customers had left. Only a few older beer drinkers remained behind. Jake had seen them arrive in two small cars an hour ago. They’d probably stay until midnight when the bar closed.
Just when Jake didn’t think he could remain outside any longer, his body so cold from the mountain air, a new Audi A4 angled up the crooked road and slowly pulled into the parking lot, taking a spot a short distance from the two other cars. It looked like two men inside. Could have just been a couple more beer drinkers. But Jake didn’t think so. They hesitated too long before getting out, and then when they did step out of the Audi, they seemed to shift something under their coats, like someone does with a gun under their jacket. One of the two men spent a little too much time noticing the other two cars also. No, these two were looking for him.
Jake stretched his body, trying not to make any noise but wanting to make sure his muscles were ready to react to anything. He didn’t have to wait long. Five minutes after the men went into the restaurant, they returned outside and made a direct approach toward his room. Suddenly, a thought came to Jake. What if these were Polizei? Crap.
He drew his Beretta and held his position as the two men stepped slowly in front of his room, glancing through the open shades as they pulled their own guns. As the two men went to his door, Jake prepared to move. He stepped out lightly, his dark body still blending in with the trees.
One man kicked in the door and then the two men ran inside.
As Jake ran across the parking lot, gun flashes lit the room, but the sound was silenced to slight pops. He stopped counting at ten.
Now alongside the door frame, Jake held his position as he listened to the men inside. What language? It wasn’t Russian. Perhaps West Slavic. Serbian? Regardless, they were pissed. Jake understood that in just about any language.
The two men started for the door and Jake swung in, his gun aimed at one and then the other.
The next seconds were confusing. The man on the right started to raise his silenced gun at Jake, who shot twice. The first shot hit the man in the chest and the second round hit the man in the nose, dropping him immediately. As the second man reacted by raising his gun, Jake dropped to the ground and shot the man in the knee and the right arm, making his gun release from his hand.
Jake rushed into the room and kicked the gun away from the man, who was now sitting on the floor. Then Jake shut the door and closed the curtains all the way.
The man was in great pain. Jake could relate. After all the pain and surgery he had gone through for his own left knee, he felt somewhat guilty inflicting that kind of pain on this man. But, the alternative would have been worse. There were holes in the bed, which Jake had stuffed with another blanket and towels. Holes on the wall. Probably holes in the bathroom.
“Let’s see some identification,” Jake said in German.
The man scowled at Jake but didn’t move.
Jake ordered the man to do the same in Russian. Nothing. What the hell language did this guy speak?
“Give me your damn wallet,” Jake finally said in English.
The man’s eyes showed some sign of intelligence. He understood. The universal language. Pissed off American.
He didn’t have time for this. The owners would have heard Jake’s four shots and called the Polizei. Jake thrust his right foot at the man, striking him in the face. The man immediately slumped to the ground. Then Jake found the man’s wallet and passport. Serb. Next Jake retrieved the dead man’s identification and shoved them into his backpack. He needed to move fast.
Since the injured man was still out cold, Jake pulled the car keys from his pocket and then tied the man’s hands behind his back with a lamp cord. It took him less than a minute to get the car and park it in front of his room, the engine left running as Jake dragged the man from the room and hoisted him into the passenger seat.
Just when Jake didn’t think he could remain outside any longer, his body so cold from the mountain air, a new Audi A4 angled up the crooked road and slowly pulled into the parking lot, taking a spot a short distance from the two other cars. It looked like two men inside. Could have just been a couple more beer drinkers. But Jake didn’t think so. They hesitated too long before getting out, and then when they did step out of the Audi, they seemed to shift something under their coats, like someone does with a gun under their jacket. One of the two men spent a little too much time noticing the other two cars also. No, these two were looking for him.
Jake stretched his body, trying not to make any noise but wanting to make sure his muscles were ready to react to anything. He didn’t have to wait long. Five minutes after the men went into the restaurant, they returned outside and made a direct approach toward his room. Suddenly, a thought came to Jake. What if these were Polizei? Crap.
He drew his Beretta and held his position as the two men stepped slowly in front of his room, glancing through the open shades as they pulled their own guns. As the two men went to his door, Jake prepared to move. He stepped out lightly, his dark body still blending in with the trees.
One man kicked in the door and then the two men ran inside.
As Jake ran across the parking lot, gun flashes lit the room, but the sound was silenced to slight pops. He stopped counting at ten.
Now alongside the door frame, Jake held his position as he listened to the men inside. What language? It wasn’t Russian. Perhaps West Slavic. Serbian? Regardless, they were pissed. Jake understood that in just about any language.
The two men started for the door and Jake swung in, his gun aimed at one and then the other.
The next seconds were confusing. The man on the right started to raise his silenced gun at Jake, who shot twice. The first shot hit the man in the chest and the second round hit the man in the nose, dropping him immediately. As the second man reacted by raising his gun, Jake dropped to the ground and shot the man in the knee and the right arm, making his gun release from his hand.
Jake rushed into the room and kicked the gun away from the man, who was now sitting on the floor. Then Jake shut the door and closed the curtains all the way.
The man was in great pain. Jake could relate. After all the pain and surgery he had gone through for his own left knee, he felt somewhat guilty inflicting that kind of pain on this man. But, the alternative would have been worse. There were holes in the bed, which Jake had stuffed with another blanket and towels. Holes on the wall. Probably holes in the bathroom.
“Let’s see some identification,” Jake said in German.
The man scowled at Jake but didn’t move.
Jake ordered the man to do the same in Russian. Nothing. What the hell language did this guy speak?
“Give me your damn wallet,” Jake finally said in English.
The man’s eyes showed some sign of intelligence. He understood. The universal language. Pissed off American.
He didn’t have time for this. The owners would have heard Jake’s four shots and called the Polizei. Jake thrust his right foot at the man, striking him in the face. The man immediately slumped to the ground. Then Jake found the man’s wallet and passport. Serb. Next Jake retrieved the dead man’s identification and shoved them into his backpack. He needed to move fast.
Since the injured man was still out cold, Jake pulled the car keys from his pocket and then tied the man’s hands behind his back with a lamp cord. It took him less than a minute to get the car and park it in front of his room, the engine left running as Jake dragged the man from the room and hoisted him into the passenger seat.
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