Troubleshooter

Chapter 51 - Knight in Shining Armor (Part 2)

Paul had timed everything in his head. He gave it about three seconds to let his leaving sink in, another two seconds so that the Asian Man could make up his mind whether to follow him into the dining room or try his luck in one of the other two staircases. About three seconds to get to the dining room itself and another three to get halfway through the dining room. That gave Paul eleven seconds, more than enough to prepare but not enough to question his own sanity or to develop any doubts. As soon as the tactical team arrived, all bets would be off. When five or six overly armed, nervous guys, out of breath from climbing thirty floors stood in front of one highly trained, super-nervous, and totally cornered spy, anything could happen. And all the most likely outcomes meant a serious injury risk for Isa.

Paul arrived in the kitchen, found what he wanted, made a brief test throw into a nearby freezer, picked up another one, and then simply walked back toward the dining room. He opened the swinging kitchen door, but the Asian Man and Isabelle had been a little slower than Paul had anticipated and were a farther away than planned. The Asian Man saw Paul and started to close his hold on Isabelle, muscles tensing as he readjusted the threatening knife on Isa's neck. He hid behind her as well as he could with only his right eye glaring at Paul from behind Isabelle's ear through her hair.

No good, Paul thought angrily. Another plan gone to hell. He is too suspicious of me. When I move, he will kill Isabelle.

Stalemate.

The Asian Man saw Paul stepping through the swinging kitchen door, his arms raised high up in the air, almost touching above his head. He was unarmed. The Asian Man was confused. Why was Trouble back? Not good.

He instinctively tightened the grip around his hostage, pointed the knife at her throat again, and tried to keep Paul in his field of vision while shielding himself as much as possible. Why did Trouble have his hands behind his head as if to give up?

Isabelle's heart, despite her situation, lurched with joy when she saw the swinging kitchen door and Paul coming through it. He had the detached look on his face that she had sometimes observed when he was working in front of a computer, hunched over a book, or doing a karate kata exercise. He took two steps, and she felt the grip around her tightening, the knife again at her throat pressing dangerously hard. This is probably it, she thought and closed her eyes. Bleeding to death, ruining this nice dress forever, all my life ... for what?

Stalemate.

Then all three heard the door of the fire escape slam open and someone running down the corridor. From the corner of his eye, Paul saw Tom running past the open dining room door and then coming back after he must have seen them.

"Paul, everything—" Tom started, breaking off abruptly when he entered the room.

The Asian Man heard Tom approaching from behind. This is getting complicated, he thought and tried to get a better angle to watch out for the other guy, too. He shifted his hostage a little to the left and turned briefly to verify the situation. Young Tom, harmless. He turned his attention back to Trouble.

"All right with you guys?" Tom continued, out of breath from his six-story run.

The Asian Man had made the mistake of turning his head for half a second. Paul could already see the head turning back to him, but the Asian Man's face was a little more exposed than a second ago. With one fluid motion, Paul drew the deadly-looking steak knife.

The Asian Man saw Trouble moving his right arm in a long, steady arc. Something shimmering flew at him and his hostage, and from then on, his brain concentrated instinctively on the most important thing. No flight, no hostage, no Paul Trouble, no USB drive, no mission. It was all about removing the pain!

Isabelle felt the Asian Man push her to the side; he was probably checking out the voice from behind. She recognized the voice but couldn't put a name on it. Then both the knife and the grip of the Asian Man fell away.

Paul had "clipped" the steak knife between the rubbery fingers of his left hand prosthesis. While the Asian Man was distracted, Paul grabbed the handle with his right hand and threw it "Thorn-style," a technique that made the knife fly with no spin, like a rocket moving toward its target along one big arc in sync with the throwing arm. It passed Isabelle's ear with less than an inch to spare and rammed itself into the right eye of the Asian Man. The momentum forced his head back, and he let go of Isabelle as he stumbled two steps back. Isa opened her eyes again, looking first at Paul, and then turning to look at what had happened to the Asian Man.

A whimpering scream came from his mouth. He fell on his knees, and his hands came to his face, touched the embedded knife, and then moved back in shock as the pain multiplied. Isabelle checked her neck and arms for any sign of a serious injury, but couldn't find any. Then she watched the horror scene unfold as the scream of the Asian Man grew louder while blood spurted from the eye socket.

"Step aside, Isa, and please raise your hands. You too, Tom," Paul said loud but calm over the Asian Man's screams. He briefly considered throwing a second knife to finish his opponent off, but thought about General McAllister's spy maxim: Dead men don't talk.

Isabelle looked back at Paul, her hand going to her mouth—anything not to hear this man scream and see him bleed.

"Don't you want to—"

"Raise your arms, Isa. Do it now," Paul ordered before adding softly, "please." The final word was almost lost under the shrieks of the Asian Man. Tom had already complied and stood there like a bystander in a bank robbery, his hands high up.

Paul put his backup knife from between his left hand's rubbery fingers down on the floor and then put his own arms straight up into the air.

Isabelle reacted to the "Please" and then imitated Paul, not comprehending.

Then the kitchen door flew open, and three masked soldiers, armed to the teeth and clad in black, stormed the dining room, shouting in choir: "Police! Do not move! Show us your hands! Do not move!" Three others burst through the second door.

By all the good luck and trouble that had befallen everyone in this spy opera, the Asian Man was shot in the back due to incompliance. And, because he fell on his face, the knife embedded itself even more in the spy's brain, scrambling good parts of it to jelly.

Even Paul had to look away from the twitching and screaming body.