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guiltily to the ground.
    “Of course, what else.” Berry raised a chastising finger. “Anyway, I’d love to tell you more about it, but now’s not really the place or time for it.”
    He added and emphasis on the word “time,” and, as he did, looked over the goon’s shoulder.
    But nothing happened.
    The man seemed confused. “You really think it’s possible?”
    “I do, but like I said, now is not the right time .” Again, he raised his voice when saying the word “time,” and again, he looked over the goon’s shoulder.
    A sudden, loud rustle coming from behind him surprised the goon. He turned and saw the mattress Berry had been sitting on rise up off the ground, on its side, along with a loud shriek. The man raised his gun in fear—but before he could fire, Berry, who was now behind him, unleashed a vicious side kick, buckling the man’s knee.
    The man yelped as his leg collapsed, and he went down, lopsided, the gun falling from his grasp as he hit the ground.
    Berry didn’t wait.
    He’d already moved in and followed his first strike with a savage kick to the man’s kidneys, followed by a punch to the side of his head.
    “That’s for threatening my family, dickhead,” he added as he knocked the man out with a final hammer-fist to the man’s neck.
    He grabbed the gun off the ground and crossed the room to where Khoury was extricating himself from the mattress.
    They’d used the holes opened up by the lead goon’s gunshots to tear open the cover of the mattress, then they’d pulled out some of its innards—springs, foam and cotton—enough for Khoury to be able to fit himself into the mattress, just like the character in his script had done to the car seat of the bad guy’s Porsche before stuffing the man into it and sitting on him. Like a puppet master, his character had manipulated the bad guy’s arm to clear the fingerprint scan, while the overhead scanner only saw the thermal image of one body since he was sitting on top of him.
    The two writers had then taken the bits they’d removed and spread them under the other mattress, flattening them evenly so it was barely noticeably higher off the ground.
    Then Khoury had waited for Berry’s signal.
    “I thought you were never going to make your move,” Berry said.
    “I couldn’t hear you,” Khoury replied, brushing his ears. “I’ve still got cotton in there.” He looked across at the downed goon, then took in the gun in Berry’s hand. “Malone would be proud.”
    “I guess that Krav Maga training I did for research paid off.” He gestured towards the door. “Let’s get the hell out here before the others get back.”
    They scooted out of the room and into a long, dark corridor that led to a staircase, Berry leading the way in a slightly crouched stance and on high alert. They were passing a door to their right when the goon leader and his other underling appeared, coming down the stairs.
    Shots exploded around them, as the goons started firing.
    “Shit,” Khoury said as they both hugged the wall, looking for cover. “What are you waiting for, shoot back.”
    “You do realize I’ve never fired a gun in my life,” Berry yelled.
    “Just point the damn thing and pull the trigger.”
    Berry did just that.
    Two, three, four times.
    The two goons scrambled back up the stairs as bullets bit into the walls around them just as shouts came from the room next to where the authors were huddled.
    “Hey, who’s out there? Get us out of here.”
    Berry looked at Khoury in confusion, then leaned closer to the door and said, “Who are you?”
    “FBI agents,” the voice said. “You American?”
    “Through and through,” Berry replied. “Stand clear.”
    He stepped back and fired a shot into the door lock, destroying it, then kicked the door in.
    “You’re getting real handy with that thing,” Khoury said.
    Malone and Reilly emerged from the darkness. Their hands were still zip-locked, but they were no longer behind their backs.