Choice of Weapon by C Marten-Zerf

Author:C Marten-Zerf [Marten-Zerf, C]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Small Dog Publishing
Published: 2013-06-23T04:00:00+00:00

A hand touching his side. ‘You’re bleeding.’

Garrett looked down. There were two holes in his shirt and, when he pulled it up to look, two corresponding crimson creases ran along the side of his torso. Rib bone. White. Peeking coyly through ragged flesh. Bleeding but not serious. He dropped his shirt back and ignored the wound.

‘Come on. Check for weapons.’

Each of the bodies was equipped with a sidearm. All different. A street mix of 38 specials, 32’s and 9 millimetres. The weapon that had missed Garrett was a Walther PPK chambered for the .380 ACP. James Bond. He sifted through the weapons before he chose a 9-millimetre FEG, a Hungarian copy of the Browning Hi Power. Checked the magazine. Nine rounds left. Sufficient. He checked there was a round in the chamber, checked the safety was off. Then he looked out of the window again. Still no sign of Brian. Petrus sniffed with distain when Garrett asked if he wanted a pistol and he cleaned his blade on the curtains.

Garrett stood quietly for a while and thought. Something was wrong. Where was Brian? Where were the other guards? Where were all of the rest of the alleged Nigerians that were meant to be commanding the hotel that they were in? He beckoned to Petrus, cocking his head towards the door.

‘Let’s go. Quietly.’

They continued upwards. Floor by floor until they got to the top. All of the floors were empty. Quiet.

‘They must be on the roof.’ Said Petrus.

The last section of stairway was cast iron. Rough steel treads and railings. They followed it to a gray, steel covered door. A handle. No lock.

Before Garrett opened the door he whispered to Petrus.

‘Try to keep someone alive. I’ve got questions. Something’s not right here.’ The Zulu nodded. Garrett turned the handle and they went through. There was one man on the open roof. Crouching down. Staring over the parapet. AK47 in hand. As they walked through the door he spun around. Raised his rifle. And his head exploded.

Garrett and Petrus hit the floor and scrabbled over to the parapet, lying flat.

‘Where did that come from?’ Shouted Garrett.

He raised his head over the low concrete wall to snatch a quick glance. Saw nothing. They lay still for a while and then heard, faintly, someone calling from the street. Garrett popped his head back over the parapet. Saw Brian. Standing in the middle of the street. Flanked by his soldiers.

‘Hey,’ Brian shouted. ‘What the fuck is going on? You guys all right?’

Garrett stood up and waved back. Then he pointed down. Brian gave the thumbs up. Garrett turned to see Petrus crouched over the body. Staring intently.

‘What’s wrong, Petrus?’

The Zulu shook his head. ‘Not sure. I think that I’ve seen this guy before. Hard to tell.’

Garrett squatted down and peered at the ruined face. The bullet had hit the man in the back of the head, slightly off center. From another building. In the dark. A beautiful shot. The hyper-velocity slug had reacted exactly as it was meant to.

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