THE LAST GRAYMAN
White light and the shape of the first man filled the opening.
Behind him, farther back in the main room, a second shape moved against the helicopter glare, low, uneven, and familiar. Kennedy’s silhouette, still upright, still advancing toward the storage room with the pistol in his good hand, left arm hanging, the operators only now registering that the heir they had declared forfeit was not yet finished.
The first operator in the doorway raised his weapon toward Fiona and the cases.
Kennedy’s voice cut across the room, raw and absolute.
“Down.”