WITH A ROAR, Trevor bent at the knees, pushing up and catching the barrel of the shotgun between his crossed wrists as it blasted over his head and into the ceiling. The hot metal seared his skin and the thunder nearly deafened him. He dropped his right hand, stabbing the karambit into the inside of Nathan’s thigh and slicing upward at an angle. Nathan screamed, grabbing at his leg with both hands. Blood gushed from the wound.
Trevor tossed the shotgun away. Nathan’s eyes were wide and frightened as he tried to apply pressure, but Trevor had severed his femoral artery. He would bleed out in minutes.
He turned back to the balcony, pocketing the karambit. He needed to find the other shooter. Firing two shots over the rail, he immediately ducked and moved to a new position. The shooter, predictably, returned fire to where Trevor had just been. Trevor saw the muzzle flash, fired a controlled burst from the Uzi, and heard a body fall.
Another tango down.
The pounding of feet from the other balcony had him ducking back. He heard cursing and recognized Eric’s voice. Any minute, the emergency lights would come on, exposing him.
A noise from behind him had him spinning and aiming, finger on the trigger. Simon appeared beside him. Trevor blew out a breath, dropping the muzzle away from him.
“A little warning next time.”
“Who turned out the lights?”
Both spoke at the same time.
“Radio got busted in a fight,” Simon said. “I got five. You?”
“Five as well.”
As one, they turned and headed back toward the room housing the grandmother clock. When they got there, the room was empty. The clock had been smashed apart and lay in pieces.
“Someone had a temper tantrum,” Simon said.
“Which means they’re downstairs. Let’s go.”
They took the side stairwell, which brought them out into the corridor they’d first come through. When they hit the great hall, they saw Max and Eric coming down the last few steps.
“Freeze!” Trevor shouted. “Weapons on the ground. Now!”
Instead of stopping, Eric fired a Browning Hi-Power, and kept pulling the trigger. Trevor and Simon ducked back behind a bearing wall. Chunks of plaster exploded as the rounds hit the wall. Simon stepped out to return fire. A bullet caught him just above his elbow. Cursing, he dodged back.
“That came from the left,” he said. “At least one more target.”
Trevor tore open Simon’s sleeve to check the wound. “Bullet’s in there. We need to stop the bleeding. Do you have your wallet?”
Simon winced in pain. “Right rear.”
Trevor fished out the leather billfold and took out the first card he saw.
“I don’t accept Visa,” Simon grunted, lips white. “Only American Express.”
“Put it on my tab, then,” Trevor said as he slapped the card over the wound. “Hold this.”
Simon obediently held the card in place while Trevor grabbed the roll of duct tape. He wrapped the heavy-duty tape around Simon’s upper arm, pressing the credit card on top of the wound. Simon clenched his jaw.
“Fast, expedient field dressing,” Trevor said.
“Don’t move a muscle,” Fay said from behind them.
Both of them froze.
“Put your weapons down and move out into the hall.”
Inwardly cursing himself for being every kind of fool, Trevor set the Uzi on the ground. Simon did the same with his weapon.
“The handguns, too. Do you think I’m stupid?”
“I think you’re a dog licking Eric’s boots.” But he obeyed the order.
“Now move.” She shoved the muzzle of her rifle between his shoulder blades, prodding him forward. “Get your hands where I can see them.”
Hands raised, the two operators moved into the great hall.
“Well, well, well,” Max said. “Hello, Trevor. So good of you to come. Chasing you was becoming tiresome.”
“Funny, I was having such a good time.”
Max chuckled. “But all good things must come to an end.”
Fay cracked him on the shoulder with the rifle. “Keep moving.”
Trevor and Simon crossed the polished teak floor to the twelve-foot grandfather clock. Its face glowed golden, with Roman numerals instead of numbers. Inlays of cherubs climbed its reddish wood to the swirled, ornately carved crest. The huge base ended in clawed feet.
Max stood before it, arms hanging comfortably at his sides. A glaring Eric placed himself slightly behind his boss, the Browning Hi-Power steady.
The gold-plated pendulum made a guttural clang with each swing.
“He fucking betrayed me. Let me kill him,” Eric said.
“In a minute. First things first.” Max’s gaze slid to Simon. “Aren’t you going to introduce me to your friend?”
“No.”
Max clicked his tongue in mock disappointment. “So rude. Then I’ll ask him directly. Who are you?”
“Just a concerned citizen.”
“Israeli Defense Force.” Max looked over Simon’s uniform. “You’re here about the janitor who got killed? Sorry about that.”
Simon’s hands tightened into fists, but his face remained expressionless.
“When did you get here, gentlemen?”
The question threw Trevor. “What difference does that make?”
Max’s pleasant façade slipped for a moment. His eyes became slits of rage, mouth contorting. “Did you get to the fucking clock before I did? Did you search it?”
Trevor forced a laugh. “Why should I tell you that?”
Eric’s fingertip brushed the trigger. “I can shoot you now and search your corpses.”
“Answer the goddamned question,” Max barked.
Goading Max would only cause him to order them killed. Trevor needed to stall him until his task force arrived. He lowered his hands and made a placating gesture. “I never got to that room.”
“I saw it,” Simon volunteered. “Both before and after you turned it into kindling.”
Max narrowed his eyes. “And?”
Simon shrugged. “Nada.”
Frustration and fury warred on Max’s face, and a desperation that caused a knot in Trevor’s gut. The man was coming unhinged. If he’d been dangerous before, he now approached lethal.
SHELBY PRESSED SHAKING fingers against her mouth, breath coming in panicked spurts. Trevor and Simon stood in the open, covered by Fay’s rifle and Eric’s handgun. Max would order them killed. Fay or Eric, or both, would shoot.
She had to do something. None of them knew she was here. She could take them by surprise, and . . . and . . .
She had to help. They would die if she didn’t go out there.
And she might die if she did.
She picked up the rifle Trevor had left in the sewer a lifetime ago. It seemed to have buttons and levers everywhere. She pushed a couple. No red dot appeared, but the long, curved magazine fell out and hit the floor with a clang.
Muttering curses, she picked it up and wrestled it back in.
Now or never.
It took more nerve than she knew she had to step back into the gift shop. As much as she wanted to stop, to listen, she instead walked steadily past the restrooms and into the shadow of the staircase. Before she could think too much about it, she jumped out into the main room, pointing the assault gun at Max.
“Anyone moves a hair, and you’re the first to die,” she shouted.
Five faces turned toward her with incredulity. She forced herself to keep her eyes on Max, when what she really wanted to do was run to Trevor.
Max snorted with laughter. “Saved by a girl. That’s fitting, eh, Trevor?”
Trevor sounded strangled. “Shel, what in the hell are you doing here?”
“Well . . . helping.”
Fay took a step toward her, and she swung the muzzle around, taking the step to press it into Fay’s chest.
“Do you think I can miss at this range?” she said in her best Clint Eastwood voice. “Drop it!”
Fay let the rifle clatter to the floor. “Bitch.”
Trevor moved forward fast, scooping up Fay’s rifle and tossing it to Simon, who caught it one-handed. When he turned back to Max, several things happened at once.
Fay drew a sap from her pocket and swung it at Trevor as hard as she could. He moved his head a fraction, and the blow landed harmlessly on his shoulder.
Eric, face a mask of hostility, ran at him, knife in his hand.
Crawley appeared at Shelby’s shoulder, reaching around and plucking the rifle from her hands. She grabbed for it, then felt cold metal against her throat. The madman had his fingers in the holes of his enormous blade as he stroked it gently under her jaw.
“Let’s watch the fun,” Crawley murmured into her ear, slipping an arm around her waist and snugging her into the curve of his body.
Trevor jumped back to avoid Eric’s knife thrust. Eric came at him from the side. Trevor parried his arm away, coming up with the karambit in his hand and slashing at Eric, forcing him back. He flipped it several times. Eric flickered a glance in that direction as Trevor eased one leg back and brought both hands up into a fighting position. Eric raised the knife over his head and struck at Trevor, who faded back and slapped his arm away. Eric whirled, swinging backhand. Trevor caught his arm, slicing his triceps and chopping at his elbow. Eric twined his arm free and slugged Trevor in the ribs. After that, all Shelby saw was a flurry of arms and legs. Right hand to right hand, crossed hands, lightning-fast attacks and counterattacks. Strikes, thrusts, slashes, and parries. A blur of motion so fast she could barely tell what was happening.
Eric came in low, slicing up diagonally. Trevor staggered back, the left side of his shirt torn and soaking up blood. Shelby cried out, instinctively trying to go to him, but Crawley pulled her back.
“Uh-uh,” he said, giggling. “No fairsies.”
The two combatants closed. Trevor looped his left arm under Eric’s blade hand and brought his right on top of it, pushing his whole body into Eric’s and forcing the knifepoint into his chest. For a moment, the two strained together, using brute force. Eric slammed his forearm down, breaking the hold and pushing Trevor off to the right. A circle of blood seeped through his shirt. Trevor came back with a right cross, then used his arm to sweep Eric’s knife away from him. Quick as a snake, he reversed the direction of his arm sweep, twisting Eric’s wrist with both of his hands. Eric tried pulling away from him, but Trevor threw his arm across both of Eric’s and tried to trap his knife. For a moment, both held each other’s hands, fighting to disarm the other.
“You’ve got to stop this,” Shelby cried. “Max, please.”
“Why?” Max shrugged. “No matter who wins, one of my problems is taken care of.”
Trevor reversed directions, lifting Eric’s knife hand up and over his head. Eric swung low, kicking Trevor’s knee. Trevor spun, rolling his back along Eric’s arm until he was behind him. Slapping a palm across his knife hand for extra leverage, he brought the karambit up, and buried it to the hilt in the base of Eric’s skull.