St Kilda Consulting 02 - Innocent as Sin

man’s eyes were empty.
    Bertone smiled. “Gabriel is adept with many weapons. You would have liked the weapon he was carrying—a silenced Chinesepistol, absolutely untraceable. It’s so rare that even the FBI’s firearms library collection doesn’t have one.”
    “Why didn’t he use it?”
    “He didn’t have time. When the security guard charged in with a flashlight and a gun, Gabriel went over the fence and worked his way back around to the house.”
    “Does this guard know where she went?”
    “I assume so. He went with her.”
    “Are you saying that she ran off with this guy?”
    Bertone shrugged slightly. “It’s possible. Other members of the guard detail say that the two have flirted in the past.”
    Foley thought of all the times Kayla had brushed him off when he tried to flirt. “I can’t believe she’d go for some meaty rent-a-cop. Are you sure that’s all there was going on?”
    “Jimmy works for a private company that supplies our security under contract. The background check on him was quite thorough. He’s just a good-looking ten-dollar-an-hour punk. She’s probably screwing him or some other blue-collar stud while we speak.”
    “Well, hell.”
    Disgusted by Kayla’s lack of taste, Foley threw the MP5A to his shoulder and emptied the rest of the twenty-round magazine into the target. Eleven rounds ripped the paper and disappeared into the downrange berm. Gaping holes opened in and around the silhouette’s head.
    Bertone watched without real interest. Then he tripped a switch and retrieved the paper target. He inspected the pattern from Foley’s angry burst and shook his head.
    “You’re scattering your shot,” Bertone said.
    Foley tapped the three holes in the silhouetted head. “That’s why machine guns were invented. It may not be real efficient, but it sure as hell gets the job done.”
    “I’ve sold tens of millions of bullets,” Bertone said, his tone as jaded as his eyes. “I’ve sold tens of thousands of machine guns to fire them. I can assure you that one well-placed shot is worth a hundred badly aimed bullets.”
    “Tell it to your pet, Gabriel.”
    “He already knows.”
    “But he let her get away. Some hit man he is.”
    “He was told to acquire, not to kill.”
    “Why bother with grabbing her and hiding her?” Foley objected. “All it takes is one shot. I mean, Phoenix has plenty of drive-bys. Nobody would pay much attention to a random hit on the street. It would look like an accident. Hell, I could do it myself.”
    “You don’t have what it takes to pull the trigger on a live target.”
    Behind his amber shooting glasses, Foley’s narrowed eyes glared at Bertone.
    “Somebody has to do it,” Foley said. “If Kayla’s still floating around out there, she could bring you down, and me with you.”
    “You, yes. Not me. I am a citizen of the world. In less than an hour I can be on a plane out of the United States, leaving a dozen lawyers to clean up behind me. Can you?”
    Foley still had the gun in his hands, muzzle pointed toward the ceiling. He brought the barrel down slowly, letting the black eye of the muzzle slide past Bertone’s mouth. The insult might or might not have been deliberate.
    “I thought not,” Bertone said, letting his contempt show.
    “One way or another, you’re vulnerable,” Foley said, keeping the muzzle just barely away from Bertone’s face.
    Bertone pulled back his jacket, exposing the butt of a heavy black pistol that was stuffed into his belt without a holster. With smooth, easy motions he pulled the gun, pointed it at the spot between Foley’s eyes, and slipped the safety.
    Foley acted out of reflex, bringing the silenced muzzle of the MP5A to bear on Bertone’s midsection. His finger curled around the trigger.
    Too late Foley remembered the open bolt, the empty magazine.
    Bertone smiled thinly. “Tell me again how equally vulnerable we are.”
    The silenced muzzle wavered, then sagged. Foley tried to focus on something other than the open eye of death staring at him.
    “Fine,” Foley said angrily. “As usual you have the upper hand. What’s your plan?”
    Bertone lowered the pistol, engaged the safety, and slipped the weapon back into his belt.
    “We must find Kayla,” Bertone said matter-of-factly. “I sent a man to the apartment she rented. No one was there. He went to the ranch she just sold. No one was there.”
    “Beautiful,” Foley said sarcastically.
    “She’s a young woman of limited