40
Saudi Arabia
Driver lined the barrel of Kovac’s pistol with the crown of Wells’ skull. He turned his head away, dropping his eyes to the floor.
She wrapped her finger around the smooth, curved steel of the trigger and prepared to fire.
Yet she turned as she squeezed. Bang to her left. Bang-bang to her right. The two guards dropping and the barrel turned on Kovac, point-blank.
Yet the Serbian had read her intentions from the get-go. He had a concealed weapon, already drawn.
‘Ah-ah,’ Kovac said, aiming between her eyes, and backed up by the German, Graf, brandishing a handgun of his own. ‘I’ll take that back now, if you don’t mind.’
‘Why are the scumbags of this world the most polite?’ Driver asked, tossing the pistol away.
‘Looks like we get two for the price of one, Otto,’ Kovac
