Extreme Denial by David Morrell Read Free Book Online Page A

to affect the flames. The second brother kept screaming.
    Decker shot twice at the first brother, hitting his chest and head. As the gunman toppled, Decker pivoted and shot twice at the man in flames, dropping him, also. The gunshots were almost obscured by the crackle and roar of the fire as it spread from the fourth balcony.
    More wreckage fell. Crouching behind the crate, Decker scanned the area in search of more targets. Brian. Where was Brian? Decker’s peripheral vision detected motion in the far left corner of the courtyard, near the door that he and Brian had come through.
    But the movement wasn’t Brian. The tall, slim, sensuous figure that emerged from the shadows of another stairway was Renata. Holding a pistol equipped with a sound suppressor, she shot repeatedly toward the courtyard, all the while running toward the open doorway. The muffled shots, normally no louder than a fist against a pillow, were totally silent because of the roaring chaos of the blaze.
    Behind the crate, Decker sprawled on the wet cobblestones and squirmed forward on his elbows and knees. He reached the side of the crate, caught a glimpse of Renata nearing the exit, aimed through the rain, and shot twice more. His first bullet struck the wall behind her. His second hit her in the throat. She clutched her windpipe, blood spewing. Her throat would squeeze shut. Death from asphyxiation would occur in less than three minutes.
    Despite the din of the flames, Decker heard a scream of anguish. One of Renata’s brothers showed himself, racing from the open stairway, shooting toward the courtyard, grabbing Renata where she had fallen, dragging her closer to the open doorway. At once he shot again, but not at Decker, instead toward the stairwell at the back of the courtyard, as if protecting himself from bullets that came from that direction. As Decker aimed, the last brother appeared, shot repeatedly in Decker’s direction, and helped to get his sister into the street and out of view. Decker emptied his pistol, hastily ejected its magazine, and inserted a full one. By then, the terrorists were gone.
    Sweat mixed with rain on his face. He shuddered, spun in case there were other targets, and saw Brian jump down the last few steps of the open stairway at the back of the courtyard.
    Brian clutched his revolver, his hand shaking.
    “We have to get out of here!” Decker yelled.
    No more than a minute had passed since the explosion. People wearing pajamas and sometimes less were charging onto the balconies and down outdoor stairways to get away from the fire.
    Decker avoided a chunk of flaming wreckage and rushed to Brian, who had an arm around his father, lifting him.
    “I can feel him breathe!” Brian said.
    “Give me his legs.”
    Decker heard people rushing in panic down the stairs as he and Brian carried McKittrick across the courtyard toward the open doorway.
    “Wait,” Decker said. He set down McKittrick’s legs and aimed cautiously out toward the street. He saw a car speed away from the curb, its red taillights becoming rapidly smaller, the vehicle skidding through puddles, around a corner, disappearing.
    Decker was far enough from the roaring flames to hear the pulsing wail of approaching sirens. One of the terrorists might have stayed, hiding behind a car, hoping to create an ambush. But Decker was betting that the sirens were as worrisome to the terrorists as they were to him.
    He decided to take the chance. “Let’s go!” he told Brian.
    As people crowded behind them, he and Brian hurried to carry McKittrick toward the Fiat and set him in the backseat. Brian stayed in back with his father while Decker slid behind the steering wheel and sped away, narrowly missing people in the street. At the same time, numerous sirens wailed louder behind the Fiat Pressing his foot on the accelerator, Decker glanced nervously at the rearview mirror and saw the flashing lights of emergency vehicles appear on the rainy street behind him.
    But what