“Room service.”
Kim, the North
Korean arms dealer, looked across the ample rosewood and silk chairs and sofa
in the living room of his suite to his bodyguard and motioned with his head to
send him to the door.
“We did not
order anything.”
“Compliments of
Viktor.”
The arms dealer hesitated
then nodded. His bodyguard opened the door cautiously and waved a metal
detecting wand over the man as he wheeled in a polished wooden cart laden with
a basket of fresh lychees, a plate of tempting desserts, and the customary
bottle of champagne in an ice bucket.
The man from
room service was a local, so they could assume he was not from Viktor’s “inner
circle” but Viktor notoriously used gangs of local organized crime.
He snatched a
knife from the cart and attacked the bodyguard. Even though there was a crazed
look in his eyes, suggesting that he was under the influence of some drug, he
wielded the knife with skill. It was, however, as if a lucky beginner was
fighting a hardened professional. The guard had to dodge three or four times
before blocking a knife thrust with the metal detector and striking the
attacker’s throat. The attacker arched backwards while slashing at the
outstretched arm; the guard spun to avoid the knife and caught the attacker by
the wrist. He swung the man effortlessly into a wall against which he crashed
and lay crumpled
As the attacker
slumped to the floor, another man moved silently into the doorway. “Was that
too easy?” he asked as he raised his silenced Glock 19 and shot at the
bodyguard who sprang at the same instant to relative safety behind the
furniture in the living room
The arms dealer
wasted no time in firing his 9 mm Beretta. He did not miss, not even when a
second gunman rushed into the room.
“You really should
try the egg tarts. They are better than what you get in Hong Kong,” purred a heavily accented voice from
outside the door. “By the way, your marksmanship has improved greatly but
there are three more of us and we have something—”
There was a short
pause as guns clattered and curses were muttered. A door had opened by the
staircase.
A shrill whistle
blew.
“Stop! Police.
Drop your weapons.”
The arrival of
the police surprised everyone inside and outside the suite of rooms at the
quietly stylish hotel that had served as Kim’s base of operations. Even so he
maintained his usual calm facade as Viktor and his crew cursed. The police
brought with them the odor of officious authority that blended well with the
whiff of sulfur.
In a few
minutes, all the attackers and those attacked were taken, separately, into
custody.




