Page 30 of Dalla's Royal Guards
“Tell me what happened,” he ordered.
“My team had them cornered in the old district area. Nasser Al-Rashid was pinned down along with the nanny and child. Team 2 was engaged with Musad Al-Rashid,” Detri explained.
Kramer lifted an eyebrow and stared at the bald man standing in front of his desk. The man was dressed in a suit, a requirement to be admitted into his office. The suit was not inexpensive and fit Detri’s broad shoulders as if it had been tailor-made for him.
Detri’s face bore the pitted scars of teenage acne, etched deep into his cheeks and jawline. His silver-blue eyes were sharp and devoid of emotion.
“If your teams had them contained, then how did they escape?” he inquired with a wave of his hand for Detri to continue.
“The video from one of the vest cams best explains it,” Detri said, stepping forward. He placed his phone in front of Kramer before returning to his position in front of the black glass-and-metal desk.
Kramer’s keen eyes roved over the phone, and then he pulled a white handkerchief from his breast pocket and snapped it open before picking up the device. His caution came from necessity. Though Detri had handled the phone with his bare hands, there were a thousand ways to kill someone.
Through the thin material, he started the video. With dispassionate eyes, he watched the pursuit, listened to the heavy breathing of the man who wore the camera and those around him and the rat-ta-ta of automatic gunfire.
“What the hell?”
“Where did she come from?”
“Look out!”
Kramer paused, rewound, then froze the video again, then paused the video at the point where the gunman was standing with his weapon trained on Nasser Al-Rashid, the old woman, and the child. The Range Rover was lying on its roof, smoke pouring from the engine. There was a slumped figure in the front seat; it was obvious the driver was severely wounded from the blood darkening his clothing.
Nasser’s eyes glittered with rage and icy determination while the old woman and child looked terrified.
“Drop it, or the woman and child are dead!”
“I said drop it now!”
Kramer leaned forward, his eyes locked on Nasser when the man dropped his weapon but then picked something up on the ground in front of him. Whatever it was, it obviously meant something to him if he was willing to chance being shot to retrieve it.
He was about to ask Detri a question when the words died on his lips. The merc looked up, the camera tilting at an odd angle before it caught someone standing on the undercarriage of the SUV. He watched with fascination as whoever it was fitted an arrow into the shaft of a bow that had to be close to four-and-a-half feet long and fired in rapid succession.
He rewound the video again and again. Every time, the frames showed the same thing. There had been nothing, then a flash and the bowman.
“I want the original video sent to me at once,” he ordered.
Detri reached into his front pocket and pulled out a micro-SD card, stepped forward, and placed it in front of him. Kramer picked it up with handkerchief-clad fingers. Sitting back in his chair, he studied Detri’s face.
“I want you to find this person… and the object that Nasser Al-Rashid picked up,” he added.
“Yes, sir,” Detri said.
“Keep me informed.”
Detri bowed his head in acknowledgement and exited the office. Kramer rolled the micro-SD card between his fingers. He knew that Detri’s own tech had already reviewed the video. He wouldn’t expect anything less of the man.
He lifted his phone and pressed a button. Within seconds, his assistant knocked on the office door.
“Enter.”
A meticulous woman in her sixties entered the room. Doris Hiller was the epitome of the perfect personal assistant with her salt-and-pepper hair swept up in an elegant chignon, neatly pressed dark gray business suit, sensible heels, and brilliant, photographic memory. She wrote nothing down unless he requested it.
“Yes, sir.”
“Have IT perform their magic on this,” he ordered, holding out the micro-SD chip.
Doris stepped forward and extended her hand. He dropped the chip into her palm.
