Home Invasion - J. A. Johnstone [22]
“Something’s always not right in this business. If everything was right, they wouldn’t need us, now would they?”
“I suppose not.” Parker stood up. “There’s no point in wasting time. We might as well get started on this babysitting job.”
Ford finished his drink and got to his feet as well. “Farewell, ladies,” he said to the girls around the pool, quietly enough so that none of them heard him.
The two men strolled into the hotel, went to the bank of elevators, and Parker pushed the button. A family with several kids in tow came up behind them. As the bell rang to signal that the elevator was there, Ford glanced over his shoulder and stepped aside, motioning for the family to go ahead.
“We’ll get the next one,” he said.
“What did you do that for?” Parker asked when the door had slid closed.
“I didn’t like the looks of that little boy. He looked like a farter to me. We didn’t want to be trapped in there with him for six floors.”
“You’re always looking out for our safety, aren’t you, Fargo?”
“Of course. It’s my job.”
As a matter of fact, Ford had saved Parker’s life a couple of times in Pakistan. Neither of them was going to mention that, though. Like Ford said, it was just part of the job.
They took the next elevator and got out at the sixth floor. Signs on the wall told them that Rooms 620 to 640 were to their right. They turned in that direction. The fourth door on the right would be 627.
They had almost reached it when they heard the crash and the cry of pain from inside the room.
CHAPTER 11
Ford’s right hand went behind his back and plucked the gun from its concealed holster. At the same time, his left grasped the door handle and tried to twist it.
Locked. The handle didn’t budge.
The door had one of those card key locks. Parker had his gun out by now, too, and as he leveled it at the lock, he said, “Step back.”
“That won’t work,” Ford said as another yelp came from inside the room, followed by what sounded like a chair being overturned. “You’ll just wind up with a smashed lock and a door that still won’t open.”
Parker glanced at him. “How do you know that?”
“Those guys on TV proved it. You know, the goofy one and the one with the beret.”
“Then what do we do?”
Somebody inside the room screamed, “Help!”
Ford glanced both ways along the corridor. “You take 625, I’ll take 629. See if anybody will open up.”
They went opposite directions along the hall. Ford pounded on the door of 629 while Parker did the same on 625. “Police!” Ford yelled. “Emergency!”
The first part was a lie. The second part certainly wasn’t.
Nobody answered his knock, but Parker shouted, “Fargo! Down here!”
Moving fast for such a big man, Ford reached the open door of 625 in a couple of leaps. Parker was already in the room, heading for the sliding glass door that opened onto the balcony. Ford followed him, rushing past a fat, middle-aged man who looked terrified to have a couple of armed strangers running through his room.
Parker threw the glass door aside and lunged out onto the balcony. Ford was right behind him.
“You know this is crazy, don’t you?” Parker flung over his shoulder.
“Fastest way in there,” Ford replied.
As a matter of fact, adrenaline was thundering through his veins and he felt great. For a lot of his career with the Company, he had been a handler, not a field agent. That aspect of the job had its rewards, but it was nothing like being on the ground and feeling like you were actually accomplishing something.
The gap between balconies was about eight feet, plenty wide enough to discourage anybody who might be crazy enough to try to jump from one to another.
Parker barely slowed down, though, as he rested his free hand on the railing, vaulted up, slapped a foot down onto the top of the rail, and pushed off.
With six stories worth of empty air beneath him, he sailed across the gap, clearing the railing on the other balcony by perhaps a foot. He went down to hands and knees when he landed but