He was tired. Dog-tired. The door-handle under his hand felt slick with his sweat. He twisted it once half round, and at the same time stumbled into his hotel room, as if breaking in while drunk. There was nobody inside. Sophia must still be out. He quickly checked his corners, and then the hand which had slipped inside his jacket and grasped his gun was retracted. As he turned to shut the door, he checked the well-lit hotel corridor. Nothing. The stumble was a trick he had picked up from an ex-colleague. 'Always be ready, never look it' had been his motto. A message to live by, as far as Van Helsinki was concerned. Closing the hotel door, Van turned the lock, musing about how flimsy the wood was. He stood a moment, listening. Nothing. Van turned away from the door and sloped away over to his wardrobe. He shrugged off his sweaty longcoat, half-hanging it on the provided hotel hangar, then instantly had to stoop and retrieve it as it slipped off, and replace it on the wire frame. Van also removed the shoulder holster he wore underneath, and took out the Glock 19 inside. He released the magazine, cleared the firing chamber, then stashed the pistol under his bed. The holster he threw over a chair, and covered with a towel, then, frustratedly, with the movements of somebody obliged to do something involving extra effort, he retrieved and hid it more professionally, among the slats of his bed. Van bent down and took off his ankle holster, with the Baby Browning still inside, then placed the whole package inside the wardrobe, and taped it there. He stood for a moment, and again cocked his head and listened. Nothing once more. Van finally seemed to relax. He crossed to the single chair, and sat in it. A deep sigh erupted from his lungs. The detective could feel the sweat all over him. His eyes felt heavy. He shook himself a few times, tried to pull his sticky shirt away from his body, then got up and crossed to the sink next to the door, pouring himself a cold drink of water from the pitcher. He stopped, once again, to listen. Nothing.
That was Nothing far too many times.
Van put down his drink slowly. Admittedly, it was late, but this was a busy hotel. Someone should be up, moving, watching TV. Nobody was. No sound echoed in the corridors of the third floor. Van shook off his fatigue quickly and urgently. He picked up the mug again, sniffed the contents, then took a long deep swig of the cool clean water within, and then waited a few moments. Soon enough, he heard the patter of slippered feet. Lots of slippered feet outside his door. Van reached across and picked up his mug again. The pattering stopped by his door. A pause, then the door clicked open as a keycard was swiped, and the handle turned. A hand, holding a suppressed Browning Hi-Power, hove into view. Its holder seemed to be trying to work out where Van might be in the room, so as to get the drop on him instantly. Van waited no longer. He swung the mug down, knocking the Browning-holding hand downwards with it, and at the same time stepped sideways, trapping the pistol under his right arm. Van glimpsed a sea of black balaclavas and suits in the corridor behind his first assailant, then he smashed the body of the mug into the face of the man in front of him. The pottery smashed, leaving Van with the handle. He wasted no time in jamming this into his assailant's eyes. The would-be assassin howled and staggered backwards into his colleagues, dropping the gun outside the door. A second goon stepped forward, lowering his gun, and Van leaned as far back as possible and shut the door on the arm, leaning on it for a moment to grab the pistol from the man's trapped and nerveless fingers. It was a USP Compact. Van had used these before. That made it easier. He emptied half the clip through the door where he judged at least one of the assailants was standing. A smash of wood followed by a cry of pain told him his mark was found. Van rolled forward past the door just in time to avoid the return fire, which shattered much of the remaining hotel door. It sounded as if someone outside was using an SMG.