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Mr. Christmas

The gunshot made him flinch.

At first, he didn’t know what had happened. He had not fired.

The man who followed Eddie Flynn out of the hotel, and stood behind him, was known to Mr. Christmas.

Gabriel Lake.

He had not realized Lake was working with Flynn.

His senses, his mind, bombarded with shocks, soon came back online.

The shot had come from his left. Up high. He shaded his eyes, looked up. A half-open window, twentieth floor of the building opposite.

Angel. The sniper.

He always dealt death from above. A perfect position. Elevated. A choice of exits. And firing from a position in line with the sun, to make it harder to spot him. Anyone looking at his point of fire would have to gaze into its fierce glare.

Mr. Christmas looked back at the street and the hotel entrance.

His mind put together everything that had happened.

Right before the shot, Harry Ford had stood in front of Flynn. The force of the bullet hitting Ford had thrown him back, and he’d tumbled into Flynn, the kinetic force knocking them both to the ground like bowling pins. Flynn was on his knees, beside Ford.

Lake was trying to staunch the bleeding.

Bloch must’ve made the same calculations as Mr. Christmas. She’d spotted the open window – made the connection. The angle, the origin of the gunshot, the firing position from beneath the sun.

She drew a Magnum and began unloading. The half pane of glass above the opening in the window disintegrated. Dust and brick exploded around the frame as Bloch fired, reloaded and fired again.

Mr. Christmas ducked back into the alley.

Stepped over the creek of blood on the floor from the dead workman, and began to run down the dark alley.

Angel had interrupted his plans. The ex-sniper would need to be dealt with before he could go after Flynn.

He could not kill the lawyer without knowing more. The former FBI agent Gabriel Lake was now working with Flynn and that changed everything.

How did he know Flynn?

And, more importantly, what did Flynn know about Lake?

Did he know the truth?