Kill Shot by Vince Flynn

Aziz looked at Fournier and asked, “How did he know we were coming?”
    This one made Fournier nervous. Samir was a zealot, and he was blinded by his own rage, but Aziz was more complex. He had the anger as well, but was more calculating. Fournier had been around killers before, and Aziz had that same look in his eyes. “Who says he knew you were coming?”
    “Samir.”
    “Samir,” Fournier said, scoffing at the idea.
    “Yes. I believe my brother.”
    Fournier took a step back and looked to Max. “I know one thing. Samir here was given a golden opportunity last night and he blew it. And then after he blew it, he managed to kill three innocent civilians on his way out of the hotel, and now he wants to blame this on me.” Then, looking back at Samir, he said, “I’m not the one who should be explaining myself. In fact, you are lucky I don’t have you thrown into the Mediterranean and drowned.”
    Samir drew his gun and pointed it directly at Fournier’s face. “How dare you!”
    Aziz drew a knife from his waist. “Maybe we should slit your throat and rid ourselves of a traitor.”
    “Put your toys away, gentlemen,” Max ordered.
    Samir did as he was told but Aziz kept his knife out, proving he was less willing to comply. Locking a menacing stare onto Fournier, he said, “Maybe we should start hijacking your planes again and blowing up trains. Maybe our Muslim brothers in Libya will start to divert some of their oil to an ally who appreciates our friendship.”
    “And maybe I should find this assassin on my own and hand over all of my information on your organization. Give him all the pretty pictures we have of you and your various identities. I’m sure he would be grateful, and based on what happened last night, he would probably move you to the top of his list.”
    “And maybe we should alert your superiors to your double dealings,” Samir shot back.
    “Samir, you are not very bright. My superiors know all about this relationship.”
    “Do they know about the money we have paid you?” Aziz asked.
    “I have no idea what you are talking about,” Fournier said with a sly grin.
    Max cleared his throat. “Enough of this nonsense. What is done is done. Last night was a failure. Now we must decide on our next move.”
    “Next move?” Fournier asked.
    “How do we find this man?”
    “We don’t do a thing. You two are going to leave France,” Fournier said, pointing to Aziz and Samir, “and do so as quickly as possible. You will have to find some other way to trap him.”
    “Why must they leave?” Max asked.
    “Because we have nine dead bodies . . . one of whom happens to be an important diplomat. Every law enforcement and intelligence asset we have will be thrown at this thing, and the press is going to cover every detail.”
    “But,” Max said, “the news reports are saying that it was all the act of a single assassin.”
    “You can thank me for that, but unfortunately that story isn’t going to hold up.”
    “Why?”
    “Because the crime scene investigator is very good at what she does, and sometime in the next forty-eight hours she is going to get the ballistics back on the victims and things aren’t going to match. She already noticed some inconsistencies.”
    “Such as?” Max asked.
    “Your four men who were killed were hit with one or two well-placed shots. Tarek, the prostitute, the guests, and the employee were sprayed with a burst of bullets to the chest and then finished off with multiple shots to the head.” Fournier shrugged. “I removed certain things from the crime scene to slow them down, but trust me, it will only be a matter of time before the lead investigator figures out that two men walked away from that gunfight.”
    “How?” Samir asked incredulously.
    “Because the assassin is a professional, unlike you. He hit his targets with very few shots while you and your men hit everything except what you were trying to hit. She’s going to find a hollow-point slug in