The remaining soldier, who was cowering behind an overturned table, tossed his pistol forward and raised his hands above his head. ‘Don’t shoot!’ he begged.
Jones readjusted his aim, waiting for the guy to do something stupid. ‘Jon?’
Payne stayed in the fountain, not saying anything until he scanned the room for more hostiles. Once he was confident everyone else was dead, he answered, ‘Coming out!’
With his rifle pointing forward, Payne stepped out of the fountain and went across the lobby. Bodies and debris littered the floor. After kicking the pistol away, he dragged the lone survivor to the middle of the atrium where Jones could keep an eye on him.
Payne growled, ‘If you move, you die. Understand?’
The guy nodded, then laid on his stomach in a submissive position.
‘Is anyone else coming?’ Payne demanded.
‘No! I’m all that’s left!’
‘If you’re lying to me, I swear I’m gonna—’
‘I’m not lying!’ he screamed. ‘He only sent us! I swear to God he only sent us!’
Payne dropped to one knee and put the rifle in the man’s face. ‘Who the fuck is he?’
The man gulped, trying to decide whom he feared more: his boss or Payne.
And Payne sensed the hesitation. ‘Righty or lefty?’
‘What?’ he asked, confused.
Payne got closer. ‘Are you a righty or a lefty?’
‘Why?’
‘Because I’m a nice guy.’
‘I don’t understand!’ he whimpered.
Payne took a deep breath, annoyed. ‘I’m about to shoot off one of your fucking hands, and I’m willing to start with the hand you use less. So, which is it? Righty or lefty? Or do you want me to take a guess?’
‘François!’ the guy shouted. ‘François Dubois! He lives in Bruges!’
Payne smirked. The ruse worked every time. ‘What was your mission?’
‘To kill you and your friends.’
‘What else?’ Payne demanded.
‘Nothing! That’s all we were supposed to do!’
‘What about the letter?’
‘What letter? I don’t know anything about a letter!’
Payne stared at him. He seemed to be telling the truth. ‘Your only goal was to kill us?’
‘I don’t know what you did, but François wants you dead!’
58
Jones remained in his perch until he heard the squawking of police sirens in front of the Beau-Rivage. Only then was he willing to stand and survey the scene. The front half of the lobby had been heavily damaged by the HELLHOUND. Not quite obliterated — because it was still structurally sound — but several levels beyond scarred. It would take more than a paint crew to whip it back into shape. The same thing with the atrium. Everywhere he looked, Jones saw blood and bodies, not to mention dozens of bullet holes and a few stray limbs.
Simply put, the housekeepers were going to be pissed.
‘Hey Jon,’ Jones called from above. ‘I don’t want to pay for this shit. Let’s blame the grenade on them.’
Payne nodded and looked down at their prisoner. ‘You got that, Lefty?’
‘It was François!’ he shouted. ‘François did it!’
‘That’s the spirit. Keep saying that, and we’ll get along fine.’
After warning Payne, Jones leaned over the railing and tossed his F2000 into the fountain. It hit the water with a loud splash. ‘Let the cops find it there.’
‘Speaking of cops,’ Payne said, ‘we should have Nick back our story. Can I borrow your phone? Mine’s kind of wet.’
Jones shook his head as the Geneva police stormed through the front entrance. ‘I’ll call Dial. You handle the cops. For some reason, they always blame the black guy.’
Payne laughed. ‘In this case, they’d be right!’
Jones ducked into the stairwell and went up to the fifth floor. He figured the higher he was in the hotel, the more time he’d have to make his call before the cops found him.
Sitting in his office at Interpol, Dial answered on the third ring. He was pleasantly surprised to hear Jones’s voice. ‘It’s about time you guys called me at a decent hour. Did you finally figure out the time difference?’
‘Nope. We’re actually in Geneva.’
‘Switzerland? I thought you were in Philly.’
‘We were, until someone tried to kill us. So we snuck over here.’
‘Define snuck.’
Jones smiled. ‘I’d rather not.’
Dial sighed. ‘Fine. Then why are you calling?’
‘Why? Because they just attacked us again. And this time, we hit back.’
‘How hard?’
Jones did the maths in his head. ‘Eleven dead, one captured.’
‘You killed eleven? Any civilians?’
‘None that I know of. But I haven’t checked the wreckage yet.’
‘Wreckage? What wreckage?’
Jones didn’t want to lie to Dial about the grenade, so he skirted the question. ‘Let’s just say the Beau-Rivage is no longer a five-star hotel.’
Dial took a deep breath and tried to remain calm, but it was tough since he knew he was about to be pulled into this mess. He just wasn’t sure how. ‘What do you want?’
‘Surprisingly, not much. Maybe a few kind words to the Swiss police if they don’t believe our story. Other than that, I think Petr Ulster will be the only character witness we need. He’s considered royalty in these parts.’
‘Petr was there? Is he all right?’
Jones feigned anger. ‘I can’t believe you! I spent the last minute telling you about a major firefight with eleven casualties, yet you never asked if Jon and I were okay. But as soon as I mentioned Petr, you get all weepy and concerned. What’s up with that?’
‘Fine. Are you guys all right?’
‘Actually, Jon got a small cut on his cheek. It might require a bandage. Oh, and his phone got soaked. It might not make it.’
Dial smiled. ‘And Petr?’
‘I think he’s fine. I’m not sure, though. Jon got pissed and locked him in a safe.’
‘Did you say safe?’
Jones grunted. ‘Damn, I hope there’s air in that thing. If not, we might need—’
‘DJ,’ he said, cutting him off. ‘Why are you calling?’
‘Why? Because we got the name of the asshole who keeps trying to kill us.’
Dial picked up a pen. ‘Great! Who is it?’
‘Some dude in Bruges named François Dubois.’
‘You’re shitting me!’
Jones noticed his excitement. ‘I take it you know the guy.’
Dial nodded. ‘Know him? We’ve been after him for years. Murder, weapons, drugs, you name it. Don’t let his fancy French name fool you. That guy is bad news. His nickname on the street is Frankie Death.’
‘Really? Then I guess Christmas just came early. Come to Geneva, talk to the injured guy who fingered him, then pick up Frankie Death. In return, we expect something nice. How about a Swedish hooker?’
‘Hold on,’ Dial said as he closed his office door. He didn’t want anyone in his office to hear what he was about to say. ‘You don’t want me to do that.’
Jones smiled. ‘Relax, I was kidding about the hooker. I can get my own hooker.’
‘Knock it off! I’m not talking about a hooker. I’m talking about Dubois. Trust me, you don’t want me to arrest him. That’s the wrong move.’