and welts of scar tissue left by the grenade. She touched the puckered scar where a round had gone through his shoulder.
"You should duck more," she said.
"Don't have to, when I'm lying down."
It wasn't long before neither one of them was standing.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Korov stepped from the elevator and turned left. Ahead he spotted two orderlies and a doctor . in blue scrubs talking with an elderly couple. Two more men in white coats and stethoscopes, interns or doctors . The nurse's station was about fifty feet from the elevators. An exit sign marked the stairs at the end of the main corridor.
The place smelled like every hospital he'd ever been in, of antiseptic and worry and illness and efficiency. The floors were polished and clean, light colored, synthetic. The air was too warm.
He passed a set of swinging doors emblazoned with red and yellow radiation signs and warnings in Greek, English and French. Two men and a woman in green came through the doors talking. They ignored him and walked by. He started past the nurse's station.
"Sir."
It was the nurse on duty.
Korov showed his Interpol ID. "I'm going to 4003."
He kept walking. The nurse started to say something. Her phone buzzed. She picked it up. Korov continued down the hall. As he came to the second intersecting corridor he slowed. Ahead, the hallway was empty except for a gurney standing against one wall. He reached the intersection and glanced quickly to the right. A bored policeman sat in a plastic chair outside one of the rooms.
That's it. One cop. The others must still be inside.
In his mind, Korov pictured how the room would be. The bed would be to the left or right, it made no difference. There would be a bathroom on the other side. The bed might have a curtain. If the curtain was open, no problem. If the curtain was closed, it could be a problem. It could slow him down.
Korov eased the PSS from his holster and palmed it in his hand. In his other he held the false ID. He walked up to the cop, the ID displayed in front. As the cop read the ID Korov shot him in the chest. He slumped forward. The noise was no more than a gentle sneeze. In Korov's mind, a clock began ticking down.
Arkady reached out and settled the corpse upright in the chair. Anyone looking down the hall would see a policemen sitting on duty. It would do for the next two minutes. That was all Arkady needed. If anyone raised an alarm, he had the Drotik.
He opened the door of the room. There was a curtain. It was open. He held his ID out in his left hand. Two men stood by the bed where Bagrat Gelashvili lay. Their eyes went to the ID. Arkady extended his right arm and shot the first man in the head, then the second before he could react. The bodies hitting the floor made more sound than the shots.
Gelashvili was awake. His right arm was in a cast, his left handcuffed to the bed. He stared at Korov and opened his mouth to shout. The next shot entered his right eye. It exploded with a soft pop. The wall behind turned red and gray with bits of brain tissue and blood. Korov fired again, into the left eye. Just to make sure.
Orderlies could clean up the blood and mess. They were used to it.
Korov put the PSS away and moved the Drotik to his gun hand, keeping it in his pocket. He stepped out of the room and closed the door. The dead policeman sat in his chair. Korov reentered the main corridor and walked casually to the stairway at the end. That was one of the good things about hospitals. There were plenty of exits. He opened the door and moved quickly down the stairs.
Four dead. Korov checked his watch. Four minutes since he'd killed the guard, more than he'd allotted. He was slipping. Five minutes later, about the time a nurse discovered the dead guard and began screaming, Korov pulled out of the hospital parking lot and disappeared into the traffic of Thessaloniki.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Zviad Gelashvili was at his desk. One of his lieutenants came into the room. The desk was an
"You should duck more," she said.
"Don't have to, when I'm lying down."
It wasn't long before neither one of them was standing.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Korov stepped from the elevator and turned left. Ahead he spotted two orderlies and a doctor . in blue scrubs talking with an elderly couple. Two more men in white coats and stethoscopes, interns or doctors . The nurse's station was about fifty feet from the elevators. An exit sign marked the stairs at the end of the main corridor.
The place smelled like every hospital he'd ever been in, of antiseptic and worry and illness and efficiency. The floors were polished and clean, light colored, synthetic. The air was too warm.
He passed a set of swinging doors emblazoned with red and yellow radiation signs and warnings in Greek, English and French. Two men and a woman in green came through the doors talking. They ignored him and walked by. He started past the nurse's station.
"Sir."
It was the nurse on duty.
Korov showed his Interpol ID. "I'm going to 4003."
He kept walking. The nurse started to say something. Her phone buzzed. She picked it up. Korov continued down the hall. As he came to the second intersecting corridor he slowed. Ahead, the hallway was empty except for a gurney standing against one wall. He reached the intersection and glanced quickly to the right. A bored policeman sat in a plastic chair outside one of the rooms.
That's it. One cop. The others must still be inside.
In his mind, Korov pictured how the room would be. The bed would be to the left or right, it made no difference. There would be a bathroom on the other side. The bed might have a curtain. If the curtain was open, no problem. If the curtain was closed, it could be a problem. It could slow him down.
Korov eased the PSS from his holster and palmed it in his hand. In his other he held the false ID. He walked up to the cop, the ID displayed in front. As the cop read the ID Korov shot him in the chest. He slumped forward. The noise was no more than a gentle sneeze. In Korov's mind, a clock began ticking down.
Arkady reached out and settled the corpse upright in the chair. Anyone looking down the hall would see a policemen sitting on duty. It would do for the next two minutes. That was all Arkady needed. If anyone raised an alarm, he had the Drotik.
He opened the door of the room. There was a curtain. It was open. He held his ID out in his left hand. Two men stood by the bed where Bagrat Gelashvili lay. Their eyes went to the ID. Arkady extended his right arm and shot the first man in the head, then the second before he could react. The bodies hitting the floor made more sound than the shots.
Gelashvili was awake. His right arm was in a cast, his left handcuffed to the bed. He stared at Korov and opened his mouth to shout. The next shot entered his right eye. It exploded with a soft pop. The wall behind turned red and gray with bits of brain tissue and blood. Korov fired again, into the left eye. Just to make sure.
Orderlies could clean up the blood and mess. They were used to it.
Korov put the PSS away and moved the Drotik to his gun hand, keeping it in his pocket. He stepped out of the room and closed the door. The dead policeman sat in his chair. Korov reentered the main corridor and walked casually to the stairway at the end. That was one of the good things about hospitals. There were plenty of exits. He opened the door and moved quickly down the stairs.
Four dead. Korov checked his watch. Four minutes since he'd killed the guard, more than he'd allotted. He was slipping. Five minutes later, about the time a nurse discovered the dead guard and began screaming, Korov pulled out of the hospital parking lot and disappeared into the traffic of Thessaloniki.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Zviad Gelashvili was at his desk. One of his lieutenants came into the room. The desk was an
Similar Books
