I see Reginald’s expression wrinkle. He turns around. He must’ve said something to her because a second later, she turns around to face him. She looks innocent and flustered.
“Oh my God, I’m so sorry!” she says.
I flick the UV filter on through my scope. I see the glowing purple patch on the back of his head.
I smile. She’s good.
“I didn’t realize,” Ruby continues. “Don’t worry. It’s not a strong fragrance, I promise.”
I see him gesturing with his hand as he’s talking to her, but I can’t hear what he’s saying.
“Oh my God, wait… are you Jean-Paul Reginald?”
He shrugs.
“Oh, wow. I heard you might be here tonight. It’s so great to meet you.”
He shakes her hand, then brings it up to his face and kisses the back of it.
“I’m Ruby.”
The woman on his arm turns away to face the window. She doesn’t look happy.
“I’m in fashion. I flew in from Milan last night to be here.”
Ruby shakes her head, smiling politely.
“You’re too kind, Jean-Paul. But I’m here with my designer, Christian.”
She reaches back to grab her drink and takes a sip.
“You have a private room here? Really? And what goes on in the private room?”
She takes another sip, then shakes her head.
“No, I’ve never played Baccarat. I’m not one for gambling. I don’t really understand it. The only thing I really understand is fashion.” She places a hand on his arm. “That is a killer suit, by the way! Saville Row?”
He shrugs.
She nods. “Armani, of course. You should meet my designer. He would love to work with you. Let me go find him.”
He grabs her arm.
“Oh, no, I couldn’t. I have to—”
He gestures past them, as if telling her which way to go. The guards I can see move. Their body language tenses.
I hear Ruby laugh nervously. “Well, if you insist on me joining you in your private room, how can I refuse?”
She’s then led away, out of my line of sight. The other guards and woman walk into view, then back out of it.
The target, four guards, two escorts, and Ruby just walked toward the north side of the building, beyond the bar, out of my line of sight.
Shit.
“Ruby, what’s happening?” I whisper.
No response.
I hear the faintest sound of a door slamming.
“Wow, this is nice,” Ruby says. “Love the décor. So, how did you manage to secure a private room in the northeast corner all for yourself?”
Silence.
“Hey, what are you… get your hands off me, mother—”
I straighten and rest the rifle down at my feet, then press a finger to my ear. “Ruby? Are you okay? What’s happening?”
I’m getting nothing but silence.
I have a bad feeling about this.
I listen intently for any sign of—
“Ah! Fuck!”
I yank the earpiece out as a high-pitched whine sounds on it, momentarily making my ears ring.
That happens when one end of the comms channel is destroyed. That means they found her earpiece.
Fuck.
I need to get inside. The problem is, that’s going to make me extremely visible. That may bring with it a new set of problems, given there are now a bunch of reporters in the courtyard outside the museum, presumably covering the gala.
But I don’t have a choice.
I lay the rifle down flat. It’s hidden behind the chimney. I’ll come back for it later. Then I draw the Raptor from my back, check the magazine, and attach the silencer. I move low and fast toward the fire escape I climbed to get up here earlier.
Ruby’s in trouble, which means everyone in that room is about ten minutes away from being very fucking dead.
19
20:39 CEST
Moving as fast as I can without drawing attention to myself, I walk into the courtyard I was looking down on a minute ago. There are a few cars still trickling in with guests, but it’s quieter out here now than it was at the beginning.
Except for the gaggle of reporters hovering by the entrance. They must be holding out for a chance to scoop a big celebrity.
Well, I’m not doing interviews right now.
Thankfully, they’re grouped together on the left of the steps leading inside. To the right, moving along the side of the museum, I see catering and waiting staff busying themselves.
That’s where I need to be.
I take a wide path counterclockwise, circling along the right edge of the courtyard. I pass the gift shop and use the cover of the tall hedge to move unseen. I reach the end of it and pause, peeking around toward the entrance. There’s maybe twenty feet between where I am and where I want to be. I have to be quick.
I appreciate the chances of a French reporter recognizing me is slim. That said, not long ago, I was incredibly visible to the world. I still have some of the war wounds to prove it. Those reporters over there… pacing idly around, chatting to each other, playing with their cell phones… they’re bored. There’s nothing worse than a bored journalist. They will try to make anything seem like a big deal just to have something to write about.
Seeing me here will be a big deal—especially when a bunch of people, including a prominent socialite, are found murdered. Won’t take a rocket scientist to put two and two together.
I look away and walk quickly across the gap, heading down the side of the building, where catering vans are parked in a line. I glance back to see if anyone was paying attention.
Doesn’t appear so.
I turn back around and walk straight into a waiter. We bump shoulders and both stumble away to the side.
I hold up a hand. “Excuse me.”
The waiter looks at me blankly and says nothing. He probably didn’t understand me. I start to walk away but stop myself after just one step. I look back at the waiter. He’s wearing black pants and a white shirt, with a black waistcoat and red tie. He’s about my height. About my build. There’s an ID badge clipped to his waistcoat with no photo.
Hmm.
I look ahead to the entrance, which presumably leads into the kitchen. There’s a security guard standing there.
Hmm.
I look back at the waiter and smile to myself. “Bonjour, opportunity.”
I walk toward him as he approaches the open side door of one of the catering vans. I look around. No one is nearby and paying attention.
Perfect.
As the waiter leans inside the van, I take out my gun and slam the butt into the back of his head. He falls forward, instantly unconscious. I jump in beside him, drag him fully inside, then slam the door closed.
…
…
…
Three minutes later, I slide the door open and step out dressed as a waiter. My gun is tucked in the front of my waistband, and I’m using an apron I found in there to help hide it.
I quickly look around for something to carry, so I look busy. Inside the van is a small box containing slices of lemon.
That’ll do.
I pick it up and walk briskly toward the side entrance. It’s all about confidence now. Look like I belong here, and people will assume I do. I breeze past the security guard without making eye contact, twisting my body to avoid another waiter walking the opposite way.
And just like that, I’m inside.
Now to find Ruby.
The kitchen is bustling. A sea of chefs and waiters dash around in all directions. I see a tray of canapes resting on a counter near the swing doors that lead out onto the first floor. I scoop it up as I walk past and push my way through the doors using a shoulder.
Out here, guests are mingling, talking and laughing together, dressed like they could buy everything I own ten times over. It’s not too busy here. The real party must be upstairs.
I thread my way thr
ough the people and head for the staircase. A short man with gray hair and a tuxedo steps out in front of me. Smirking, he reaches for a snack from the tray I’m holding. I don’t say anything. I take one myself and hand him the tray. He grabs a hold of it, looking bewildered. I shrug as I shove the canape into my mouth and take the stairs two at a time.
Mmm. That was really nice. Pineapple and… something.
I step out onto the second floor and look around. The room is much larger than it looked through my scope. I see the bar where Ruby was standing maybe ten minutes ago. No sign of any of Reginald’s security guards.
The back wall has two archways, one at either end, leading into another area of the upper floor. I couldn’t see them from my vantage point. I know Ruby was led away from the bar…
I walk across the room and head through the right-hand arch. I follow the walkway as it narrows and winds to the left. The carpet here is blood-red. The walls are decorated with mahogany panels, with artwork hanging on them. There are a few people loitering and chatting. The corridor splits in the middle. I assume carrying on will lead me back around to the other archway, into the main room I just left. But I head right, toward another room at the front of the museum.
I emerge into a large open space, not quite as big as the one behind me. There’s another bar directly ahead. Again, it’s not quite as big. While the other one looks like a permanent fixture, this looks temporary, like it’s only here for the evening. Long, red velvet curtains hang open at the tall windows that offer a view of the main courtyard below.
I look around. To my right is the door leading into the room there. It’s standing open. I can see a handful of people inside, congregating around a display case in the middle. Possibly something to do with the charity gala.
I look left. The door to the separate room over there is closed. It’s also guarded by two of Reginald’s entourage.
Bingo.
A fellow waiter wanders by, holding a tray full of drinks. I gently tap his arm and smile.
“Hey, buddy, what’s in that room back there?”
I gesture to it with a flick of my head. His brow furrows as he stares at me.
Right. French. Damn it.
I hold up a finger, signaling for him to wait a moment. I rummage in the pocket of my pants and take out the Pilot and Ili—necessities when traveling. I clip them into place in my ear and on my lapel, respectively.
“Okay.” I try again. “What’s in that room back there?”
The waiter glances over my shoulder and shrugs. “I think it’s a private room. Heard someone say there’s an invite-only card game going on. I guess it’s a bit of fun for the rich charity patrons.”
I nod as the translation comes through. “Right. Have they placed any orders that need to be delivered in there? Drinks?”
He shakes his head. “We’re not allowed inside. All staff were told that at the beginning of the evening. They have their own bar in there.”
Shit.
“Thanks, man.”
I walk away, pocketing my devices once more. I need to get inside there, ideally without causing a scene out here. I need everyone here calm, so it’s easier to leave once I have Ruby.
I head toward the room, then turn left along the corridor, back toward the main area. The two guards pay me no heed. I got a good look at them on the way past. They definitely have weapons inside their jackets. The bulge of the holster is noticeable.
I pause as soon as I’m out of sight and rest against the wall.
Come on, think. How can I get in there discreetly?
I stare blankly ahead until my vision blurs, lost in thought.
Maybe causing chaos out here is the way inside.
Huh?
Focus, dipshit.
The satanic part of my twisted subconscious isn’t known for its tact.
However, as my vision clears and my mind stops wandering, I see that I might’ve been onto something.
Directly in front of me, mounted on the wall just below eye level, is a fire alarm.
I smile. I’m a genius.
I move to it and pull the lever, which immediately results in a loud and persistent wailing. The high-pitched, rapid beeping of the fire alarm sounds out. I walk back into the large room. People are exchanging confused looks, but no one’s moving.
Typical. I should’ve set fire to the curtains.
Finally, a member of staff appears and begins ushering people out. As the crowd starts heading for the corridors, I approach the two guards.
“Hey, fellas, you gotta go,” I shout. “Kitchen fire.” I point to the door behind them. “I’ll go tell everyone in—”
The one to my left moves forward and places a hand flat against my chest. He says something I don’t understand. Judging by the way he’s looking at me, I suspect it wasn’t friendly.
Well, this makes things easier.
I grab his hand and wrist, then twist it counterclockwise. He’s forced to move with his arm to relieve the instant pressure. As he doubles over, I lash out with my front foot, stamping down on the side of his leg. He drops to one knee, grimacing in pain. I quickly draw my gun and aim it at the other guard, who is just starting to react. I shoot twice.
Chest. Head.
The muted hisses of gunfire are lost beneath the ongoing alarm.
I place the barrel to the side of the first guy’s head, which is roughly level with my stomach. I fire once.
Two down in no time. That leaves six, plus the target.
I yank the apron from around my waist and discard it. I’m holding my gun now, so wearing it just looks ridiculous. I twist the brass handle and throw the door open, then step inside, gun raised, ready to fire.
Oh.
Well.
Never mind.
I lower my gun and glance around the room. There’s a circular card table in the middle, with three people sitting around it—two men and a woman. Guests for the evening, I assume. They’re dressed formally and look terrified.
Over near the far wall, four of Reginald’s security guards are slumped over one another in a large pool of blood. Next to me on the right, two more are sitting in leather armchairs, blood still trickling from fresh holes in their foreheads.
In front of me, Reginald himself is kneeling with his hands clasped behind his head. Up close, he looks greasy. Ignoring the fear currently dominating his wide, watering eyes, his expression is one of natural arrogance. Even now, there’s a smirk etched on his face that makes me want to punch him. I get the impression that he looks down on everyone he meets.
Standing next to him is Ruby, who’s holding a gun to his head. Her hair’s a little more disheveled than it was when she first arrived, but other than that, she looks as stunning as ever.
All eyes in the room are fixed on me.
I wave my hand. “Hi.”
Ruby glares at me. “What the fuck are you doing here?”
“Saving you.”
“From?”
I gesture to Reginald with my gun barrel. “Him and his guards.”
Ruby looks exaggeratedly around the room. “Right. What would I do without you?”
“Well, I—”
“No, no, no. Don’t say anything.” She sighs. “You thought I needed to be rescued? I had a plan, Adrian, and you’re ruining it by causing pandemonium out there! I’m assuming the fire alarm was your idea?”
I shrug. “Yeah.”
“Nice going, jackass.”
I tuck my gun into my waistband. “Hey, hold on a minute, Gloria Steinem. You said you had an idea, then this prick and his guards marched you away to his private room. It looked a lot like your grand plan had turned to shit, so I came over here to save you. Are you seriously getting pissy with me about it?”
Ruby turns her body toward me, still holding the gun to Reginald’s head. Her expression hardens. Her glare intensifies.
“Okay, two things. First, I’m not some helpless maiden who can’t handle herself. Letting this slimy little fuck-k
nuckle take me to his private room, thinking he was in charge and oh-so-smart was my grand plan. Sitting at the bar in there, having gotten a feel for the place, I realized a sniper round to his head wasn’t going to be as subtle as we first thought. This way, I could take him out quietly, with minimal witnesses. What, did you think I couldn’t handle a few low-rent bodyguards?”
I open my mouth to speak.
Adrian, I swear to God, there is nothing you can say that wouldn’t make this worse. Do yourself a favor and stay quiet.
Josh is right. I say nothing.
“Secondly…” Her hard stare softens. Her eyes light up. A smile creeps onto her lips. “You thought I was in danger and came for me?”
Huh?
I shrug. “Of course.”
“You just ran in here, no hesitation, and beat a path to me because you thought I was in trouble?”
“Well, yeah. Obviously.”
Ruby giggles. “You’re the absolute cutest!”
I roll my eyes. She was playing me.
“Okay, can we just… y’know…” I gesture to the room. “Get this over with?”
She looks over at the card table. “You three. Leave.”
They stare for a moment. I step to the side and place a hand on the edge of the open door.
“Hey.” They turn to me. I point out into the main room. “Je m’appelle fuck off.”
The three of them scramble to their feet and bolt from the room. I look at Ruby, who’s laughing.
“Do you even know what you just said?” she asks.
I shake my head. “Don’t know. Don’t care. It sounded French, and it made them leave.”
She rolls her eyes and turns her attention to Reginald, whose fear has been replaced by a look of bewilderment. A mixture of wide eyes, a raised eyebrow, and a frown contorts his face.
“Who… who are you people?” he asks. His broken English is barely intelligible due to his strong French accent.
I walk over to him. “Your social standing doesn’t make you immune to the wrath of the bad people you owe a lot of money to, numbnuts.”
“You… you are here for money?”
Ruby shakes her head. “No. We’re here to do a job.”
The Devil You Know Page 15