Private Monaco

Chapter 2

I rushed at the man training his gun on me and could tell from the way he froze that he was shocked by my split-second reaction. Years of facing danger and violence had trained me to respond to threats without hesitation. I acted decisively, barreling into him, grabbing his wrists and forcing his arms up before his first shot cracked from the muzzle and whipped into the air a few inches left of my head. I was no stranger to firefights, but no matter how familiar I was with the experience, I couldn’t control my physical response. The volume and pressure of the gunshot caused a stabbing sensation in my ears, which started ringing. I didn’t let that slow me down but slammed the man’s head hard against the side of the van. I saw his eyes roll back. In the instant it took him to recover his senses, I wrested the Glock 19 from his limp fingers.

I turned the gun on his two startled accomplices, but they’d had a chance to regroup after the shock of seeing me go on the attack. They darted around the far side of the vehicle, taking cover as I tried to get a clear and safe shot.

Sounds of panic filled the air. Pedestrians in the background were scattering into the boutiques and cafes that lined the avenue. I heard shouts and screams from every direction. There was movement to my left and a masked driver emerged from the vehicle carrying some kind of club in his hand.

Justine barged into the door, slamming it hard and wedging him between it and the chassis. I took advantage of his confusion and pain to drive my fist into his nose through the open driver’s window. Bone cracked and he yelped and tried to stagger back, but was unable to move. He dropped the club — a police baton — and clutched his face. I grabbed the discarded weapon before it reached the sidewalk and drove it tip first into his chin. His head snapped back and he went limp, crumpling in a heap on the driver’s seat.

“Jack!” Justine yelled, and I turned to see one of the other assailants round the van, gun leveled at us.

“Drop your weapons,” he yelled, his Italian accent unmistakable.

But there was a hesitant note in his voice, and he hadn’t opened fire, so I seized the chance to grab Justine’s arm and spin her around. We started running.