Deadly Intent: An Action Thriller (Adrian Hell Series Book 4) by James P. Sumner
Authors: James P. Sumner
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again. I wonder…
“What about the windows on the opposite side?” I ask. “Facing Riverside… same floor.”
“Let me check,” he says, pausing for a moment. Again, I hear the tapping of keys. “It looks like that room is down the hall from the meeting. There’s a guy outside the door, but the room itself is empty. Do I want to know why you’re asking?”
I smile to myself. “Probably not. Thanks. Just keep your eyes open—I think I’ve found my way in.”
I walk up to the door of the apartment building and press the buzzer for each number until someone answers. It was number six when I got lucky.
“Hello?” says a distorted, female voice.
“Oh, hey,” I say. “I live in number three—I’ve gone and forgotten my key. Can you buzz me in please?”
She chuckles. “Happens to me all the time,” she replies. “Sure thing.”
I hear the buzz and the click as the door unlocks. I step inside to a small vestibule, with wooden mail boxes mounted on the right hand wall, a single elevator opposite on the left, and stairs directly ahead.
“Bob, don’t suppose you can pull up the layout of the apartment building next door, can you?” I ask.
“Adrian, there’s only one logical, and frankly insane, reason why you would want me to do that…” he replies, the skepticism and sense of impending doom clear in his voice.
“Yes. Yes, there is.”
He sighs. “One sec, and… okay. What do you need?”
“The room facing the street—which apartment is it? And please don’t say six.”
“Let me check,” More key-tapping for a moment. “It’s apartment five.”
Phew. Okay, so that’s fortunate, as I know they’re not home. But, I know whoever lives at number six is , and they might hear me breaking in, which would be awkward.
“Thanks, Bob. Give me a few minutes.”
“I’ll be watching…”
I take the stairs, two at a time, to the top floor, coming out in a small hallway. I look around. Four is on the left in front of me, with five opposite. I’d need to double-back on myself down the short hallway to get to six. There’s a single window at the end facing me, in the wall separating the first two apartments.
I walk over to the door of five, knocking once and placing my ear against it, listening for any sign of movement. After a minute, happy it’s empty, I rest my shoulder bag at my feet and reach inside for a lock-picking kit—another handy little gadget, courtesy of our sponsors at GlobaTech. I’m not a master at this, but after a couple of minutes fiddling with the lock, I manage to open the door.
Quickly packing up my things, I step inside, closing the door quietly. It’s a nice, spacious apartment—must cost a small fortune to live here. The main room is an open plan lounge with a kitchenette on the right hand side. There are two doors at the opposite end—two rooms next to each other. I’m guessing the one on the left is the bedroom, as that’s where the windows will be.
Without paying any more attention to the apartment itself, I head over and open the door, stepping into the bedroom, as predicted. A double bed is on the right, in a small alcove created by the large, fitted wardrobe unit that’s dominating the wall. To my left are the two windows. I step toward them and peer out, spying the roof of the bay window below. It’s only a couple of feet down and, as I look across to the right, it puts me pretty much level with the window in the room next door, down the hall from Hussein’s mystery meeting.
I take off my holster, putting it in the bag and keeping one of my Berettas out. I attach the suppressor to it and tuck it in the waistband of my pants at the back. I then zip up my jacket and put the bag over both shoulders, before lifting the bottom of the window and sticking my head out. I look up and down the street, seeing if anyone’s paying me any attention. The road is busy, but there aren’t many people on the sidewalk, so as long as I’m quick, I should go
“What about the windows on the opposite side?” I ask. “Facing Riverside… same floor.”
“Let me check,” he says, pausing for a moment. Again, I hear the tapping of keys. “It looks like that room is down the hall from the meeting. There’s a guy outside the door, but the room itself is empty. Do I want to know why you’re asking?”
I smile to myself. “Probably not. Thanks. Just keep your eyes open—I think I’ve found my way in.”
I walk up to the door of the apartment building and press the buzzer for each number until someone answers. It was number six when I got lucky.
“Hello?” says a distorted, female voice.
“Oh, hey,” I say. “I live in number three—I’ve gone and forgotten my key. Can you buzz me in please?”
She chuckles. “Happens to me all the time,” she replies. “Sure thing.”
I hear the buzz and the click as the door unlocks. I step inside to a small vestibule, with wooden mail boxes mounted on the right hand wall, a single elevator opposite on the left, and stairs directly ahead.
“Bob, don’t suppose you can pull up the layout of the apartment building next door, can you?” I ask.
“Adrian, there’s only one logical, and frankly insane, reason why you would want me to do that…” he replies, the skepticism and sense of impending doom clear in his voice.
“Yes. Yes, there is.”
He sighs. “One sec, and… okay. What do you need?”
“The room facing the street—which apartment is it? And please don’t say six.”
“Let me check,” More key-tapping for a moment. “It’s apartment five.”
Phew. Okay, so that’s fortunate, as I know they’re not home. But, I know whoever lives at number six is , and they might hear me breaking in, which would be awkward.
“Thanks, Bob. Give me a few minutes.”
“I’ll be watching…”
I take the stairs, two at a time, to the top floor, coming out in a small hallway. I look around. Four is on the left in front of me, with five opposite. I’d need to double-back on myself down the short hallway to get to six. There’s a single window at the end facing me, in the wall separating the first two apartments.
I walk over to the door of five, knocking once and placing my ear against it, listening for any sign of movement. After a minute, happy it’s empty, I rest my shoulder bag at my feet and reach inside for a lock-picking kit—another handy little gadget, courtesy of our sponsors at GlobaTech. I’m not a master at this, but after a couple of minutes fiddling with the lock, I manage to open the door.
Quickly packing up my things, I step inside, closing the door quietly. It’s a nice, spacious apartment—must cost a small fortune to live here. The main room is an open plan lounge with a kitchenette on the right hand side. There are two doors at the opposite end—two rooms next to each other. I’m guessing the one on the left is the bedroom, as that’s where the windows will be.
Without paying any more attention to the apartment itself, I head over and open the door, stepping into the bedroom, as predicted. A double bed is on the right, in a small alcove created by the large, fitted wardrobe unit that’s dominating the wall. To my left are the two windows. I step toward them and peer out, spying the roof of the bay window below. It’s only a couple of feet down and, as I look across to the right, it puts me pretty much level with the window in the room next door, down the hall from Hussein’s mystery meeting.
I take off my holster, putting it in the bag and keeping one of my Berettas out. I attach the suppressor to it and tuck it in the waistband of my pants at the back. I then zip up my jacket and put the bag over both shoulders, before lifting the bottom of the window and sticking my head out. I look up and down the street, seeing if anyone’s paying me any attention. The road is busy, but there aren’t many people on the sidewalk, so as long as I’m quick, I should go
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