She stepped back from the door. “Well now, I was sort of angry with you before I left Chicago. I thought all of these precautions that kept us all apart were paranoid. And I even got mad that you’d conditioned me to put a hair across the door jamb, so I could tell if someone had broken in.”
Bob was perplexed. “So?”
“So… I put one across the crack of this door, and it’s gone.”
Bob’s hand went to his waistband and the Glock 19 at the small of his back. “Go,” he commanded. “Run. Put distance between yourselves and here.”
“We should get help,” Dawn said. “The police cleared you—”
“They cleared a stolen identity for a man still being sought by the federal government. I can’t call the police, Dawn,” Bob said. “Keycard.”
She handed it to him.
“Go, please, now. For once, no arguments.”
She nodded quickly and led Marcus towards the stairs.
He waited until they’d rounded the corner. He stood to one side of the room door, reaching across it to work the lock, turning the handle gently, then shoving the door open full force.
It was weighted, but even so managed to smack into the wall behind it, next to the bathroom door. He drew the Glock and peeked around the corner.
Nothing.
He leaned against the door as he entered, the pistol braced. He pushed it nearly closed behind. The bathroom door was open and he glanced inside.
Empty. He swung the gun back to his right, towards the room proper, taking small, cautious steps until he could see more of the room in the mirror above the television set.
Clear? His angles were cut off slightly. Bob leaned down and around the corner, going wide, until he could see between the beds.
No one. The hall closet had no doors, so that had been out of the question. He glanced towards the windows, wondering if there was a balcony he hadn’t—
Behind the bathroom door.
He caught the faintest glint in the windowpane as the titanium cord necklace looped over his head and around his neck. He tried to get a hand up, between it and his Adam’s apple, but his attacker was too quick.
The man leaped onto his back, wrapping his legs around Bob’s torso, the chain cutting into his carotid artery, blood flow stopped, a leaden fog hitting his brain almost immediately.
Bob threw himself over sideways, crashing them both into the faux-wood desk next to the TV. But the attacker clung on, even as Bob clawed at him, trying to pry him loose.
“You’ll start to lose consciousness soon, Singleton,” the man said. “But rest assured, it will be a good death. A warrior’s death. You can take pride knowing you died at the hands of Geert Van Kamp, the world’s greatest assassin.”
Bob struggled to cough out an answer.
“Wh…who?” he choked.
55
The man’s grip around his neck relaxed ever so slightly. “What do you mean ‘who’? You know exactly who I am.” The grip tightened.
Bob tried to bend at the waist, just enough to let his head nod forward a few inches. Then he threw it backwards with all his strength, Van Kamp too close, the back of his head smacking into the other man’s face, nasal bone snapping.
Van Kamp shrieked, the garotte momentarily loosened. Bob rolled away and up to his feet. Pain shot through his right ribcage and he staggered for a moment, even as his opponent also came to his feet, clutching his broken nose.
Bob looked both ways quickly, trying to spot his pistol. Van Kamp was faster, drawing his weapon and raising it before Bob could move.
“Pathetic,” Van Kamp spat. “You are so embarrassed that you cannot admit being beaten by me.”
“Buddy,” Bob said, gently shaking his head, “I have no idea who the fuck you are.”
“RUBBISH!” Van Kamp raged. “That is nonsense, mate, and you know it. I am the world’s—”
“Greatest assassin, yeah, I heard you. I mean… I still have no idea what the fuck you’re talking about.”
“You have a lot of enemies—”
“Tell me something I don’t already know. Let me guess, you’re an Andrew Kennedy special.”
“Enough!” Van Kamp spat. “Turn around, and down on your knees.”
Bob complied. “Well… we’ve established one thing: you’re not the world’s most original assassin.”
“That you have the gall to still pretend—”
“I’m not pretending,” Bob said. “I’ve never heard of you. Do you really think everyone in the game is keeping a tote board going on who’s killed the most people for money? Or however the fuck you judge your status?”
“YOU SHOT ME IN THE FUCKING FACE!” Van Kamp ranted.
Bob frowned, puzzled. I’ve never seen this guy before in my life. I’d remember it. “I what now?”
