The Third Option by Vince Flynn Read Free Book Online

why in the world the BKA would be paying him a house call. Jane Hoffman began answering Hagenmiller in his native tongue, going along with the cover story they had rehearsed. Not more than two lines into it, the second man stepped forward and announced forcefully that he was the count's attorney and that he would like to see some ID.
    Rapp was following the conversation closely, but he had kept most of his attention on the bodyguard. The man stood like a sphinx off to the side, his arms folded across his chest. Hoffman was between Rapp and the door. Directly across from Rapp was the count, and on his right were the lawyer and the bodyguard. When the lawyer stepped forward and asked to see credentials, Rapp made up his mind. Every second they hung around was a chance for something to go wrong.
    As he started to slide his left hand into his jacket, Rapp glanced to his right to see Jane Hoffman pulling out her fake BKA identification. His hand eased into the hidden pocket and grasped the Ruger Mk II. Turning his body to the left, he extracted the silenced. 22-caliber and extended his arm.
    The count was no more than four feet away from the tip of the extended weapon. Rapp squeezed the trigger once, and a bullet spat from the end of the long black barrel. Instantly, a red dot appeared between the count's neatly trimmed eyebrows. Rapp did not pause to watch the man fall-he knew he was already dead. He switched the Ruger from his left hand to his right, took one step forward, and delivered a vicious left hook to the attorney's jaw: The man tumbled to the side and back, almost taking out the bodyguard as his unconscious body rolled across the floor. With the Ruger still in his right hand, Rapp took a step back, gaining some distance between himself and the bodyguard. The man was already taking his first step toward him, reaching for his gun.
    Rapp yelled, «Halt!» but the bodyguard kept reaching.
    He had only a split second to think. He fired a second shot – this one hit the bodyguard in the wrist, and his heavy semiautomatic pistol thudded to the floor. The man instantly bent over in pain, grabbing his wrist with his other hand., Rapp took two big steps and kicked at the man's face as if he were punting a football. The blow sent the three-hundred-pound bodyguard reeling back, landing him on top of a small wooden end table with a porcelain lamp delicately perched atop its polished wood surface. The lamp shattered as it hit the wood floor, and the table splintered into a dozen pieces under the weight of the heavy man.
    Rapp pushed Hoffman out of the way and bounded for, the door. Just as he got there, it opened, and the small head I of the butler appeared. Rapp grabbed the man by the tie and yanked him into the room. Taking the butt end of the Ruger, he smashed it down on the butler's temple with far less force than he normally would have. The butler's eyes rolled back into his head, and his knees went limp. Rapp released his grip from the man's throat and let him slump to the floor. Next, he stuck his head into the hallway to see if anybody was watching and then closed and locked the door.
    He moved across the room like a machine. His first priority was the bodyguard. After grabbing three pairs of plastic flex-cuffs from his pocket, he turned to hand one of them to Jane Hoffman and froze in his tracks.
    In that one fleeting moment, Rapp couldn't believe what he was seeing. The words fell from his lips in slow motion. «What in the hell are you doing?»
    Rapp barely got the words out of his mouth before Jane Hoffman fired the first shot from the end of the suppressed Heckler amp; Koch P7. The 9-mm parabellum round hit Rapp square in the chest and put him back on his heels. The second shot propelled him back over the legs of the bodyguard. The air was gone from his lungs as his ass hit the floor, and his upper body fell back, sending his head with a whiplash effect toward the bottom rung of a wooden library ladder. Rapp's head hit