Private Princess

Chapter 117

Jack Morgan pressed himself as tightly as he could into the elevator’s front left corner. As soon as the doors opened, he expected incoming fire from Flex. Morgan would have a couple of seconds at most before the door was fully open, and he had less than half a foot of cover to hide behind. If Flex was waiting in ambush, Morgan would have a split second to decide if he would gut it out against all odds, or if he would hit the button to close the door and return him to ground level. Deep down, Morgan knew the decision had already been made.

For the memory of Jane Cook, there would be no retreat.

He watched as the elevator’s numbers crept upward, hitting thirty-four in a smooth stop. He pulled the pistol up to his shoulder, ready to punch out and aim immediately as the doors opened.

They did so with a pleasant ping, and Morgan prepared himself for a fusillade of gunshots.

None came. All was quiet but for the sobs of a chambermaid who leaned back against a high glass window. She was cradling someone in her arms. Morgan only needed one look at the limp body to see that the person was dead.

“Is he in here?” Morgan shouted, maintaining his position. “Is he in here?”

The woman shook her head and sobbed. Morgan stepped out, his eyes drawn to the body of a suited man who lay dead on the floor. Suddenly, Morgan’s ear was drawn to the sounds of relaxing, melodic music that continued to play in the reception area, despite the carnage that was playing out beneath the hidden speakers.

He swept his pistol left and right, but all was clear.

“Where is he? Where did he go?”

The chambermaid was incapable of speech, but she pointed in the direction of a second set of elevators.

“Does he have hostages?” Morgan asked, reaching into the woman’s pockets and coming up with her access card.

She nodded, sending tears dropping down onto the face of the young man in her arms. Morgan had no time to comfort her. He left, and ran in the direction of the elevators.

“Please don’t hurt me!” a man shouted. Morgan turned to see a businessman huddled shaking beneath a table. “Please!”

“Did you see who went in here?” Morgan asked sternly.

The man nodded.

“How many people with him?”

“Three, I think. Maybe four. Please don’t hurt me.”

“I’m not going to hurt you. There’s a woman over there.” Morgan pointed back toward the sobbing chambermaid at the window. “Grab her, and get downstairs. Go!”

After swallowing the lump of fear in his throat, the man scuttled away, and Morgan turned his attention to the elevator. It had only one destination: the highest floor.

He looked once more at the fleeing man, who had stopped at the sobbing woman, and was now moving her toward the elevator that would take them down to safety.

Morgan sucked in a deep breath to calm the nerves and adrenaline that pumped through his system. Then he cast a cool glance out at the magnificent vista of London.

Morgan had seen worse places to die. With that thought in his mind, he stepped into the elevator that would deliver him either to revenge or to his death.