Top Floor.
Room 1002.
Just after sending Katia away, Alex Cross's phone buzzed with a text message.
He picked it up and glanced at the screen:
[Mr. Cross, your bounty has been raised to 10 million. The Mayor has instructed me to ally with Santino…]
"Hmph… a dog never changes its ways. I've long lost patience with Santino."
Alex scoffed coldly, shut off his phone, and slipped it back into his pocket.
He turned, walked to the hotel service phone, and dialed the front desk.
A few seconds later, the calm voice of the Concierge answered:
"Mr. Cross, how may I assist you?"
"There's a question that's been bothering me… As the Concierge of the Continental, maybe you can clarify. If someone tries to kill me inside this hotel, and my people kill them to protect me… does that count as breaking the rules?"
There was a pause on the line. Then the Concierge replied evenly:
"Mr. Cross, I've already dispatched hotel enforcers to deal with those reckless fools. Of course, until they arrive, you and your associates are granted temporary rights of self-defense."
"Good to know."
Alex smiled faintly, hung up the phone, and glanced toward the door.
The Sisterhood split into two neat lines, their KRISS Vector-9 carbines aimed at the entrance.
The door to Room 1002 stood wide open.
Down the hall, assassins of the Lighthouse Syndicate lay in wait.
On the sofa, Anna, Fox, and Nikita were poised for action, while Becky furiously typed on her laptop, preparing to hack the hotel's surveillance system.
Alex had already prepared everything. The phone call was just to tell the Continental staff—time to start cleaning up the bodies.
The elevator dinged, doors sliding open with a metallic groan.
Two silenced gun barrels poked out.
A second later—
Ratatatatat!
Ten of Alex's blue-ranked assassins unleashed a merciless hail of bullets into the elevator.
Within seconds, the pristine steel interior was drenched in blood and riddled with holes.
Alex calmly drew two Taran Tactical Glock 34 Master Customs, one with dark gold accents, the other with dark crimson. Each mag carried 17 rounds.
He checked the clips, chambered a round in each, then tucked them into his belt and sat back on the sofa.
Outside, gunfire erupted, then fell silent.
Minutes later, over twenty attackers lay dead in the hallway. By the time the Continental enforcers arrived, only blood and corpses remained.
The Concierge approached Alex, bowing respectfully.
"My apologies, sir. It was our failure that disrupted your stay."
"No problem."
Alex waved it off magnanimously. Then he smiled.
"Have the kitchen prepare a bowl of hot beef noodle soup. Send it down to the lobby."
He stood, motioned for Anna and eight Sisterhood killers to follow him, and walked out.
Fox and Nikita stayed upstairs with ten Lighthouse killers to guard Becky—the White Widow wasn't coming along.
Alex descended to the lobby.
Without hesitation, he pulled up a chair and sat squarely in the center of the hall.
This time, the Sisterhood didn't need to act as a guard line.
Continental assassins, by order of the Concierge, simply stood nearby. Their presence alone froze the bounty hunters lurking in the corners, hungry eyes fixed on Alex.
Yes, they wanted the 10 million.
Yes, they wanted to pull their guns.
But they all knew—inside the Continental, even if one miraculously killed Alex, none would survive the hotel's retribution.
Soon, a steaming bowl of beef noodle soup arrived from the kitchen.
Alex took it, twirled the noodles with his chopsticks, and ate calmly, ignoring the room full of killers.
Halfway through his meal, Santino D'Antonio and Daniel entered.
The memory of Alex's earlier slap still burned on Santino's swollen face. He dared not get close, shouting from a safe distance instead:
"Alex Cross! I'll admit… your killers are skilled. But don't forget—outside the Continental, a hundred greedy eyes are watching you. If you have any guts, you'll never leave these walls alive!"
Alex slurped the last of his noodles, set the bowl aside, and raised his gaze to Santino.
Calmly, he asked:
"Any last words?"
Gulp.
For reasons he couldn't explain, Santino's bravado faltered. Under Alex's icy stare, he felt true fear.
He forced a strained smile, trying to mask his trembling voice.
"I don't believe… you would dare…"
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
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