Damn it, Anna Mayer.
Bending down and moving as close to the wall as possible, Olaf passed through the door on his right.
The next area contained what appeared to be an intricate ancient market gate. He didn’t know the structure’s history, and at that moment, he couldn’t care less about it. The building overhead had a loft, but the entire construction seemed so fragile that he dismissed the idea of the suspect hiding up there.
Quickening his pace, he hastened across the floor and passed under the arched passage, leading deeper into the museum.
Merely two steps inside the next area, two bullets ricocheted off the wall near him. Entering the room, he took cover behind another massive structure. He put off his leather jacket and extended his arm, using it as a decoy. No more bullets came his way.
Peeking around the corner, the room seemed to be vacant. He noticed that the door leading to the next passageway was shut, while a staircase offered access to the upper floor.
He wore his jacket and made for the staircase. Glancing over his shoulder upon reaching it, he saw the famous Ishtar Gate, one of the towering gates of Babylon. As its vibrant blue bricks glistened in the dark, he couldn’t help but regret not visiting the damn museum before. Knowing the layout could’ve been real handy.
The upper floor featured a glass ceiling that allowed moonlight to bathe the exhibits. Olaf caught a glimpse of the suspect just as he opened the door on the opposite side of the room. “Stay right where you are!” he shouted, aiming his flashlight directly at the figure.
As the suspect turned, Olaf got a clear view of the guy, who didn’t seem a day over twenty. The pale face beneath the hoodie stared at him for a brief second, before raising his gun.
Olaf took cover behind a display case filled with jewelry and personal ornaments.
Thundering shots were fired, shattering the glass behind him. The man had removed the silencer, hoping to maximize precision and impact.
He carried what Olaf suspected to be a 9mm. Most likely a Glock or a Sig Sauer, though it was impossible to tell from their current distance. Considering the rounds fired that had killed the uniforms, and those against the Babylon Gate, Olaf estimated that the man had between three and five bullets left. Assuming of course that the wacko wasn’t carrying additional magazines with him.
As the gunshots ceased, Olaf rolled along the floor, his gun trained toward the spot where the man had been standing. The target had vanished, and the door was left ajar.
Olaf got back to his feet and hurried toward it.
He hastened his stride inside the next room, as it only displayed tapestries and carpets adorning the walls. Holding both his flashlight and gun, he crossed his arms to maintain a steady aim.
Proceeding to the opposite end of the room, he leaned against the wall. He didn’t need to peek around the arched frame to discern that the Altar was situated on the other side of the wall, its soft, dimmed lighting penetrating the room.
Olaf weighed his options. The Altar featured several columns that weren’t wide enough to hide behind them, but their dense arrangement offered good cover. With a head start, the man was now well-positioned for an open confrontation. Olaf had three choices: charge into the Altar, counting on the guy having poor shooting skills, wait for Mayer’s signal, or wait for backup to arrive.
He silently cursed Mayer for being unreachable. Brick phone or not, the situation would have been more manageable if they could exchange intelligence, and make a damn plan together.
A deafening scream pierced through the hall, its echo resonating in his ears.
Mayer.
Without hesitation, Olaf leaped into the Altar area, surprised that not a single bullet flew his way.
Taking cover behind a column, he positioned himself to expose as little of his body as possible. He detected movement at the top of the staircase and slid along the column to get a better view.
In the center of the Altar, precisely where an ancient civilization had once offered sacrifices to their gods, stood the suspect and Mayer.
Chapter 3
THE MAN HAD TAKEN MAYER HOSTAGE, tied her hands behind her back, and held a large knife close to her throat.
His gaze was fixed on Olaf. “Put your gun down, or she dies.”
“Let her go,” Olaf said, taking another step forward.
“Put the fucking gun down!”
The man must have increased the pressure on the knife, because a trickle of blood began running down Mayer’s neck.
“Alright,” Olaf said, lowering his weapon.
“Put it on the ground and kick it away,” the man said.
With slow movements, Olaf did exactly what the man demanded. “You should know it’s over,” he said. “Special forces will be here soon, and I’m telling you, they won’t be gentle.”
“Shut the fuck up!”
“Okay,” Olaf said. “Okay. What is it that you want?”
The man shifted his gaze around the Altar, as if he was scanning for a potential exit route. Even though he wasn’t too close, Olaf could discern the man’s tense facial features—wide eyes, rapid blinking, sweaty, pale skin. The guy seemed to be in a full panic mode.
“We know you attacked the other three,” Olaf said. “I have no clue what they did to you, but I’m sure there’s an explanation for everything.”
“They fucked me over, that’s what they did.”
“What do you mean by that?” Olaf asked, taking a step closer to them.
“Stop moving or I swear I’ll cut her throat.”
“Okay. Please, just tell me what these three professors did to you.”
