Darby dropped the HK and kicked it down the corridor to her right. If Flynn decided to fire, she might be able to duck down there. She wore a bulletproof vest underneath the camouflage, metal armour plates on her shins and legs. You better hope he doesn't try for a headshot.

'Your turn,' Darby said.

'I still don't trust you.' Flynn stepped closer. 'Get on your knees – and no sudden movements.'

'I'll do whatever you want as long as you promise not to harm the hostage.'

'Then do it, nice and slow. You pull any shit and I'll kill her, understand?'

'I understand.' Darby knelt and slowly moved her hands up by her face.

'Stay right there,' Flynn said. 'Stay right where you are and I'll let her go.'

Flynn stopped near the bottom steps of the stairwell. The corridor's hot, musty odour mixed with the unmistakable scent of the woman's Chanel No. 5.

He released the hostage. Darby heard the woman run up the steps, tripping in her ridiculous shoes.

Flynn didn't follow. He stepped forward, his handgun raised.

Fear flooded her body, turning her skin slick and cold. Darby didn't see her life flash before her eyes and all that bullshit; she did what she'd been trained to do.

She jerked her head to the side as Flynn fired. The shot hit the wall. Her hands came up lightning quick. One hand clutched his wrist, the other wrapped itself around the Glock's muzzle and twisted it back so that it pointed at his stomach.

She yanked him towards her. Flynn stumbled, caught by surprise. He couldn't gain his footing.

Darby pulled the nine from his grasp. She turned it around in her hands and shot him in the thigh.

Flynn fell to the floor, screaming. She spun the nine to the hostage standing on the stairwell landing. The woman was holding a sub-compact Beretta pistol with a laser sight.