Darby inched her way down the hall. 'I'm here to protect you, Mr Flynn. The cartel -'

'Stop right there and drop your weapon.'

Darby stopped but didn't lower her weapon. 'The cartel will kill you, Chris. You know too much. They can't afford to keep you alive. We can offer you protection in exchange for -'

'I'M NOT PLAYING AROUND HERE. DROP YOUR WEAPON RIGHT NOW OR I SWEAR TO CHRIST I'LL KILL HER.'

Darby had no doubt the 38-year-old American banker would do it. He had strangled his girlfriend of twelve years to death when he found out she had talked to the Boston police about Flynn using his cheque-cashing company to launder nearly half a billion dollars in cocaine profits for the Mendula family, a Columbian drug cartel.

Flynn lurched forward, using the woman's body as a shield. The woman stumbled, the heels of her shoes scraping across the floor as she clutched Flynn's arm. Her long black hair covered most of her face. She wasn't dressed like any of the warehouse employees. She wore rhinestone T-strap pumps and a white business suit professionally tailored for her tall, curvy frame.

SWAT can track the copter, Darby thought. They might be able to move people into place by the time it touches down.

'Please do what he say,' the woman cried in broken English. 'Two babies at home. I want to go home and see babies.'

Darby spoke in a loud, clear voice. 'Okay, Chris, you're in charge. I'm backing away from the stairs.'

'Now drop the gun.'

Darby still hesitated.

'Let the hostage go and you have my word.'

The woman yelped, a harsh, choking sound.

'I'll do it, I swear to Christ -'

'Okay, Chris.' Darby lowered her weapon, then released the clip for the shoulder strap.

Flynn inched towards the stairs. The FLIR night vision provided excellent clarity and contrast. She could make out the tiny, worm-like scars on Flynn's bald head, could see the woman's diamond rings and the intricate details of her bracelet.