46
Death Of An Assassin
I took a deep breath. Let it out slow . . . And then we moved.
I dropped to the floor.
I grabbed the frame, added the slide, then the barrel, slotted in the recoil pin. Picked up the clip and slapped it in.
I aimed and pulled the trigger.
A fraction too late.
A shot rang out before I could shoot.
I hit the floor.
Not from a bullet, but a weight.
A force.
A body lying on top of me.
I looked up and saw Philippe’s pistol smoking.
The body rolled off me onto the floor.
It was Inge.
My God, she took the hit—bleeding from her chest.
I knelt over her with both hands pressed on the wound. “Inge, what are you doing here? That was my bullet, you silly cow.”
Philippe turned his gun on me again.
“Kill the girl,” Nadia said over the PA—that b***h, watching this
