AMIRA by Matthew Betley (feel good books to read .TXT) 📕

struggled for breath, the pain excruciating, and he knew he’d been hit.  Should’ve assumed they had a back-up team.  He turned his head to the right and saw three men – a white, middle-aged man with black hair; a lanky black man who looked like he was from the same country in Africa as the woman in the hotel room; and a third white male dressed like the hotel staff – pointing weapons at him, although their line of sight had mercifully been obstructed once again by the last few attendees trying to escape.

Logan tried to raise his Kimber, but like a boxer temporarily incapacitated from a punch to his liver, his arm wouldn’t function, and he fell to his left side, facing his soon-to-be executioners.  This should not be how this ends, he thought.  He closed his eyes, pictured his wife and daughter, holding them both in the rocking chair in Sophia’s room, and waited for the end to come.

A barrage of gunfire erupted, and Logan reflexively imagined the bullets striking his body, sending him into the next world.  But all he felt was his body begin to respond to his commands to recover from the blow to the Kevlar vest, and he opened his eyes.

The middle-aged man and lanky African had turned to flee, and the third shooter lay face down on the carpet, his head turned with vacant eyes looking at Logan.  A neat hole had appeared in the middle of his forehead, and blood oozed from it.  Logan smiled at the revelation he was still among the living, and he realized what had happened – Charlie Jenkins and the remainder of the protective agents had opened fire on Logan’s attackers.  Thank God. 

Bullets struck the door frame and walls as the two men fled.  Logan glanced back at his original target and saw that the second shooter he’d failed to take down had been killed by the protective detail.

He tried to rise to pursue the two men, but he collapsed back to his knees, not yet in full control of his body.  His last image was of both the older shooter and thin African turning right.  Bastards are going to get away.  Goddamnit.  

He concentrated on his breathing and wondered if he’d sustained one or more cracked ribs, but then he thought of his former close friend and brother-in-arms, Mike Benson, who’d died in a gunfight at a rare earth elements production facility outside of Las Vegas.  The bullet had struck him just over the Kevlar vest under his arm, and he had died within minutes, although not before saving the facility and leaving Logan a voicemail that still filled him with love every time he listened to it.  It’s not my day to die. 

Several seconds later, he felt a presence behind him and heard Charlie Jenkins’ voice.  “Your part of this fight is over.  Just take it easy.”

Logan sat on his haunches, furious that he’d been taken out of the fight.  He looked up as Charlie knelt in front of him.  “I’m just glad I could help, even a little.”

“Logan, killing three bad guys and saving our ass is more than just a ‘little.’  How’s the side?  Thank God you wore that thing.”

“Tell me about it,” Logan said, grimacing as a new jolt of pain raced up his ribs.  “How’s Tooney?  What the hell happened before I joined the fun?”

“I received a call from the agency about the threat thirty seconds before they opened fire.  We were moving to the stage to get him when Tom Carmen spotted the first shooter and jumped in front of the director.  He took the first several bullets and died doing his job, God rest his soul,” Charlie said as a sudden wave of grief flashed across his face at the loss of a fellow agent and close friend.  He composed himself and continued.  “The director’s fine, although he might’ve broken his left wrist when we threw him to the floor behind the stage.”

Logan nodded.  “He’s a lucky man.  And by the way, nice shooting.  I owe you one.”

“It was the least we could do, considering what you’d just done to get us out of this mess.  I have to be honest, I don’t know the details, as the director would never tell me, but he considers you almost an equal.  I assume you know what this is all about.”

The noise had died down substantially, and Logan realized that they were alone with the dead attackers inside the enormous ballroom.  He knew the aftermath would be coming soon, with paramedics and law enforcement arriving on the scene within minutes.

“Almost?” Logan replied with a subtle smirk.

“Well, he is the director of one of the world’s most powerful spy agencies.”

“This…is true,” Logan said.  “And about all of this, that’s for him to tell you.  What I’ll say is that it goes back to something that should’ve been dead a long time ago, but unfortunately, some things never die.”

“Truer words, my friend.  Truer words,” Charlie said, as the two men waited in the aftermath of combat for the next phase of chaos to begin.

Chapter 22

John and Amira exited the atrium as the sounds of the battle inside the Ballroom reached them.  To their left lay the convention center complex; directly ahead was a grass courtyard with a sidewalk on each side that sloped down to a fountain and the Potomac River; and to the right, the Riverview Ballroom beckoned, a few hundred feet away.  The doors facing them bounced repeatedly open like a playing card on a bicycle spokes as people fled the venue.

The gunfire suddenly stopped, and Amira looked at John.

“I just hope Logan got there in time,” Amira said.

“It’s Logan.  He always does.  Probably didn’t leave any bad guys for us,” John replied.

As if in response, Trevor Emerson and Samuel emerged from the building,