The Venetian Betrayal

MALONE AND CASSIOPEIA CLAMBERED DOWN THE INCLINE IN their wet clothes. Malone buttoned his shirt as they descended.

“You could have mentioned that the guns were duds,” Cassiopeia said to him.

“And when would I have done that?” He hopped over rocks and hastened down the steep slope.

Breaths came fast. He certainly wasn’t thirty years old anymore, but his forty-eight-year-old bones weren’t totally out of shape. “I didn’t want Viktor to even sense we knew anything.”

“We didn’t. Why’d you give up your gun?”

“Had to play his game.”

“You’re an odd bird,” she said to him, as they found level ground.

“I’ll take that as a compliment, coming from someone who traipsed around Venice with a bow and arrow.”

The house lay a football field away. He still saw no one roaming the exterior and no movement inside, past the windows.

“We need to check something.”

He raced toward the chopper and leaped into the rear compartment. He found the weapons locker. Four AK-74s stood upright, ammunition clips stacked beneath.

He examined them. “All blanks.” Barrel plugs had been carefully inserted to accommodate the phony rounds and allow the cartridges to be ejected. “Thorough little cuss. I’ll give him that.”

He found the gun he’d brought from Italy and checked the magazine. Five live rounds.

Cassiopeia grabbed an assault rifle and popped in a clip. “Nobody else knows these are useless. They’ll do for now.”

He reached for one of the AK-74s. “I agree. Perception is everything.”

ZOVASTINA AND VIKTOR EMERGED FROM THE POOL. MALONE AND Vitt were gone.

All the guns lay on the sandy floor.

“Malone’s a problem,” she made clear.

“Not to worry,” Viktor said. “I owe him.”

STEPHANIE LISTENED AS THE TROOPER IN THE HALL CONTINUED to bark orders at Thorvaldsen, the voice coming closer to the doorway. Lyndsey’s face froze in panic and Ely quickly clamped a hand over the man’s mouth and dragged him to the other side of a poster bed, where they crouched out of sight.

With a coolness that surprised her, she locked her gaze on a Chinese porcelain statuette resting on the dresser. She grabbed it and slipped behind the door.

Through the hinge crack she saw the guard enter the bedchamber. As he stepped clear, she planted the statue into the nape of his neck. He staggered and she finished him off with another head blow, then snatched the rifle.

Thorvaldsen darted close and retrieved the side arm. “I was hoping you’d improvise.”

“I was hoping these men were gone.”

Ely brought Lyndsey.

“Good job with him,” she told Ely.

“He has the backbone of a banana.”

She studied the AK-74. She’d learned about handguns, but assault rifles were another matter. She’d never fired one. Thorvaldsen seemed to sense her hesitation and offered her his gun. “Want to switch?”

She did not refuse. “You can handle one of those?”

“I’ve had a little experience.”

She made a mental note to inquire more about that later. She approached the doorway and carefully spied into the hall. No one in either direction. She led the way as they crept down the hall toward the second-floor foyer, where a staircase led down to the main entrance. Another of the Greek fire machines appeared behind them, darting from one room into another. Its sudden appearance drew her attention momentarily away from what lay ahead.

The wall to her left ended, replaced by a thick stone balustrade.

Movement below caught her gaze.

Two soldiers.

Who instantly reacted by leveling their rifles and firing.

CASSIOPEIA HEARD THE RAT-TAT-TAT OF AUTOMATIC WEAPON fire from inside the house.

Her first thought was Ely.

“Just remember,” he said. “We’ve only got five good rounds.”

They leaped from the chopper.

ZOVASTINA AND VIKTOR EMERGED FROM THE FISSURE AND STUDIED the scene a hundred meters below. Malone and Vitt were rushing from the helicopter carrying two assault rifles.

“Are those loaded?” she asked.

“No, Minister. Blanks.”

“Which Malone clearly knows, so they’re carrying them for show.”

Gunfire from inside the house caused her alarm.

“Those turtles will explode if damaged,” Viktor said.

She needed Lyndsey before that happened.

“I hid loaded magazines for the pistols and clips for the rifles on board,” Viktor said. “Just in case we needed them.”

She admired his preparedness. “You’ve done well. I might have to reward you.”

“First we need to finish this.”

She clasped his shoulder. “That we do.”

NINETY

BULLETS RICOCHETED OFF THE THICK MARBLE RAILING. A WALL mirror shattered, then crashed to the floor. Stephanie sought cover past where the balustrade began, the others huddled behind her.

More bullets obliterated plaster to her right.

Luckily the angle gave them an element of protection. To obtain a clearer shot, the soldiers would have to climb the stairway, which would also give her an opportunity.

Thorvaldsen came close. “Let me.”

She stepped back and the Dane sent a salvo from the AK-74 down to the ground floor. The rounds produced the intended result. All shooting from below stopped.

A robot reappeared behind them from another of the bedchambers. She paid it no mind until the whine from its electric motor steadily increased in volume. She turned her head and spotted the mechanism approaching the spot where Ely and Lyndsey stood.

“Stop that thing,” she mouthed to Ely.

He stuck out his foot and halted the machine’s advance. It sensed an impediment, hesitated, then sprayed Ely’s pants with mist. She saw him wince from the odor, strong even from her vantage, six feet away.

The thing turned and headed in the opposite direction.

More shots rang out from below as the second floor was peppered with bullets. They needed to retreat and use the concealed passages, but before she could give the order, ahead, on the other side of the railing, one of the soldiers rounded a corner.

Thorvaldsen saw him, too, and before she could raise her gun, he chopped the man down with a burst from the AK-74.

MALONE APPROACHED THE HOUSE WITH CAUTION. HE GRIPPED the pistol in one hand, the assault rifle slung over the other shoulder. They entered through a rear terrace into an opulent salon.

A familiar smell greeted him.

Greek fire.

He saw Cassiopeia register the scent, too.

More gunfire.

From somewhere on the ground floor.

He headed toward the ruckus.

VIKTOR FOLLOWED ZOVASTINA AS THEY DREW CLOSER TO THE house. They’d stayed concealed and watched as Malone and Vitt entered. Lots of rounds being discharged from inside.

“There are nine militia inside,” Zovastina said. “I told them not to use their weapons. Six robots are trolling, set to go when I push this.”

She produced one of the remote controllers he’d many times used to detonate the turtles. He thought another warning in order. “A bullet into any one of those machines that disables it will trigger an explosion, regardless of that controller.”