Lauren sensed feeling returning to her arms and legs, which she still could not move. She lifted up slowly from worse to bad to better and heard a familiar gentle voice say, “Come on, Lauren, girl. Time to get up.”
Her memory was scrambled because the drug still had her in its strong grip, just not as tightly. A woman’s hands worked around her. A nurse? Am I in a hospital? Her clothes were being adjusted, shoes wiggled onto her feet. The nurse’s and stronger hands, those of a man, helped her into a sitting position. Nausea swept over her momentarily, and she gagged the fluid back down. She was given more water.
The calm voice again. “Okay, Lauren. It’s almost over. We’re going to see Kyle now.”
Kyle! Yes. Kyle would take care of her. The mention of his name brought hope, and she strained to stand, helped by the guiding hands. The tendrils of the drug still held her back from fully functioning.
The man and the woman took her weight as they guided her through a short, dark hallway and into an elevator, which took them all down. Even at the slow rate, Lauren had to struggle not to throw up. It clanked to a halt, and she heard the male voice say, “Go on down and get the car ready. I’ve got her now.” Flat heels made sharp snapping noises in the hallway.
Light. A lot of light, shining on Lauren, a spotlight? She waddled closer, held gently by the man. “A few more steps, Lauren. Be strong. Kyle’s just on the other side of the door.” She blinked several times and ran her tongue across her dry lips. There was a shadow in the light, a silhouette forming, something familiar about the solid shape. Kyle? Kyle had come to take her out of the hospital? I’m not wearing makeup. What will he think when he sees me like this? My hair is a mess. Will he still love me? Tears began to well in her eyes and roll onto her cheeks.
“Wait here for a minute, Lauren, and get some strength. Just another minute. I promise.”
She knew the voice now and leaned against the man. “Okay, Jim. Thank you.”
THE ADDRESS THAT JIM Hall had given was an apartment house in the Herrengasse section of Bern, a stone building surrounded by a thick wall, with knotted brown vines climbing over it at some points. Swanson walked all the way around the place. The wall was merely decorative, with no gates. A wide entrance at the rear opened into an alleyway to facilitate off-street, underground parking for the tenants. The front was a spacious, well-maintained walkway rising to a single line of stone steps up to a set of doors. Carved stone bears flanked the entranceway, and polished steel banisters extended down the stairs for assistance during the bitter winters. He closed his right hand around the pistol in his jacket pocket and went up past the bears and cautiously pushed open the door.
It was a weather portal, an air lock that helped hold in the heat, a seven-by-seven sanctuary from the weather. The floor was of well-worn marble with a rubber mat on which to wipe shoes and boots. A cheap painting was on one white wall, and on the opposite side was a brass line of call buttons for the individual residents and a set of mailboxes. In front of him was another pair of doors, tall and heavy with a rectangle of thick glass in each. The doors were secured by heavy interior bolts that could be activated by a tenant. There were no knobs. It reeked of Swiss solidity, dependability, and safety. Kyle thought those doors, which seemed so inviting to visitors, could probably stop a cruise missile. The glass certainly was not bulletproof but was made up of several thick layers, even more protection from the weather.
He peered through, using his hand as a shade, and saw three figures step from a small elevator and into the hallway. Two women, one man, all in enough shadow to distort their images. One of the women walked away, and the other two people turned to face him.
Jim Hall was holding Lauren tightly around the waist, supporting her weight. She seemed dazed, hardly able to walk, but Kyle saw no blood. That was good. He took his pistol from the pocket, racked in a cartridge, and held it by his left side, out of sight beneath the glass. He saw Hall say something to Lauren but could not hear the words.
Hall extended his right arm and touched a button, and the hum of an intercom hissed in the entranceway. He then leaned down and gave her a slight kiss on the cheek. “Here she is, Kyle. A deal is a deal.”
Hall threw Lauren against the door so hard that she hit it and bounced back; then there was a clap of thunder and she slammed into the door a second time. Her eyes flew wide in surprise and shock, then hurt and pain. As she slid down, Jim Hall pulled the trigger again and put a bullet into her upper right shoulder. A spray of crimson smeared the window, and Kyle watched her slide to the floor.
He screamed and fired a shot through the glass, which webbed out to absorb the impact but did not shatter. It was bulletproof! “I’m coming, Lauren!” he yelled, then began punching every buzzer on the call board, shouting in English, German, and French for somebody to unlock the damned door. A girl is dying in the foyer. Open the door and call the police.
It seemed an eternity before a few responses came, residents asking for more detail before they unlocked the portal for a stranger. Finally one person upstairs hit the button and the lock buzzed and slid back. Kyle pushed on the door, but Lauren’s body was in the way. He put his shoulder to it and managed to open it enough to squeeze through, weapon first, shifting his eyes to the hallway in case Hall decided to snap off more shots. He heard footsteps pounding down the stairs, Jim Hall escaping.
Adrenaline surged through Kyle, telling the warrior to go after the target, to take down the threat no matter what. Finish what you start. Finish Jim Hall now, because you might never get another chance. But this was Lauren lying at his feet, with a couple of terrible bullet wounds that were bleeding profusely, silently weeping and trying to eat the pain. He dropped the gun.
On his knees, Swanson felt for a pulse and found a weak one. He gripped her hand, and somehow she smiled. He ran his hands over the wounds, front and back. The first bullet had struck her in the thigh, the second in the back. He knew from his own past that the two bullets had done a lot of damage, too much for any first aid to mend. She needed a hospital and a surgeon. He would not leave her to die alone on a cold marble floor in Switzerland. He ripped off his jacket and tied the sleeves around the thigh wound, which was spilling dark blood like a waterfall. Kyle bit his lower lip, knowing the sign that her femoral artery was hit. His shirt became a bandage for the back wound. No exit wound meant the bullet was still in there. Shit!
The hiccupping sirens of approaching police and ambulances could be heard, but in his heart, Kyle knew they might lose this race. He wrapped his arms around Lauren, sat back against the wall, and pulled her close, pressing the makeshift bandages. “It’s okay, sweetheart. I’ve got you now,” he whispered. He was at a loss to do any more and felt hot tears of his own. He stroked her hair and looked deep into the beautiful eyes that were growing dim. “Hey, did I ever tell you about a place called Flo’s Hot Dogs, back in Maine? I’ll take you there soon.” And he explained to her the mysteries of making a great hot dog.
BAVARIA
THE GLOVES CAME OFF after the shooting of Agent Lauren Carson and even the CIA joined the hunt-only in a support role, but it furnished a ton of support. The orders from the president were explicit: Find Jim Hall. Every alphabet agency in the U.S. government, and their counterparts overseas, put him at number one on the international list of active terrorists. Any country knowingly providing him aid and comfort could expect harsh retribution and a cutoff of all financial aid from the United States.