“Move away from the door,” he whispered to her with urgency in his voice.
    Immediately responding to his sharp tone, she did what he asked, her eyes searching
    his for an explanation.
           “Someone’s been in here,” Turner whispered as he pointed to a piece of scotch
    tape at the top of the door—one end was dangling loose.
           Stepping to the side of the door frame and slowly inserting a key into the lock,
    turning it until the sound of the tumblers disengaging could be heard, Turner slowly
    started to open the door ready for almost anything.  The door opened about two inches
    when suddenly there was a shotgun blast and the door and part of the wall disappeared.
           Turner heard Holly scream as she covered her ears and turned to run.
           “It’s alright,” Turner mouthed reaching his hand out to stop her, easing her back
    against the wall out of danger.
           Turner hurled himself through what was left of the door as though he were a
    baseball runner flying in to home plate in an effort to beat the ball before the catcher
    tagged him out.  In mid-air, he began firing at two shadowy figures inside before he
    landed on the floor behind a sofa.  The two figures had no chance to get a bead on
    Turner as they fired at him flying through the air and landing with a grunt.  The spray of
    bullets from Turner’s gun forced the two to drop to the floor seeking cover giving him the
    chance to quickly slap in a new clip and fire another round at a chair they were using for
    cover.  The slugs ripped through the chair on their way to their target, sending feathers
    flying everywhere as they managed to hit one man square in the chest.  The impact of
    the bullet sent him reeling backwards emitting a loud ‘oomph’ as the air was driven from
    his lungs before slamming him against the wall in a spray of blood.
           As soon as Turner pulled the trigger, he rolled to the left, bringing his Glock to bear
    on the second figure continually firing the balance of his clip.  Quickly inserting another
    clip, Turner reached over the top of the sofa to fire again when a shotgun blast exploded
    the back of the sofa creating a snowstorm of fabric and foam everywhere.
           Immediately, Turner felt a burning in his left shoulder and something warm running
    down his arm.  Looking at his shoulder, he saw blood seeping through his shirt and
    knew he’d been hit with one of the shotgun pellets.  Stuffing his handkerchief inside his
    shirt covering the hole to curb the bleeding, Turner rolled to the side and began firing
    from around the end of the sofa arm.  On the eighth round, Turner was rewarded with the
    sound of a groan and the thud of a body as it hit the floor.
           Cautiously walking over to the chair, Turner stared down at the two bodies
    crumpled on the floor only then realizing just how close he came to finding that proverbial
    slug that had his  name written all over it.
    After checking out the rest of the apartment, Turner called out to Holly, “It’s okay.  You
    can come in.”

                                  ISBN NUMBER--9781469967066  

The Ghost Of The Berlin