Gone Tomorrow - Lee Child [150]
The twentieth guy went down in a clatter of limbs and head and gun, dead before he hit the boards, shot through the base of the brain.
A head shot. A hit. Not bad for my left hand. Except that I had been aiming for his center mass.
Lila kept on moving. Gliding, swooping, ducking down.
She came back up with the dead guy’s gun. Another Sig P220, another silencer.
Swiss manufacture.
A nine-round detachable box magazine.
If Lila was scrambling for the gun, it was the only one in the apartment. In which case it had been fired at least three times, through the ceiling.
Maximum six rounds left.
Six versus zero.
Lila pointed the gun at me.
I pointed mine at her.
She said, “I’m faster.”
I said, “You think?”
Way off to my left Svetlana said, “Your gun is empty.”
I glanced at her. “You speak English?”
“Fairly well.”
“I reloaded upstairs.”
“Bullshit. I can see from here. You’re set to three-round bursts. But you fired only once. Therefore that was your last bullet.”
We stood like that for what seemed like a long time. The P220 was as steady as a rock in Lila’s hand. She was fifteen feet from me. Behind her the dead guy was leaking fluid all over the floor. Svetlana was in the kitchen. There were all kinds of smells in the air. There was a draft from the open window. Air was moving in and stirring through the room and funneling up the staircase and out through the hole in the roof.
Svetlana said, “Put your gun down.”
I said, “You want the memory stick.”
“You don’t have it.”
“But I know where it is.”
“So do we.”
I said nothing.
Svetlana said, “You don’t have it but you know where it is. Therefore you employed a deductive process. Do you think you are uniquely talented? Do you think that deductive processes are unavailable to others? We all share the same facts. We can all arrive at the same conclusions.”
I said nothing.
She said, “As soon as you told us you knew where it was, we set about thinking. You spurred us on. You talk too much, Reacher. You made yourself disposable.”
Lila said, “Put the gun down. Have a little dignity. Don’t stand there like an idiot, holding an empty gun.”
I stood still.
Lila dropped her arm maybe ten degrees and fired into the floor between my feet. She hit a spot level with and exactly equidistant between the toecaps of my shoes. Not an easy shot. She was a great markswoman. The floorboard splintered. I flinched a little. The Sig’s silencer was louder than the H&K’s. Like a phone book smashed down, not dropped. A wisp of wood smoke drifted upward, where the friction of the bullet had burned the pine. The spent shell case ejected in a brassy arc and tinkled away.
Five rounds left.
Lila said, “Put the gun down.”
I looped the strap up over my head. Held the gun by the grip down by my side. It was no longer any use to me, except as a seven-pound metal club. And I doubted that I would get near enough to either one of them for a club to be effective. And if I did, I would prefer bare-knuckle hand-to-hand combat. A seven-pound metal club is good. But a two-hundred-fifty-pound human club is better.
Svetlana said, “Throw it over here. But carefully. If you hit one of us, you die.”
I swung the gun slowly and let it go. It cartwheeled lazily through the air and bounced off its muzzle and clattered against the far wall.
Svetlana said, “Now take off your jacket.”
Lila pointed her gun at my head.
I complied. I shrugged the jacket off and threw it across the room. It landed next to the MP5. Svetlana came out from behind the kitchen counter and rooted through the pockets. She found the nine loose Parabellum rounds and the part-used roll of duct tape. She stood the nine loose rounds upright on the counter, in a neat little line. She put the roll of tape next to it.
She said, “Glove.”
I complied. I bit the glove off and tossed it after the jacket.
“Shoes and socks.”
I hopped from foot to foot and leaned back against the wall to steady myself and undid my laces and eased my shoes off and peeled my socks down. I threw them one