Free Back Track by Jason Dean Page A

reached the apartment about five seconds before Mayfield’s head appeared outside the door.
    Bishop stepped over to the grey dumpster a few feet beyond the fire exit and looked back. The delivery guy was locking the van’s doors and making ready to go. Bishop waited another minute as he got in, started her up and slowly pulled out into Franklin.
    After a final check, Bishop opened the dumpster lid. He reached in and moved a couple of black garbage bags out of the way at the back until he found the undisturbed attaché case he’d hidden this morning. He pulled it out and walked back to the door. Thanks to the wedge, about a centimetre of the door’s edge was jutting out of its steel frame. He moved to one side, used the fingers of both hands to get a purchase on it and carefully pulled the door open.
    He picked up the attaché case and slipped inside, closing the door fully behind him. He then took the floor plans from his pocket and looked from one to the other, memorizing every detail.
    Each floor shared the same basic layout, with nine apartments of varying sizes around the perimeter. The largest apartment was the one on the north-west corner. No. 901, according to the plans. On the fifteenth floor it was taken up by the gym. It took up most of the northern side, with a short hallway separating it from its much smaller neighbour on the north-east corner. Another hallway separated it from its immediate neighbour on the western perimeter. Which meant it was the only completely segregated apartment.
    No. 701 would be Gaspard’s room. Bishop was sure of it.
    That it wasn’t on the top floor already showed good sense on Gaspard’s part. Back in his close protection days, Bishop had always hated it when clients demanded the penthouse. They were showy and difficult to defend against. Somewhere in the middle was always better. 701 had easy access to the fire stairs without being too close. It was also right next to Gaspard’s private elevator. Had to be, since the only place for it was in that hallway between 701 and 702.
    Satisfied, Bishop pocketed the plans and continued walking down the empty hallway until he reached the stairwell. He listened for a moment, heard nothing, then began climbing.
    He saw nobody all the way to the seventh floor. Same as when he’d used the stairs earlier. In Bishop’s experience, fire stairs in the more expensive apartment blocks were rarely used by tenants. Those afraid of elevators could usually afford to find somewhere closer to the ground to live. Bishop just hoped that theory would hold true in this case.
    The stairway door was made of steel with a gap of about three or four millimetres at the bottom. More than enough. Bishop knelt down and opened the attaché case. He pulled out the gun, checked it and placed it in the back of his waistband. Some extra ammo went into his pocket. He then took out the Medit industrial fibre-optic scope he’d asked Jenna to get from her brother’s apartment. Boasting a tiny 1.0mm diameter insertion tube, it was the smallest scope on the market, and ridiculously expensive. The nature of Aleron’s business meant that clients seeking his particular talents occasionally offered to pay in black market merchandise rather than cash. Ali had mentioned once that he currently had a box of these things in his basement and was holding on till he found a buyer willing to pay the right price. Fortunately for Bishop, it seemed he was still waiting.
    Bishop listened for any sounds above or below, but again heard nothing. He then lay on his stomach to the side of the door and slowly inserted the tube partway into the gap. He looked through the eyepiece and saw part of a door opposite. Manoeuvring the Teflon-coated tube to the left he saw a dimly lit hallway that ended in a right turn about two hundred feet away. Same tasteful, dark brown colour scheme as the ninth floor. Nobody in sight.
    He moved the tube to the right and saw the bottom half of a man in a dark suit.