Ghost Ship

Sam’s heart pounded in his chest as the gun swung to him.

“Oooh,” Igor Mihailovich said. “She was lucky. That time. How about you, Mr. Reilly?”

Sam said, “I don’t know anything! I don’t know who you are, what I’m doing here!” He felt a gamble coming as the seconds ticked by and he knew they were coming, hoped they were coming… He gestured to Catarina. “I don’t even know who she is!”

Mihailovich planted the barrel of his pistol up against Sam’s forehead. “Do you feel lucky?”

Sam swallowed. “Not really, to be honest…”

A single shot fired.

Chapter Sixty-One

Sam blinked.

Death seemed less painful than he was expecting.

And a moment later, Mihailovich slumped onto the ground, a large bullet wound in what remained of his head.

The room turned silent, before turning into a cacophony of Russian orders.

Sam threw himself over Catarina, dragging her to an alcove at the side of the room.

Guns blazing, Tom, Genevieve, and Elise stood in the doorway spraying the room with unmerciful fire.

He gathered Catarina to him and hurried her out of the room under the spray of gunfire. It was an all-out firefight and he had to remember to thank his new friends if they didn’t get him killed with their rescue mission.

“Go!” he shouted, pushing Catarina into the hall. Tom pushed him out as well. “You too! Up! Get to the roof! We’ll cover you!”

Sam had no choice but to obey.

He launched himself into the moldering corridor as cornices fell around him, loosened by the heavy gunfire.

They smashed into damp stone as he and Catarina raced down the hall.

At the end of the hall they turned right, and started to climb the stairwell of a parapet. Elise and Tom and Genevieve clattered up the stairs behind them, covering their escape. They fired off round after round behind them, ricocheting off the stone. The echoes deafened him as they climbed desperately to the top. His legs ached and the graze from the bullet in the old throne room stung like seven kinds of hells.

Tom gestured him forward when he turned back to fight. “GO!”

Russian mafia soldiers hammered up, full of shouting and gunfire.

“This way!” Sam shouted, dragging Catarina to a left passage, but Elise shook her head, grabbed his wrist and hauled him in the opposite direction.

“THIS way! That way is condemned! You bring this kind of gunfire in there and the whole damn place collapses on top of us!”

Sam pelted down the corridor she’d indicated, only to be confronted by more stairs. He hesitated, but Catarina charged straight up, eyes determined, focused.

They careened to the top of the stairs and encountered a door locked with a heavy chain.

Sam bashed at it with the butt of his machine gun, to no avail. He bashed again, desperate. Though the whole place was in disrepair, the hinges rusty and the knobs worn, this chain was bright, untarnished stainless steel. Sam thought it had been put here by restorers who didn’t want any unexpected visitors arriving from the roof.

He bashed again, and then spun out of the way with an oath at the shout from behind him. He flattened himself against the wall in the narrow stairwell as Tom shoved forward, leveled his gun at the lock and fired.

The metal shattered with a dull clank and Tom kicked open the ancient door with a violent scream of triumph.

Sam pulled Catarina through the door and out into the hot summer night.

They piled out onto the parapets and stalled.

Genevieve swore.

Before them the magnificent vista of rivers and fields spread in all directions, gilded gold by the setting sun, bathing the world in light thick as blood.

Sam had no time to appreciate it.

There was nowhere to go. The narrow walkway encircled the tower giving no room for them to move around. There was barely even space for the five of them to fit on the wall.

Through the doorway Sam saw hooded bodies flood the scene. They shouted in unintelligible Russian and Estonian, commands and curses as Tom’s team’s bullets peppered their men. Though they fired off round after round and yes, for the moment, Sam and company held the high ground, there was only so long they could hang on. The problem was they had prepared to fight a small contingent of armed thugs who were expecting Sam Reilly alone — but instead, had stumbled upon the Bratva’s strong hold.

Now, like a swarm of angry fire ants, the thugs spread through the passageways to greet them. They would never hold out against such large numbers.

Sam held his breath. He told himself they would just have to hold out as long as they could. But after that… there was nothing they could do. They were as good as dead.

A huge roar descended from the sky.

Sam swiveled up.

The Eurocopter hovered above the turret, beating the air around them into a flurry of wind. Dimly, behind the cockpit windshield, Sam glimpsed Veyron at the controls. He felt a surge of hope. Sam had thought he was an engineer, but it seemed like the crew of the Tahila had many surprises up their sleeves.

The helicopter rotated, bringing the opposite side into view.