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

that he wouldn’t have to tolerate a long ride down with a couple of chatty and apparently drunk people.

The woman was in a short black dress with a slit up one side, while the guy was in a pair of tan jeans with white shoes and button-up shirt. The shirt was untucked, and for a second, Sean wondered if the guy had gone through his closet back in Atlanta. The outfit was exactly like something Sean would wear.

He pressed the button more fervently, but when the elevator dinged, the drunken revelers were already there. Sean sighed inwardly and pressed his lips together in a tight, albeit forced, smile.

“You going down?” the young man slurred in English.

“Yeah,” Sean said with a nod, keeping his eyes forward as he stepped into the lift.

The couple tripped forward into the elevator and stumbled to the back wall where they caught themselves. Then they started laughing.

“Which floor?” Sean asked.

“Lobby,” the girl answered drunkenly, then returned to her laughter.

“Sure thing.” Sean reached out and touched the button for the lobby, while deftly grazing his thumb over the second-floor button.

He stood in front of the panel as the doors closed, blocking their view.

The lift descended rapidly, and to Sean’s relief, didn’t stop until they arrived at the second floor. The doors opened, and the drunk woman asked, “Is this our floor?”

“Yep,” Sean said, putting his hand out to allow them to pass. “Lobby.”

“Thank you,” the man said and led the way, staggering out of the elevator at an angle and towing the young woman behind.

Despite the stress of the moment, Sean allowed himself a mischievous smile as the two looked down the hallway in both directions, made a decision, and wobbled away.

The doors closed again, and he was relieved to be rid of the two. They opened again ten seconds later when the lift arrived at the lobby. Sean stepped back to the near corner in case there was someone stationed at the doors, but no one entered.

He poked his head out and looked around, noting that there were no goons positioned in the lobby. A scattering of people littered the lobby floor. Some stood in line at the concierge. Another three waited for coffee at the coffee counter. Two sat drinking from tall glasses of beer at the bar. And four more were on large satin couches in the far corner where a gas fire flickered in a hearth.

Satisfied for the moment, Sean stepped out of the elevator and strolled casually to the right. He glanced over his left shoulder and noticed the two men standing outside the exit. They were loitering with two valets, chatting and smiling as if nothing was out of the ordinary, but to Sean it was easy to see the men were with the attackers from the rooftop. These two wore black suits, probably to conceal their weapons. They had the look of a couple of bodyguards, likely playing that role for the valets with some made-up backstory about how they were told to wait downstairs while their boss took care of business inside.

Sean had seen it before.

He kept moving toward a side door at the end of a narrow corridor when he saw another goon through the glass. Immediately, he tilted his head to the side as if called by a friend in the lobby, and altered his course.

There was a third exit in the rear, but that one would be covered too. He was so close to getting out, but with all exits blocked, getting out would be tricky.

He stopped next to a long wall that ran the length of the lobby. A collection of club chairs and couches offered patrons a place to relax and unwind after a long day of touring the city or suffering through business meetings. To his right, he noted three courtesy phones on the wall, and an idea struck him.

Sean picked up one of the phones and looked through a list of numbers on a placard between each one. He noted the emergency services number and dialed it.

“Hallo?” a woman’s voice chirped. She said something in Swedish, which Sean loosely translated into “How can I help you?”

“There’s been a shooting.” He rapidly gave the name of the hotel and the details, telling the woman he believed the shooters were on the roof and that more were in disguise outside the exits of the building.

Her tone shifted immediately, as did her language, as she repeated the details back to Sean in English. She informed him the police would be there soon and to stay where he was and not to venture out.

Sean thanked her and ended the call. Then he waited.

He was pleasantly surprised when he heard the sirens less than two minutes after making the call. Apparently, Swedish efficiency was a highly underrated trait.

Keeping close to the wall with one of the phone stalls partially blocking his view, he leaned around and watched the reaction of the two men at the main entrance as the blue lights swirled off the surrounding buildings.

They immediately went from looking like they were having a good time to abruptly turning and running down the sidewalk. Sean figured their vehicles must be parked somewhere nearby. He turned to a trashcan off to the right while everyone in the lobby started looking outside at the commotion. Sean slipped the pistols out of his belt and dumped them in the trash. The weapons plunked loudly when they hit the bottom of the bin, but no one seemed to notice as the police rushed into the lobby and began hurriedly, yet calmly, ushering patrons out through the front door.

Sean put on his best panicked face, looking around in confusion. An officer approached him while others rushed to the elevators and stairwell.

The cop said something to Sean in Swedish.

“I’m sorry, I don’t speak Swedish,” Sean said.

“We need you to evacuate,” the cop said, pointing to the doors where two other cops were assisting people out the door.

Sean almost looked hurt. “What’s going