconscious. The attacker laughed, a callous, hoarse laugh, and turned again to face Leopold, brandishing the knife.
“Time to die, Mr. Blake,” he said, spitting blood on to the floor.
“Not today,” a deep voice echoed from behind.
Stepping into the pool of light, his face mottled with dust and blood, Jerome stood firm and ready. His suit was torn and bloody at the shoulder, but he didn’t appear to be in any pain. Sneering, the German lunged, slashing the knife upwards with surgical precision over Jerome’s throat, aiming for the jugular.
His smile faltered immediately as the bodyguard caught his wrist and pulled it back sharply, forcing him to drop the weapon. He turned to counter, but Jerome landed a blow to the man’s solar plexus with his other hand and sent the gunman toppling to the floor. A well-aimed kick to the man’s testicles kept him down for the count, only a writhing groan of pain indicating there was any life left in him.
“I’m fine,” said Leopold, as Jerome helped him to his feet. “I’m more concerned about where our friend here is getting his orders.”
Nodding, the bodyguard knelt down beside the German, who began breathing normally again. He lifted the knife off the floor and slid the blade between the man’s ribs. The gunman screamed in pain.
“The knife is now touching the outside of your lung,” Jerome said in a calm voice. “If I apply pressure, the tip of the blade will puncture the parietal pleura, and you really don’t want that to happen.”
“Go to hell,” the bleeding man growled, his face contorted in agony.
“If I press harder still, the knife will completely puncture the lung and you’ll pass out from the pain.”
He applied a slight pressure to prove his point. The German screamed again.
“Now, let’s try this again,” said Jerome, leaning closer.
“What – what do you want to know?” the man grunted between quick, shallow breaths.
“Who sent you the order to kill me?” asked Leopold.