The situation had reached a critical stage and Kohler had to prioritize. Christian Gillette had to be his sole focus at this point. Kohler pressed his right arm against his torso as he leaned against the wall just outside a security checkpoint of the Dallas/Fort Worth Airport, feeling the pistol wedged deeply into the shoulder holster strapped tightly to his body beneath his jacket. He glanced back over his shoulder. Outside the checkpoint in the main terminal there wasn’t an obvious police presence, but he’d only have a few precious seconds. They were there—you just couldn’t see them. They’d be all over him if they recognized him. Every few moments Kohler scanned the long corridor past the checkpoint, searching for Gillette. He wasn’t going to execute here, but he wanted to identify the target. He chuckled wryly. He was talking to himself like he was back in Special Forces. Amazing how training kicked in during times of intense pressure. Gillette was on his cell phone when Kohler spotted him, fifty yards away.
