Chapter 40: The Cicada, the Mantis, and the Oriole
Under the villa's interior lighting, the man at the front of the group turned to the person beside him.
"Is it her?"
"Should be." He pulled a photo from his pocket and held it next to the figure on the sofa. "She's changed clothes, but the face matches."
The photo showed Ada in the red sweater and black boots she had worn at the construction site earlier that day. The woman on the sofa was wearing considerably less: a red knit robe, under lighting that was making this more apparent than it needed to be.
"If it's confirmed, get her out. The client needs her quickly." The lead man gave the order and went back to the car. This kind of residential district had security, but security had gaps, and finding gaps was part of the job.
The remaining men looked at the unconscious woman on the sofa for a moment. With the boss gone, the energy in the room shifted. Someone made a comment. Someone else responded.
The bald man at the front looked Ada over with the particular expression that belongs to men who believe proximity to an unconscious woman entitles them to an opinion about her.
"Rich people really do live differently. One attractive assistant wasn't enough for someone, apparently. Now there's another."
"If you had that kind of money, you'd have secretaries for when you're busy and secretaries for when you're not."
"I'll say this: the muscle definition on those thighs is better than my wife's by a considerable margin. If those legs were going to be my last experience on Earth, I'd accept that over winning the lottery."
He thought about it.
"Actually I'd accept it either way."
The group laughed.
When they had taken enough time, the bald man stepped forward to pick her up.
His hand was an inch from making contact.
The BBQ skewer went through his ear canal and came out the other side.
Ada had not been unconscious.
She used his collar to pull him in front of her as a shield. Her other hand came out from behind the sofa cushions with a micro pistol that was already loaded.
She had put it there before she sat down.
The men across the room had to draw. They had to rack the slide. Ada had one task: aim and fire.
Four shots. Clean and direct.
The men found cover. Gunfire filled the enclosed space. The floor-to-ceiling window along the far wall vibrated with each exchange. The bald man's body absorbed the rounds from his former colleagues. Blood went in several directions.
Ada, crouching behind what remained of her human shield, made a private note that she had just cleaned this room.
After the firefight settled, eight men had become two. Ada had run dry. She released what was left of the bald man, who landed somewhere in the middle distance and stayed there.
She moved behind the leather sofa.
The two survivors were still breathing. They looked at each other and began moving in from opposite sides, slow and quiet, guns lowered, reading the space.
They had thought this would be a simple job.
They had been wrong about that.
The woman on the sofa had seemed manageable. She was not manageable. She was a professional operative with the kind of training that produced results under conditions where most people stopped being able to function.
One step. Two. Three.
They were almost in position to bring their guns to bear on the sofa.
Ada went first.
A sweep kick took the near man off his feet as he was going for his angle. As he was falling, still pulling the trigger, she threw the empty pistol at the other man's eye socket.
The gun connected. His aim went sideways.
His shot went into his partner at about belt height.
Achievement unlocked: Friendly Fire, Below the Belt.
The man who had been shot made a sound that communicated the situation without needing further elaboration. His gun hit the floor. He curled around the impact and did not stop screaming.
"Damn! Where did you even— DO YOU KNOW HOW TO USE THAT THING?"
Meanwhile, the man Ada had swept was still on the floor. She put her thighs around his throat and applied force. The neck broke with a sound that left no room for ambiguity.
"I heard you were willing to win the lottery for this experience," she said quietly.
She picked up his gun, aimed at the man still screaming on the floor, and ended it.
"The lottery didn't come through for you. But the other part worked out."
She thought the worst was over.
"Don't move."
The voice came from the doorway.
The lead man had come back.
He was holding an M4A1 with an extended magazine and a laser sight, and the red dot was centered on Ada's forehead with the stability of someone who was serious about where it was pointing.
If she moved, he would pull the trigger. He was not bluffing.
"Drop the gun."
Ada put the gun on the floor and laced her hands behind her head.
In the instant the lead man decided he had the situation back under control, a single shot from outside knocked the M4A1 out of his hands.
Dozens of red laser dots appeared on his chest and head simultaneously, arriving from the darkness outside.
Hunk stepped through the door, gas mask in place, and pressed his barrel to the back of the man's skull.
"You're the one who should be putting it down."
A brief pause.
"Though at this point, you won't be needing it."
"Take him."
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