Angel of Death. Christian Russell

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СКАЧАТЬ his fortune on charity, funding and running several humanitarian foundations. That was the man whose integrity and life Mark and his team were responsible for.

      The April incident, when Du Nancy had saved his life, had aroused the indignation of the entire American public. It had been proved, however, that the attempter, a certified schizophrenic, had not chosen Henry Wheller on purpose but at random, driven by the idea that killing a most reputed politician would make him famous.

      * * * * * * *

      It was almost 5:00 p.m. and Mark couldn’t believe that, after all that fuss, he would enjoy two hours of quiet. They were in a box at the Majestic and were going to watch a jubilee celebrating three hundred performances of The Taming of the Shrew starring Ralf Wheller, the senator’s brother. The beloved actor had recently announced his retirement on his sixty-fifth birthday. His farewell performance, another Shakespearean play, Macbeth, was to open the new Royal Willis Theater on November 15th.

      In the box, apart from Mark and his two men, were also the senator, his eternal friend and at the same time opponent, Democratic Congressman Forbes, the senator’s private secretary, and his niece, the famous actress Dorothy Wheller, temporarily shooting on location in New York. She was escorted by one of the studio’s bodyguards whom Mark had strategically placed outside the box door.

      On the stage the lines came fast one after the other making the audience laugh or applaud. However, Mark wasn’t paying too much attention to the play. He was rather overwhelmed by the presence of the young actress sitting just a few steps away from him. He had never seen a woman so tantalizing. He had seen several of her movies but had never imagined that she could be just as alluring in reality despite her discreet makeup. She possessed that kind of classic beauty that can never be defiled. The best comparison that came to his mind was the statue of a Greek goddess. He slightly blushed picturing himself in a museum watching its official uncovering. He had recently seen a thriller whose action took place in a jail for women. Dorothy Wheller, the protagonist, was cropped close and her face was full of bruises. He had noticed that only an extremely beautiful woman could be movieed like that without damaging her charisma.

      As far as Mark could remember, she had married a famous plastic surgeon back in 1996. The guy, however, had turned out to be the leader of an extreme right organization. Newspapers at the time had claimed his own wife had turned him in once she had found out his trade. Once he had been found, Daniel Daschner, for that was the man’s name, had taken refuge inside a building in the Queens together with an entire arsenal. In the fire exchange with the Feds he had been shot to death.

      Steimberg broke his train of thoughts.

      “Mark,” he whispered. “You think everything’s OK?”

      “What do you mean?”

      “I don’t know. I can’t put a finger on it. But I can feel danger floating in the air. Something indefinite, shapeless. It gives me the creeps.”

      “Don’t be a child, Arty. And stop fidgeting on that chair. You’ll end up scaring everyone.”

      “All the same, Mark, I suggest we mind our eyes.”

      “We will,” Mark whispered reassuringly.

      Actually, panic had started grabbing his heart as well. It wasn’t the first time Arty was worried about something. And most of the times his foresight was justified. He decided to be extremely cautious, congratulating himself for positioning that man outside the door. Thus their backs were covered. They now had to watch only for the front.

      No danger could come from the stalls unless someone thought of throwing a grenade over at them. He gave the flicker of a smile realizing such a thing was preposterous. There remained the boxes opposite their own. If there was any danger, that was where it would come from. He looked at the boxes carefully from one end of the stage to the other. Nothing threatening there: only classy people in fancy clothes enjoying a good play. On the stage the ‘shrew’ had just started cursing to the audience’s guffaws.

      Suddenly Mark felt a shudder. His subconscious had caught a glimpse of something but couldn’t say what it was, not yet. Another line coming from the ‘shrew’ elicited the audience’s guffaws. Mark had the impression that the people in the opposite box weren’t exactly enjoying themselves. He decided to wait and see if he was right. Staring at the eight people in the box he was waiting for the next funny line. It was soon uttered by Ralf Wheller, but the people in the box remained still, like some wax statues, gazing mechanically at the stage while the rest of the audience were roaring with laughter. Mark put his hand under his coat and slowly took out the Browning. He placed it next to him making sure the politicians and the woman didn’t notice it. With the gun in his hand he kept looking at the box. There was definitely something wrong there. He drew closer to Paulardis.

      “Watch out, Sean,” he whispered. “There’s something fishy going on here.”

      Almost immediately he noticed the metal shining of a gun in the hands of one of the eight. He realized that the box was occupied by seven spectators threatened by the eighth one who was pointing a gun at them.

      Suddenly the man raised his sniper shotgun and pointed it at the opposite box. At a speed only intensive training could give him, Mark raised his Browning and without aiming, pulled the trigger. A little bit of luck and a lot of skill took his bullet to the man’s forehead. The man fell to the floor before being able to use his gun.

      A fraction of a second earlier Mark had heard a dull noise right next to their box. He immediately identified it as coming from a small caliber silenced gun. The moment he pulled the trigger, the back door flung open. He realized that the bodyguard at the entrance was probably dead, which meant that his back wasn’t covered any longer. The attackers must have agreed to start simultaneously from two directions. Indeed, he had his Browning ready but he didn’t have enough time to turn to the other attacker.

      As he was turning, he heard the second shot coming from the silenced gun. Now he could finally assess the situation. Outside the door the attacker, gun in hand, was trying to get rid of Paulardis who had grabbed him. The Greek’s shoulder was bleeding, showing that the second bullet had not been shot at random. Sean hadn’t had enough time to take out his gun so he had blocked the assassin with his own body. The moment he had provided them with proved to be very precious. Du Nancy and Steimberg, who had managed to take out his Colt, shot almost simultaneously at the aggressor’s hand, blowing away his gun and a couple of fingers with it.

      The whole incident had hardly lasted three seconds. Only when it was all over did the audience start panicking and screaming. On the stage the actors abandoned the play and withdrew backstage. Mark leaned over the box and shouted at the audience.

      “I’m with the FBI! Don’t panic! Stay where you are! The attackers have been annihilated! Don’t rush out! If there are any accomplices left, they’ll try to take advantage of it!”

      Only then did he dare look into his own box. The two politicians had taken the shock pretty well. Even if they were somewhat scared, they didn’t show it. Only the young secretary looked more scared than anyone. As for the actress, she had crouched in a corner like a frightened deer expecting the pack of wolves to attack.

      “Relax!” Mark tried to act as a tonic to the guests. “Everything’s under control.” He drew close to Paulardis. “How is it, Sean? Is it serious?”

      “Bullshit,” the man answered playing the hero. “The bullet just grazed my shoulder. It’s only a scratch.”

      They opened the little door and slipped outside. Right there, lying on the floor, СКАЧАТЬ