" *
Behind him, Lex’s pursuers held their guns sideways on and low. They kept them down by their hips, hidden in the folds of their jackets. Both of them fired, but even with their specialised training, their shots were off-target by too great a margin. One round blasted a discarded water bottle sitting on a step, the other blew up a puff of rock dust a few inches from the target’s feet. Again, the faces of bystanders started to turn in his direction.
‘He is going to kill himself,’ said the male assassin through the wireless communication node adhered to his throat. This was unexpected.
‘No,’ said the woman, her reply tickling him through his skin. ‘I don’t think so . . .’
The target’s arm came down in a sharp motion, and the object he had strapped to his back snapped open into a blossom of bright orange fabric and fine white cords. The thin material immediately caught the steady breeze and inflated into a narrow rectangle with a kite-like cross-section.
‘A parachute?’ The man disregarded protocol and launched forward, hoping to get to the target before he could step off the ledge.
The compact canopy filled with wind, drawing shouts of surprise from the assembled tourists in the square, and the target pushed off the side of Mdina’s battlements and into the air.
The woman grabbed her partner by the shoulder and pulled him back. ‘Wait.’ She was already putting her weapon away.
He resisted, irritated at the idea of missing the kill. The chute was little better than a gimmick, a toy that would barely slow the target’s descent. If he got to the edge, if the woman covered him, he might still be able to hit the mark. It was galling to think that this civilian would escape them.
‘Both of you stand away,’ said a third voice. ‘I have this. "

― James Swallow , Ghost (Marc Dane #3)