Chapter 40: The Price of Victory
Adam heard it. The rushed, impatient footsteps of the lead assassin ascending the stairs. It was the sound he had been waiting for, the sound of a professional making a fatal mistake.
He opened his eyes. He saw the first masked man burst onto the landing, his pistol raised, his attention completely focused on the locked doors at the end of the hallway. The frantic pounding from Anastasia’s room had drawn him in, a perfect distraction.
Adam thought about attacking him then and there. But just as the first assassin rushed past his hiding spot, the second one appeared on the stairs, moving quickly to follow his leader. This was it. This was the perfect opportunity.
Adam exploded from his crouched position. He swung the heavy cast-iron frying pan in a wide, vicious arc, aiming for the second assassin’s head. The man’s attention was focused forward, on his partner’s back. He didn’t see Adam coming. He didn’t even realize he was under attack until the heavy pan crashed into the side of his skull with a sickening thud.
The force of the blow was immense. The masked man stumbled, his body going limp for a fraction of a second. Adam seized the opportunity. He moved in behind him, his other hand, the one holding the small paring knife, flashing forward.
He plunged the blade deep into the assassin’s neck, just below the ear. The man collapsed to the floor without a sound, his body hitting the wooden landing with a heavy thud.
The first assassin heard the sound and spun around, his professional instincts taking over. He saw his partner on the floor and Adam standing over him, a bloody knife in his hand. He didn’t hesitate. He raised his pistol and fired.
The silenced pistol spat out three rounds in quick succession. One bullet struck the body of the fallen assassin on the floor. The other two slammed into Adam’s chest.
The impact was like being hit by a sledgehammer. Adam was thrown backward, the air knocked from his lungs. A searing, white-hot pain spread through his entire body. But he didn’t fall. He wouldn’t allow himself to fall. He had to finish this. He had to kill the last man standing in this hallway.
He still held the knife. He pushed through the pain and charged forward, moving in a frantic zigzag pattern, trying to make himself a more difficult target.
But the assassin was a professional. His aim was steady, his hand unwavering. He kept firing. Three more bullets struck Adam, one in the shoulder, one in the stomach, one in his leg. The pain was unbearable. His body was screaming at him to stop, to give up, to let the darkness take him. His vision was blurring, his movements becoming sluggish.
He knew he was dying. He knew he only had a few seconds left. He brought his free hand up to cover his face, a desperate, instinctual attempt to protect his head. It was a move that saved his life, for a moment. Two more bullets struck his arm, shattering the bone. Another grazed his cheek, leaving a trail of fire in its wake.