Dr. Laskin dropped to the ground.
Fuck, no.
“Find the shooter,” Gabriel ordered.
Angelo took off running while Gabriel knelt beside the Russian.
“I—I can’t breathe,” Laskin gasped.
Gabriel cradled the man, while blood gushed from the back of his head and pooled beneath him.
The driver knelt down. “He needs hospital.”
“My watch,” Dr. Laskin said.
“What?” Gabriel asked.
“Take watch, right pants pocket.”
Working quickly, Gabriel unbuttoned Laskin’s long, winter coat, reached into his pants pocket, and extracted a vintage gold pocket watch. After shoving it into his own coat pocket, he said to Laskin, “You’re losing a lot of blood. I need to roll you over and put pressure?—”
“You will know right time to use it,” Laskin said.
“Dr. Laskin, I need to stop you from bleeding out,” Gabriel insisted.
“I’m dying,” Laskin whispered.
Despite those words, Gabriel rolled him sideways. Laskin cried out, then stilled.
A bullet had ripped through the back of his head and a second had torn a hole in Laskin’s coat. A direct hit to his lung.
Jesus, no. Don’t take him.
Two airport police rushed over. “An ambulance was called. How many were hit?”
“Just this man.” Gabriel returned his attention to Laskin. “Che Dio ti accompagni. Possa la tua anima riposare in pace.”
Go with God. May your soul be at peace.
Gabriel closed Laskin’s eyes, gently removed his arms from the dead man’s body, and rose.
A man had been murdered in cold blood while in Gabriel’s care. His soul felt heavy, the weight of his failure crashing down on him.
Never before had he lost someone he’d been tasked with protecting.
The wail of the ambulance grew closer until the shrill sound pierced his ears, then it went silent. Two paramedics rushed over with a stretcher. Gabriel waited while they tried reviving him, but the defector from Russia was dead, killed by an assassin’s bullets.
“We’re taking him to the hospital,” said the medic.
Gabriel nodded. It was pointless to argue. They could try, but he’d seen this man take his last breath. He got the name of the hospital from the medic as Angelo ran back over.
“You can follow us,” said the other medic.
Gabriel should have ducked into the sedan and let the driver whisk him and Angelo to the chartered terminal, but thegunman wasn’t after either one of them. If he had been, they’d be dead too.
This was a targeted hit. Someone did not want Laskin to get to America.
After the ambulance loaded the body, they pulled into traffic.