Page 156 of The Unlikely Spare
The warehouse fills with an awkward silence. Pierce’s men look at each other like actors who’ve forgotten their lines. One shuffles his feet. Another clears his throat. Apparently, there isn’t an established kidnapping protocol for when your hostages give you what you want before you’ve even made the demands.
“This is…” Pierce starts, then stops. He runs a hand through his hair, leaving it disheveled. “This is not how I expected this to go.”
Nicholas actually smiles at that. “Revolutionary change rarely follows the expected script.”
Another long pause. I can hear my own heartbeat, loud in the silence.
“So…what do we do now?” one of the men finally asks. He looks genuinely lost. “I mean, they’ve basically joined our side.”
Pierce opens his mouth to reply, his lips forming words that never come because just then, there’s a loud banging noise, like thunder but more metallic.
The warehouse door buckles inward like it’s been hit by a battering ram.
For a split second, nobody moves. Then smoke grenades roll across the concrete floor, spinning like deadly pinwheels, spewing thick clouds that turn the air opaque.
Nicholas meets my gaze through the rapidly thickening smoke, and for the first time, there is genuine fear on his face.
And I’m fairly sure it’s not fear for his own safety.
It’s fear for me.
Because there is a high probability that whoever is about to arrive believes I’m one of the bad guys.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Nicholas
Of all the times to have unexpected guests, now is rather unfortunate timing.
The warehouse erupts into absolute bedlam as smoke grenades transform visibility into a suggestion rather than a reality. Through the haze, I catch glimpses of Pierce’s men scattering like startled pigeons at a wedding. Well, if pigeons carried automatic weapons and revolutionary manifestos.
Through the smoke, figures in dark tactical gear surge through every entrance simultaneously, their movements coordinated with the precision of a choreographed assault.
“Police! Armed Offenders Squad! Everyone on the ground now!”
“Get down!” Eoin tries to push me behind a crate.
“You get down,” I counter, attempting to shield him with my body, which, given our respective sizes, is rather like trying to hide a bear behind a lamppost.
“For fuck’s sake, Nicholas. I’m the protection officer!”
“Actually, currently, you’re an accused kidnapper, which makes you the one in danger.”
We’re essentially wrestling for the coveted position of human shield, each trying to out-martyr the other in what must be the world’s most dysfunctional game of Twister.
“Move!” Eoin grabs my arm, finally dragging me toward better cover as a bullet sparks off the concrete where we’d been standing. I have no idea whether it’s from the force arriving to rescue me or Pierce’s men, and now is not the time for extended questions.
Pierce’s men are running in every direction, some returning fire while backing toward exits, others diving behind whatever cover they can find.
We duck behind an overturned table as the New Zealand authorities demonstrate why their rugby team’s intimidation tactics translate surprisingly well to law enforcement.
“Stop trying to protect me,” Eoin growls as I attempt to position myself between him and the nearest armed officer.
I raise an eyebrow at him. “You’re being remarkably ungrateful. Shall I addunappreciative of heroic gesturesto your performance review?”
The smoke begins to clear, revealing a warehouse floor littered with terrorists being efficiently zip-tied by officers. Some of Pierce’s men are still trying to escape through various exits, creating a rather undignified game of uniformed whack-a-mole.
Then I spot Singh, Davis, and MacLeod, emerging from the smoke like avenging angels. Their weapons are drawn, and their eyes lock onto Eoin.
