Read Online The Man of Bronze by James Alan Gardner - Free Book Online Page B

given to lackeys of a certain rank . . . which explained why few gunmen had them. The man talking to me must not have earned his Silver Shield yet; otherwise, he’d just armor up and come for me.
    “So what do you say?” the man asked. “Want to join? The boss’ll be glad to have you.”
    I wanted to ask who this boss was. But talking wouldn’t get me answers; it would just get me shot.
    Once more, I moved quietly to the mouth of the corridor. I lifted both my Uzis judiciously, trying to gauge which one was lighter—which had less ammo left. Probably the one in my right hand. I unstrapped it and tossed it into the middle of the next room.
    Instant gunfire. A single three-bullet burst. Of course, the man hadn’t meant what he’d said . . . but his impulsive shots lit the room enough to show me everything: a chair where the doorman once sat, the safe, the front exit, the entrance to the stairwell.
    “Sorry about that,” the man said . . . as if a simple apology could excuse his attempt to shoot me. “I overreacted. But, really, we can work something out . . .”
    That was all I heard—I retreated, fast and quiet. Down the corridor, over the gurney, past the OR, back to the hole leading into the church. There was just enough light in the church sanctuary to let me find the spot where Reuben and I had leapt from the upper story. I jumped . . . grabbed the edge . . . pulled myself up . . . and was once more on the higher level, in the patient rooms. Forward, heading for the stairs . . . nearly falling when I tripped over a body but catching myself in time . . . stealthily down the stairs . . . and the last mercenary was still babbling, “Come on, can’t we talk? We can work things out . . .”
    My whole journey upstairs and down had taken less than thirty seconds; but now I was on the other side of the room. The man taking cover behind the solid steel vault was totally exposed from this angle.
    My Uzi went,
trrrrrrr.
Its muzzle flash showed the mercenary wearing a look of utter astonishment as he died.
    One final errand: checking the getaway vehicles. I donned the winter jacket I’d left on the entrance room’s coat stand and slipped outside.
    When I first saw the black Explorers pull up, I’d assumed the mercs would leave a driver in each to allow for fast escape. I therefore flattened myself in the clinic’s doorway, inched through shadows, dodged behind a lamppost, crawled across the pavement on my stomach . . . only to find the cars empty, unlocked, with keys in the ignition. It was a miracle they hadn’t been stolen; Warsaw is no worse for crime than any other city its size, but leaving brand-new SUVs unlocked in the middle of the night is asking for trouble. Then again, Stare Miasto is supposed to be a no-vehicle zone, so maybe carjackers never visited the district.
    I took the keys from the nearest Explorer and locked all the doors before jogging back into the building. “Reuben!” I called. “Let’s go.”
    “The coast is clear?” His voice came from the OR.
    “It’s clear for now. But the police may arrive any second.”
    “They’ll take their time.” That was Dr. Jacek talking. “The police try not to disturb us . . . and when they have no choice, they don’t come straight here. They find excuses to take a roundabout route. In case we need time to clean up.”
    I wondered whom Jacek had to pay to receive such treatment. Maybe no one. Maybe influential people simply told the police Dr. Jacek was not to be raided. The rich and powerful occasionally need discreet clandestine clinics that deal with medical emergencies . . . and such gentry don’t like interruptions when they’re getting patched up or medicated.
    Something clattered down the corridor—something accidentally knocked over in the dark—then Jacek and Reuben appeared. They looked relieved . . . maybe because the crisis was over, maybe just because they could finally see. I was holding the street door open, letting in light from