Text Box: * * * * * * * * Corbett relaxed only slightly as he listened to Lucia’s footsteps retreating back toward the safety of the embassy. He knew she hadn’t wanted to go, that she’d have stayed and fought side-by-side with him, if he’d allowed it. He felt a peculiar swelling of something he couldn’t quite identify—was it pride or something more complicated? No time for wondering about it now. Adam’s voice was muttering in his ear again, calmly and without a hint of excitement. “Yeah, mate, this looks like a live one…can’t tell what he’s carryin’. Definitely comin’ your way, though…” Corbett pressed the button hidden under his tie and replied in an undertone, “Got it. Don’t move in…wait for my word.” In her next glance back, Lucia saw a man turn the corner at the end of the next block. A young man, wearing a jacket with a hood. His hands were thrust deep in the pockets and he walked rapidly toward Corbett, not with his head down and hunched against the cold wind, going someplace warm and in a hurry to get there. No—this man’s head was up, and even from that distance, she could see that his gaze was fiercely intent. And fixed on Corbett. In her heart, in her gut, she knew this was wrong. He was wrong. Oh God, this is it. It’s him. This was the assassin who’d already tried twice to murder Corbett. This time… No. She told herself Corbett had planned for this. That he had backup all over the place. That just because she couldn’t see them didn’t mean they weren’t there. She told herself she couldn’t go back, that he’d be furious with her if she did. But she did stop walking, and stepped into the shadow of the nearest doorway to watch. She wasn’t aware until some time later that she’d also slipped off her high heeled shoes. Corbett watched the man in the hooded jacket come toward him. He felt calm, though his heart was thumping like bloody hell—well, he couldn’t help that, could he? Adrenalin was flowing; he felt ready, eager, almost weightless in his anticipation of the battle to come, as if he could fly. A smile curved his lips. Not a nice smile. “Laz…come on, mate.” Adam’s voice in his ear had an impatient edge to it now. The distance between Corbett and the hooded man was closing fast. He touched his tie and murmured, “Steady, old man…steady.” Thirty meters…twenty…ten… Steady… At pointblank range, the man pulled his hands from his pockets. One hand held a gun. Using both hands, he brought the weapon up, aimed it at Corbett’s chest and fired. She heard the sound of the gunshot. She watched him fall. It was the last thing she saw clearly. The next thing she knew she was running—flying—down the sidewalk toward the two men, knowing as she ran, knowing without seeing him that the assassin was advancing even then, aiming his weapon at his target’s head for the killing shot. Her scream of rage and despair seemed to hang behind her in the Paris twilight like the echoes of a bugle’s call to arms. Corbett lay on the cold sidewalk and struggled to breathe. Was his heart still beating? He didn’t know, couldn’t tell. He thought he was alive. He must be, he could see and hear. But he couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe. Was this how death came? He could hear the scrape of footsteps coming nearer, hesitantly…his would-be assassin, checking to see whether he was alive. If he’s learned anything from his last two attempts, he’ll put the last shot—the killing shot—between my eyes. If I’m not dead already, I soon will be. There’s no way Adam can get here in time. This was it, then. His last moment on earth. Corbett closed his eyes and thought of Lucia. * * * * * * * Copyright 2007 by Kathleen Creighton Fuchs

Excerpt from “Lazlo’s Last Stand”

By

Kathleen Creighton
 
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