Inga

The men who had abducted Tim Redfern shouted and swore at the monitors. Since the feed had resumed, nothing had gone right for them. The robot hadn’t finished Molenski off. In fact, it hadn’t finished anyone off and on top of that, they had watched in escalating anger the robot run off with the Russian’s bodyguard.

If he wasn’t in so much danger, Redfern might have laughed at the comical situation. He wasn’t stupid though and knew with the escape of the robot, his usefulness to the two men and whoever had orchestrated the attempted hit was pretty much at an end.

His mind worked furiously through scenarios to get himself out of the awful situation he was in.

The buzzing of the big man’s mobile phone gave him the chance he was waiting for. The man snatched up the phone and put a finger in his ear, walking away from the monitors. His pistol remained on the desk. The other man was leaning over the desk, continuing to watch the feed.

A surge of adrenalin, so violent he thought he might faint, went through Redfern’s system. It was now or never. Live or die. He didn’t wait. He burst out of his chair and snatched up the gun, almost fumbling it before raising it and aiming it first at the big guy, then the short guy, then back again.

“Don’t move, either of you.”

The short man began to reach for the gun in his belt.

“Don’t!” screamed Redfern.

“Okay, okay! Chill, man!”

As he put his hands up in the air, Shorty’s eyes flicked in the direction of his partner and Redfern again swung the gun to the big guy but he was on the move, and with the phone still to his ear he fled into the hallway and deeper into the apartment.

Shit!

It was then, while he was distracted, that the short guy grabbed his gun hand.

“No!” grunted Redfern, as he struggled for control.

They fell to the floor, and the muzzle of the gun inched its way between their struggling faces. First Redfern gained ascendancy, but finally, Shorty, much stronger than he looked, flipped the technician onto his back. Now able to bring two arms to bear against the abductee’s one, the criminal began to win.

He twisted the gun and slowly lowered it towards Redfern’s face. The thug smiled victoriously…

BANG!

He was still smiling, even after the bullet from his own gun, taken from his pants by his intended victim, blew out the side of his head, spraying the white carpet in a vivid red and gray fan.

Horrified, Redfern pushed the body of the thug off him and scrambled backward. He didn’t stop retreating until his head struck the wall behind him. He began to shake uncontrollably, his ears ringing from the loud gunshot.

He thought briefly about running but just as quickly dismissed it. They knew where he lived. They knew the name of his wife. They knew the name of his kids. There was no way he could leave while the other man was alive.

He got to his feet, still holding the dead man’s gun and took a deep breath as he steeled himself to search the apartment for the other man.

As it was, he didn’t need to.

There was a flash of movement from the doorway of the kitchen to his right and something smashed into the brow of his right eye. Stunned, Redfern fell to his knees, desperately trying to clear his swimming vision. He heard a roar and then saw the formidable albeit fuzzy shape of the big guy barreling at him.

He tried to bring the gun up but didn’t manage to squeeze off a shot before the speeding bus hit him. The technician was propelled backward into the wall, the breath smashed out of his body by the impact and then kept out by the heavy weight of the man on top of him. Strong hands found his throat and began to squeeze.

Redfern had somehow managed to keep a hold of the gun and with a jellylike arm, lifted it slowly until the muzzle was wavering and wobbling under the thug’s chin. The big hands squeezed harder and with more violence, attempting to throttle the life out of him before he could pull the trigger.

As his vision darkened, he made a last, supreme effort to pull the trigger.