Free The Code Within: A Thriller (Trent Turner Series) by S. L. Jones Page B

bowed.
    Once she closed the door, Campbell began his search. First he checked the night tables, and then he moved to the dresser under the window. He heard the telltale beep and click from the lock on the door and, without turning to expose his face, waited for the maid to address him. He stood there and looked down at the laptop that sat on the dresser. Once she left the room again, he decided the laptop would be his next move.
    Cold steel pressed against his right temple and startled him. His heart rate doubled when he considered the fact that the hotel staff would have knocked first.
    “What are you doing here?” a voice barked in a harsh accent.
    Campbell knew the man connected to the barrel nestled into his skin played for keeps. His encounter with the cleaning staff had made him careless. It wasn’t until now that he truly appreciated his decision to rush the housekeeper out of the room. He slowly reached for the bottle of Windex the woman had left on the dresser, and knew he needed to make this count. Otherwise, it would end up being his farewell performance.
    “I…I…I’m the manager for hotel housekeeping,” Campbell said, doing his best to sound nervous. “She did a good job in the bathroom…and…and with making up the bed. Five points on both.”
    He was impressed with himself. He’d never made his voice crack like that before, and he thought the bullshit he’d come up with was pretty convincing. He paused for effect before adding some icing to the cake.
    “It’s our top score,” he added. “I…I just needed to check that the windows were cleaned. We only do that once a week. On Saturdays.”
    The Russian stopped applying pressure with his gun, but Campbell could tell he was still being sized up. He knew his physical presence would be tough for the assassin to write off. He could sense the doubt, so he needed to add credibility to his story.
    He made his hand shake just enough to disrupt the blue liquid in the bottle he was holding and said, “M-my staff should still be just outside. In the hallway. With their cart.”
    “Turn around very slowly. Keep your hands where I can see them,” Petrov said.
    He followed the Russian’s direction and slowly turned counterclockwise toward the assassin. Campbell wore a twisted facial expression, like he’d just bitten into a sour grape. His awkward appearance served its purpose. He noticed a change in the Russian’s eyes. Some of the intensity had faded, and he looked somewhat amused. He knew this would be his only chance.
    He timed squirting a stream of Windex into the assassin’s face perfectly. As the liquid made contact with Petrov’s eyes, he landed a well-placed blow to dislodge his weapon. Campbell immediately followed it up with a leg sweep and strike to the head that sent the assassin face first to the ground. He looked down at the Russian, who was sprawled out on the ground. He had landed next to his MP-443 Grach pistol. Campbell quickly delivered a brutal stomp to the back of Petrov’s neck that stopped his motion toward the gun.
    Campbell looked down with satisfaction as blood began to stain the carpet below the Russian’s face. He drew his weapon from its holster and surveyed the room. It was protocol to deliver an insurance bullet to the back of the head, but before he could squeeze off a round, his attention was drawn to the pair of bloodshot eyes staring back at him from the base of the room’s full-length mirror.
    Petrov flipped over like a displaced fish and sprung to life, wildly pumping rounds in the direction of his attacker. The Russian struggled to get to his feet and jumped backwards as Campbell unloaded several rounds into his chest. The assassin slammed violently into the wall behind him, and blood from the back of his head painted a trail as he slid against it clumsily to the floor.
    Campbell’s chest was pounding, his ears ringing, when he registered the vacant look in the Russian’s eyes. He stashed his weapon and