Shots Fired

 306.

"Chameleon is out in Goldson's room, might be the pulse bomb, or maybe a short from all the water, but we're blind there," reports Drysdale.

"Roger on the blind spot," I respond moving towards the stairs, the elevator unavailable. "Is everyone accounted for in the parking area?"

"Yes, as far as our people are concerned, there is still no telling how many, if any, other guests might be inside, but I would guess very few," The Queen advises.

"Where is Goldson's goon?"

"He is still getting instructions from him, looks fairly detailed and apparently urgent by the physical language of  the conversation, wait, he is leaving the group now and heading to the rear of the building, back door maybe? South. We'll cover as best we can. Is Davis on com? Sharkey do you copy?"

There is no audible response but Sharkey can been seen in the video nodding his head in the affirmative.

"Do you know Goldson's instructions to his body guard?"

They watch as Sharkey again shakes his head, but this time to indicate the negative.

I reach the penthouse floor and find it empty. The emergency sprinkler system is dripping, the carpet soaked, but there is no sign of fire or its smokey accomplice. I hurry to Goldson's suite, stabilize myself on the cane and kick the door just above the cover plate. It splinters open.

Sitting on the giant bed is a man with his back to me working on what I deduce is a laptop computer. Obviously spooked by the crashing sound of the violent forced entry, he quickly stands and spins to face me. He is holding a large caliber handgun, its metallic barrel swinging around in a deadly dance to reveal its four inch silencer. I hit the deck as the sound of a passing lead projectile buzzes my head with a 'pithew' finding the thick stucco wall behind me. I roll on my numb right side reaching for my holstered Glock with my left. Another pair of shots land on each side of me as I desperately try to create a moving target for who I already know by his misses is a substandard marksman.

Downstairs Drysdale's instincts sound an alarm. "Shot's fired upstairs." He is out the door and up the stairs, Mustang trying to keep pace.

I get off a single shot after, by my count, three and a half barrel rolls and the room goes silent. I am crawling towards an entryway chair when I hear Drysdale arrive, shouting the standard entry protocol. He sees me prostrate on the wet carpet and I point to the bed.

I see Mustang at the door, weapon out and up. I signal the info of one shooter and point the direction.

I hear Drysdale announce that the perp is down. With the update five seconds later that he is down but not out, faint heartbeat but still breathing. With annoying static I hear in my com unit that Goldson's guard has entered the hotel wing and is moving towards us from the South.

"You two get outta here now, go that way, I command using my Glock as a directional pointer. Go. Drysdale take the computer. Go."

I get to my knees as they hurry away and walk the ten steps to the far side of the California King. I see the perp laying face down bleeding from the single shot I managed, blood pooling around his right side. I lean with all my might on the cane and roll him onto his back.

Goldson's body guard enters the room, breathing hard from the short sprint and two floors of stairs.

I point to the downed intruder, instructing the guard to call 911 and an ambulance.

"Do you know this guy? Caught him in a B&E, he fired on me. I think he'll live. Can you ID him?" I ask.

The guard is silent, I can see the wheels turning and burning in his head. He puts his handgun in his rear waistband and reaches for his phone. I repeat my question.

"Yeah, his name is Bartowski."