The Milestone Protocol Ernest Dempsey (best short novels of all time .txt) 📖

the metal door, which would only result in either deadly ricochets or the bullets falling harmlessly to the floor after a dead stop.

Sean heard no shots, which meant they were going to try to ram their way through. Another hard bump tested his footing again. He knew what would come next. He stepped back and waited with the pistol raised. A loud thump came from the door, accompanied with a new gunman clumsily charging through. The man stumbled, realizing too late that whatever had been blocking the door had been removed. He turned his head in time to see Sean’s muzzle flash. It was the last thing he saw before he dropped to the rooftop with a fresh hole in his temple.

The door had closed back on itself, but whipped open again, catching Sean slightly off guard as another assailant rammed it open. The newcomer had seen what happened to his comrade and was well aware of the danger around the corner.

He spun, firing his pistol in Sean’s direction. Sean ducked behind the shaft housing and pressed his back against the wall. There, shielded from the wind generated by the rotors, he heard the gunman shouting commands. He was speaking heavily accented English, and he was ordering his men to open fire on the helicopter.

A chill ran over Sean’s skin and up his spine. He caught movement out of the corner of his right eye and noticed the shadow—a lone figure of a man—rushing around the opposite side of the small building.

He was hemmed in, knowing that another gunman would be creeping around the corner where he’d taken cover.

Sean had to make a decision, but the attackers on the other side of the structure made it for him. He heard the muted pops of gunfire from suppressors. Fear for his friends forced Sean into action. He chose to take out the nearest threat first and swiveled around the corner. As he thought, a gunman with black hair and pale skin was creeping along the wall. Sean’s first shot struck the man in the side as he raised his weapon and pulled the trigger. Sean fired again and missed, sending the bullet ricocheting off the concrete wall. The gunman staggered to the side, trying to wield his pistol again. He managed one more shot that missed, though Sean had no idea how. The man’s sights were dangerously close to his head. Sean, however, didn’t miss. His third effort sent a bullet through the man’s forehead. The killer fell to his knees and toppled onto his face.

Sean moved quickly, decisively, taking the dead man’s pistol as he hurried around the corner where three more men were unloading a barrage of gunfire at the helicopter as it ascended into the sky. Sean emptied the magazine of his first confiscated weapon into the nearest gunman, dropping him in seconds. The guy in the middle turned in time to catch three more rounds from Sean’s newfound pistol—two in the chest and one in the eye. The third man fell without retaliation as Sean executed him with a bullet through his skull over the right ear.

One left, he thought.

Sean knew he was both hunter and prey at that point. He hurried to the corner and peeked around, but saw nothing. The man had gone around the backside of the building. He’d be returning to this spot any second. They could go around in circles, Sean knew, but he would have no advantage. Neither would the gunman, but Sean had always believed in finding the advantage wherever possible. He noted the door slightly ajar to his right and made his decision.

The killer circled around the corner to discover the last of his comrades dead in a heap near the door. He looked up the steps toward the helipad as the chopper drifted farther away, too far for him to hope for any kind of shot. The man, a redheaded fellow with wide shoulders and bulging arms, returned his focus to the present threat. He’d have to worry about the targets in the chopper later.

He crept toward the left corner again and stopped near the door, waiting. He centered himself in the doorframe and watched, twisting his head back and forth, anticipating his quarry’s next move. The man didn’t know which way the target would come from, making him vulnerable, which meant he was counting on his reflexes and sense of anticipation.

The man breathed evenly, rapidly turning his head in both directions as if watching the world’s fastest tennis match.

He heard a creak come from behind and dove to the right, kicking his legs out wide as he stabbed his pistol toward the door and fired. Bullets sparked off the metal door, most dying on impact and dropping to the ground. He squeezed the trigger until the weapon clicked several times. The man’s breath came quicker now as he released the empty magazine from the well and reached to his belt for a full one.

The door closed. Behind it stood his target.

Sean’s scruffy blond hair blew in the breeze. The helicopter’s rotors still thumped in the distance, but the aircraft was still at a safe distance.

Sean stepped toward the man on the ground; he’d stopped moving. He still held the loaded magazine in his left hand and the empty pistol in his right.

Sean aimed his pistol at the gunman’s face and stared at him with eyes colder than the chilly Swedish air.

“Who do you work for?” Sean asked pointedly.

The man merely stared back at him, as if he didn’t understand the question.

“I know you speak English,” Sean added. “I overheard your commander, or whatever he was, using it. So, you know what I’m saying. We can do this the hard way or the easy way. It’s up to you.”

The man shook his head slowly. “There are fates worse than death, Sean Wyatt.”

Sean cocked his right eyebrow at the man’s statement, both because of its cryptic nature and because the killer knew Sean’s name. He didn’t keep the low