Something ripped the machine gun from Shaw’s grip. The pain in his right hand was immediate and almost a blessing, as he barreled reflexively in that direction, slamming into Morton and sending them both tumbling over the slope. They skidded through the muddy earth and grass to the rock shore.
Sniper. Again.
But not the same one.
The shot that had killed Castelli had come from the beach. This new bastard was somewhere farther up the estate. Shaw grabbed Morton before the chemist stood up.
“Did Hargreaves tell you about more men on the island?” he rasped into Morton’s ear. “More shooters?”
“What?” Morton’s eyes were wide. Shaw wasn’t even sure the man realized that he was trying to pull himself from Shaw’s grip. His lizard brain said run, so his body tried to run.
Escape was a fine idea. Shaw had stashed his inflatable Zodiac at the far tip of the island. A mile’s fast run on the beach, so long as no one was trying to blow your head off.
The forest. In the cover of the trees, they could work their way toward the far end. But the forest was two hundred yards away, past the entire length of the north wing and the main house. And the sniper, wherever he was concealed.
Morton continued to twist in Shaw’s grasp. Shaw shook him. “Stay down, idiot. They’re shooting.” Morton sagged into the dirt.
The sniper, or maybe both of them, would be on the move. Looking for a line of fire. Now that Shaw and Morton were out of the pavilion and its thick smoke, they were wide open. If the enemy had night optics, even worse.
More pistol fire from back near the pavilion. Where the hell was Guerin? He was supposed to be offshore with the Feds. They should be storming Rohner’s fucking castle by now.