“No,” I whisper. “Not a SWAT team.”

My heart is pounding. Not because I’m about to drop six terrorists in the space of one heartbeat, but because of the way the American woman is looking at me.

Her full lips are pressed together, and her big brown eyes are locked on me. She should by all rights be terrified the same as the other hostages. I brought the second pair of glasses hoping to identify someone strong and capable to work with me. I thought it would be a man, maybe ex-military. The last thing I expected was this fragile-looking girl with fucking brass balls and steel nerves.

“All right,” I say. “I want you to tell all the hostages to get down.”

“When?” she asks.

I look around, making sure every last terrorist is still painted red. I see two of them fishing for cigarettes and not even holding their guns―their submachine guns are just hanging limply by the shoulder straps―and Yuri is bringing the phone to his ear. He’s also not touching his gun.

Only three of them are actually holding their guns in any capacity, but one is yawning. Only two actually look vigilant and are staring us down.

I look at those two and start to whisper. “One. Two.”

I look at Yuri. “Three.”

Each time I count, a number is added to their red outline. This is setting the kill priority.

“Four. Five―”

I look at the woman. “What’s your name, by the way? I’m Dick.”

“Jane,” she says.

“Jane,” I say. “If we don’t die in a few seconds here, would you like to have dinner with me?”

She smiles wide, and my adrenaline surges.

“Yes,” she says. “I’d love to, but is now really the time?”

I lean in closer to her. “If I have a date with you,” I say, “then I wouldn't dare die.”

She giggles, and terrorist number one and two look over at us.

“This funny to you?” the terrorist I’ve identified as number two asks.

“No,” she says. “I’m sorry.”

Number two looks over to number one, which means he’s not looking at us.

I reach into my jacket and press the button on the gun.

I hear it whirring, and the word “READY” appears on the lenses of the glasses.

All of the targeting we’ve been doing has been feeding into the gun stashed in my coat. Now that the moment is here, I pull the gun and speak the command into it, activated the software.

I say it in a low whisper. “Fire.”

The gun whips toward number one, fires a shot, and before I can even process that it’s fired, it aims automatically at number two, firing another round.

I see both number one and two drop to the ground, and I feel the gun moving itself over toward a new target, pulling my arm along with it. I hear Jane shouting for everyone to get down. I see her shoving a mother and child to the ground.

Yuri looks up from his phone just in time to take a bullet to the head.

The cigarette guys, numbers four and five, have dropped their cigarettes and are reaching for their guns when two more bullets blast out of the chamber and hit them each squarely in the chest.

The gun whips toward number six, but he dives behind a pillar, and the glasses lose track of him.

I throw the glasses away and aim manually at the pillar.

“You’re done!” I shout. “Throw your gun across the floor and come out with your hands up!”

I take big steps away from the other hostages. If he takes a shot at me, I don’t want him hitting any hostage, but especially not Jane.

“You know I’m dead,” he shouts. “I might as well―”

Then I see him appear from behind the pillar. His gun is pointed at the hostages. Not at me.

I open fire just as he does.

I see a big hole open up in his arm, and the gun drops from his hand. I fire again, at his chest this time, and he goes down.

I rush toward the hostages. “Anyone hit?”

Everyone is screaming and shouting and crying.

“Is anyone hit?” I repeat.

“No,” Jane says, looking up at me. “He missed. No one is hit. Everyone is fine.”

I rush toward the phone that Yuri dropped and call the Nordian forces outside the castle, letting them know I’ve defused the situation.