Free Clean Kill by Jack Coughlin, Donald A. Davis Page A

east end of the building. Pat is right next door.” The portal opened with a quiet hiss and they stepped inside. The elevator was wide enough to ferry patients on gurneys and smelled antiseptic but with a whiff of lavender. She pressed the button and it lit. “Why do you think more bad guys are on the way?”
    As the elevator lifted, Kyle switched magazines in his Colt. “I don’t know for sure, but that minivan that we saw pulling away from the ambulance obviously contained at least one more man, the driver, probably more. He might have just been hauling ass away from the area, but the reverse may also be true. These terrorist assholes have evolved in their tactics. Like in Iraq, they are using the old Irish Republican Army trick of staging one attack to draw a crowd and then hitting again.”
    “A follow-up attack.” She continued to check the clipboard.
    “Possibly. Maybe a second suicide bomb. Maybe they were planning a ground assault once the bomb went off. Better not to take a chance.” The little button lights flashed on the elevator panel when they rose past other floors. “Are there any other high value targets in this place?”
    “Are you inquiring if there are other important people amongst our guests?” She mimicked the proper reception desk lady.
    “Yeah. Guests who already have had their shit blown away once and are receiving the best medical care money can buy, but nowhere near the best protection.”
    “There is a Saudi prince who happens to be their ambassador to the United States occupying the suite at the west end of the corridor on the top floor. Must have been at the castle.” Her mind whirred with computations and possibilities. Two of them against who knows how many terrorists, using who knew what kind of weaponry, with no armed and trained counterterrorist force around. Not so much as a kid with a peashooter. Sybelle, however, was confident that the odds were not insurmountable. She was pretty damned good at this game and Kyle was focused and steady. He already had that cold sniper look in his eyes, the curtain had lowered over his emotions and he was easily the most efficient killing machine she had ever met. He caught her glance and winked. She tossed the clipboards aside and made a quick check on her Glock. Hell, we’ll just kill them all by ourselves.
    The elevator stopped and they stepped out with their pistols sweeping the area, Sybelle going right and Kyle heading left. Not a guard beside any door, emphasizing the quietness of a private hospital for the very wealthy. It was a genteel place, more used to providing services to drugged-out entertainers and cosmetic surgery to ladies of a certain age. People on the National Health Service didn’t come here, and, to the staff, protection meant keeping away nosy photographers. It was not designed to stop terrorists.
    Two nurses behind a central counter looked up, startled. One was young and the other middle-aged, both wearing hospital scrubs with pastel flower tops. Sybelle put a finger to her lips for them to remain silent.
    “I’ll get to Jeff and Pat,” Kyle said. “You take one of these nurses and bring the prince down into Jeff’s room. We can set up a barricade in the hallway.”
    The older nurse instantly sized up what was happening and had no questions. She marched around the counter and told Sybelle she would escort her to the prince’s room.
    “Kyle!” A shout came from the east end of the hall.
    He turned and saw Delara Tabrizi running toward him. With his Colt still in his right hand, Kyle swept her off the floor in a big hug, followed by a kiss that was not much more than a peck. He could not afford to let anything, even happiness, slow him down until they were all safe. Kyle pushed her back gently, bent over, and pulled the .22 caliber pistol from his ankle holster. “Great to see you, honey, but we have to take care of some business before we can celebrate properly. We just nailed a suicide bomber downstairs and