“What now?” Pantera asked.
Bodie knew only one course of action. “We have to disable that car. Get them on foot.”
“The only way we can control the situation?”
“Partially,” Bodie said. “Some risk remains.”
“Some?”
Bodie wasn’t about to say they were outgunned, outnumbered, and outmatched. For the first time he wished Heidi Moneymaker was among them; the skills and opinions that she could bring to the situation would be welcome, not to mention her own experience as an agent. And Cross, he thought. I’d value his calm and clear judgment even more.
“Squeeze their back end,” he said.
Cassidy sent him a smirk. “Really?”
“You know what I mean.”
“Sure do, boss.”
Steph cried louder in the back seat, unable to comprehend what was happening. She was a civilian who had never seen combat, which made her a liability as much as anything. Cassidy nudged the SUV at the three-quarter rear end and accelerated, effectively making the nose turn. Tires squealed. Smoke billowed from underneath both cars. The sound was horrendous, like ancient leviathans clashing. Bodie leaned out and lined the tires up in his sights, but a wild shot from the Russians sent him tumbling back inside. Pantera followed suit, managing to keep his aim steady.
“Jack,” Cassidy warned.
He fired just as the SUV swung wildly around and ended up facing them. The bullet went recklessly wide. Without pause the SUV accelerated, front-ending them. Bodie saw emotionless faces staring at him from the front seat as he rebounded, the belt grazing his shoulder. Cassidy’s hands came off the wheel. The SUV reversed fast and two men leaned out of the windows.
“Down!” Cassidy cried.
Bullets penetrated the car but not the engine, which was, Bodie knew, the place they should have been aiming at. The closest thudded into the center of the back seat, parting Jack and Steph more clearly than any harsh sentence.
Cassidy hit the gas, their car lurching forward and following the reversing SUV, right up against its front grille. Bodie held his enemy’s stare and gave a malicious grin. Down the slope they raced, nose to nose, approaching another even steeper road junction. Cassidy piled on the pressure, seeing rows of parked cars and a tree-lined central reservation.
“Push ’em,” Bodie murmured.
“Eric!” Steph cried.
The Russian driver tried to slow and turn, but Cassidy drove even harder. The SUV hit the junction and took off, all four wheels leaving the ground for whole seconds as it still traveled backward. When it landed, Cassidy was right there, grinding her matte-black custom fender into its dark-gray one. The driver cursed and fought the wheel. The front-seat passenger tried to fold himself through the window, gun in hand, but ended up smashing his head against the frame. Bodie caught a glimpse of Eric compressed into the back seat, an enormous man at his side. Truth be told, his size offered the best protection the lad was likely to get.
“Do not let them squirm away from this, Cass,” Pantera said.
She put the hammer down. The SUV twisted wildly, nose flinging around almost full circle and then ending up buried into the side of a Jeep. Bodie acted as fast as he was able. While the Russians were still being propelled forward from the impact, he was pushing the Challenger’s door open. Cassidy jammed on the brakes and Bodie jumped out. The Russian driver fought for control of his vehicle as Bodie approached, gun raised.
Pantera was still trying to join him.
Bodie flung open the SUV’s rear door and saw what he needed wedged into a sheaf inside the Russian’s waistband. A knife was the quickest way to get the huge oaf’s seatbelt open. It sawed through the material instantly and then Bodie grabbed hold of an arm around the pronounced bicep. With a heave he dragged the man into the street before stomping on his forehead.
“Stay down, Boris.”
Looking back inside he now saw Eric; the boy looked befuddled and slow from the accident. No other injuries were evident. Bodie reached inside, cut the belt, and pulled the young lad across the seat toward him.
A huge arm reached for the boy from the front seat, encircling his throat. It was bare and tattooed and as hairy as a gorilla’s. Eric screamed. Bodie saw no reason not to use the knife again, this time parting flesh and drawing blood. The arm withdrew and Eric scrambled free.
Bodie pulled him out of the car just as the Russian with the bleeding arm clambered out. The sheer bulk of the man hampered his journey, but Bodie knew he had to deal with the threat.
“Stop.” He pulled up the gun. “Stop right there. I don’t want to have to kill you—”
The Russian pulled up his own gun and fired without hesitation.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Bodie felt his heart stop as the bullet flashed past his face.
Still fighting his better judgment, not wanting to kill anyone, he fired back, hitting the man in the left shoulder. The gun fell and he twisted away, groaning. Bodie hefted Eric in one arm and turned to flee.
Straight into the bulk of the Russian he’d dragged clear of the SUV.
“Where you going, assboy?”
The man shoved him back into the car’s frame, jarring his spine.
Assboy?
Bodie easily blocked another punch but didn’t expect the man to then start pressing right up against him. The strain built and he lost his grip on Eric. The boy hit the ground on his knees, crying. The gun was trapped between them, pointed down. Already, the driver was opening his door.
This rescue attempt was disintegrating by the second.
Bodie head-butted, and felt the other’s blood spray across his eyesight. The pressure only increased. Where was the bastard’s gun? The Russian driver then climbed out alongside his assailant, weapon ready and a grim smile on his face.
“I wish I had time to let him crush you”—his accent made the words hard to decipher—“and watch. But sadly it is not to be.”
He raised a handgun, pointed it at Bodie’s head. The blur of motion that occurred next confused Bodie, but no shot came, which was promising. Then he saw Pantera grappling with the driver. Relief flooded his body. Pain and energy galvanized him and he fought back against his opponent. To his credit, Eric read Bodie’s situation and aimed constant kicks at the Russian’s shins. Still, the man bore down.
And now the passenger, despite being shot, was coming around the back.
Bodie let his body hang, hoping for space, but his opponent only pushed harder. Cassidy passed him by, focused completely on the passenger. Bodie didn’t blame her. The passenger was three feet away from Eric.
The knife clattered to the asphalt at Bodie’s feet. The Russian saw it and his eyes went wide. Bodie saw it, too, but was starting to get double vision as the breath was crushed out of him, the edges slowly blurring to black. Eric stopped kicking for half a second, mesmerized by the blade and knowing what had to be done.
“Don’t you do it, kid,” the Russian grumbled. “This assboy deserves what we do to him. We take you to better place.”
Young as he was, Eric knew bullshit when he heard it. He raised the knife, which made the Russian move, pulling away from Bodie. The thief welcomed the easing of the pressure but still gulped for air, unable to take advantage. Eric raised the knife but then saw his wrist grabbed by an enormous hand.
“Let go, or I break bone.”
Suddenly, Eric’s mother flew in, an avenging angel. She wrenched the knife free with the brute strength of parental desperation, reversed it, and plunged it so quickly into her enemy’s ribs that he didn’t have the time to react. Still screaming, she scooped up her child and backed away.
Bodie now saw the man reaching for the knife as full vision returned. Though weak, Bodie concentrated on lifting the gun.
By the time the Russian had plucked the knife from his ribs, grunted at the pain, grinned, then turned back to face Bodie with the blade in an underhand grip, the thief had leveled his own gun.
“Assboy?
” he repeated, and pulled the trigger.
Now completely free, he breathed huge gulps of air. Energy flooded his body. Cassidy was dealing effectively with the passenger at the back of the SUV while Pantera grappled with the driver—all fighters evenly matched. Bodie breathed deeply and went to help Pantera.
The driver was strong, young, and wiry; proving to be a handful. Pantera was going at him like the man that Bodie used to know—fitter, faster, and with the ability to land debilitating punches. The kid waited until Pantera overcompensated, then hit hard, wearing him down. Bodie saw a gap and entered the fray, charging in with a heavy front kick that was blocked, turned aside. But Bodie was ready for that. As the kid angled him away, Bodie swung fully around, left elbow out, landing a heavy blow on the cheek. Staggering, the driver grunted and raised a hand toward the point of pain. Bodie waded into the exposed area, pummeling flesh and making sure the spine connected solidly again and again with the car’s framework.
Pretty soon, the driver was sliding to the ground in agony, all clear thought receding.
Pantera knelt down and finished him off. Bodie’s first thought was for Cassidy. He looked over to see her grab her opponent by the shirt and slam him into the back window of the SUV. Glass shattered. The Russian’s head lolled. Cassidy wiped blood from her cheeks and her hair.
“You took your time,” Bodie murmured, breathing hard.
“Hey, what can I say? He was cute.”
Bodie walked over to Steph and Eric. “Any injuries?”
Pantera’s wife shook her head, tears flying like raindrops, but the steely glint in her eyes telling him she was ready to do exactly as she was told.
“Get back in the car,” he said. “We should get out of here and make a call.”
Cassidy and Pantera came up to him. “A call?” Cassidy asked.
“Bratva keep coming,” Bodie said. “They will never stop. There’s only one person in the world who can help us now.”
“Don’t tell me.” Cassidy exhaled. “Your goddamn girlfriend?”
“She’s not my girlfriend. But if you mean Heidi—then yes.”
“Right.” Cassidy controlled her breathing as she headed back to the battered Challenger. “Right.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Rio sat brooding, a sweatbox of mystery, immorality, integrity, and dreams. The city was never still, always vibrant, the monolithic granite giant that watched over it rising straight from the water’s edge.
The team was secure, ensconced for the past few hours in a Santo Cristo–area safe house, surrounded by restaurants and cafés and burger bars. Heidi could see the incredibly blue bay from just one small area of the room. She took Bodie’s call, tried to hide her relief, and then explained the situation to the rest of the team. Cross took it with no response, his deep, experienced gaze weighing all options. Jemma narrowed her eyes, assessing the likelihood of Pantera’s story. Gunn listened silently, then started tapping away on his tablet, no doubt investigating the words “Bratva” and “Russian brothers.”
Heidi paced the room. “I’ve arranged a safe house for Pantera and his family. They won’t be comfortable, but they won’t be dead either.”
“The Bratva will not stop coming,” Cross said.
“I know that.”
Cross winced, also knowing something of the Pantera family history and why the man’s wife had taken out a court order on him. The truth was—Heidi knew also. It had formed an important part of her research when the man and his protégé came into the picture. Steph, his wife, discovered the length and breadth of his nefarious dealings. Fearing her son might follow a similar path, she had sought to save him by cutting all ties with Pantera.
But Heidi couldn’t concern herself with that now. Their Rio contacts had put the feelers out among the local informers and identified the gang who had attacked them. As expected, they were small fry but deadly, able to react with significant force. Heidi thought it best to simply melt away and hope they did the same.
“Time to wrap this up,” she said. “Plane’s ready.”
They called a car and met it on the street, ready for anything. Heidi found her mood buoyant, practically bouncing as she jumped into the passenger seat. At first, she couldn’t figure out why, and then she pushed the obvious answer to the side.
Don’t be an idiot.
In more ways than one. The situation at home was perilous already without adding another man to the story. It had only been a few days, but Heidi found herself picturing her daughter. The mood became mixed, the situation pulling her in many ways.
If I don’t do this, who will? Why should anyone? Then . . . then where would we be?
The words that passed unendingly through her mind. The words that broke her relationship. She was a woman who wanted to protect far more than she was physically or mentally capable of doing.
I am a CIA agent, torn between my family and a career.
The reminder didn’t help. By the time they arrived at the airport, her mood had deteriorated beyond sour to dire. She focused her mind on the job, on the components of their hunt for Atlantis. And, to her mind at least, that included a refresher course on the members of her diverse team.
Of the three members of Bodie’s crew with her, she found Sam Gunn the most interesting. This man possessed all the potential, all the capabilities, and a fascinating mix of fire and innocence. She knew about his youth growing up in foster homes and how hard it might have been, but that wasn’t the thing that made Gunn hard to judge and even harder to get close to. It was the combination of introvert and wannabe showman; the brains that came with no brawn, but had a hidden cache of courage. She felt herself wanting to mentor the nerd, train him, but knew she’d never be able to find the time.
As she watched him, he glanced over at her, offering up a shy smile. Then he smoothed back his gelled hair. Heidi grinned in return. Right there, just that, was the epitome of what Gunn was all about.
Cross, on the other hand, was set in his ways. And make no mistake—they were polished to perfection. But therein lay the biggest flaw for her. A man, and especially an experienced career thief, should be prepared to roll with everything and anything that presented itself during an operation. She understood that her requirements went against the grain of the team’s desires and that they were always looking for a way out, but she could see Cross being a casualty of his own accomplishments; she just hoped he wouldn’t become a casualty of war.
Jemma Blunt was the hardest to read of the entire misfit bunch. Heidi hadn’t found the time to scrutinize her past, but knew her strengths. Before now, she’d shown relatively few weaknesses, but there was always something. Always a button well hidden. Heidi thought Jemma’s was a lack of human social experience, something Cassidy was constantly trying to change with offers of days and nights out, but she never quite seemed to connect with the quieter woman.
Heidi found herself becoming more and more interested in the story of how this varied group had come together. That had to be some tale.
For now, though, she settled back to relax as the jet blasted through the skies toward DC. Within minutes her rest was interrupted by the ringing of her cell phone.
“Now what? I was trying to sleep.”
“Agent Moneymaker?”
She came more awake. “Who’s this?”
“Lucie Boom. History expert.”
The English tones were clipped, almost military style. Heidi could imagine the girl standing at attention.
“Oh, hi. I didn’t expect to hear from you for a few more hours.” She thought about the time difference to DC, but the strain and weariness of the last few days was taking its toll. “What time is it there?”
“Eleven hundred hours.”
Heidi raised an eyebrow in amusement. The CIA primarily used military timing terms, but she couldn’t get used to a civilian using it. Already she could imagine how uncomfortably Lucie Boom would fit in with the relic hunter crew. “You mean eleven a.m.?” It was a gentle dig.
“That’s what I said, Agent Moneymaker.”
“Ah, right. Must have missed that. I’m guessing we’re an hour away from touchdown, Miss Boom. Can this wait until we reach the office?”
“Of course. I was merely checking in. I’ll be here when you arrive.”
The line went dead. Heidi stared at her screen for a moment before tapping her fingers against the phone’s surface.
Cross was watching her. “Trouble?”
Heidi grunted. “Could be. Too early to tell.”
“Was that the new history buff?” Gunn asked.
“Yes, Gunn. Were you listening to my conversation?”
“Umm, no. Just a wild guess.”
“Wild guess, huh? Well, let’s not judge until we get a face-to-face. How you doing with that internet crap?”
“If you mean the research I’m conducting into the Baal statues,” Gunn said with a sniff, “then relatively well, considering I’m not a historian. As you know, the nine statues are from the same era, the same place, the same . . . stable. What you don’t know is that there are quite a lot of inscriptions on them; some on the base and others around the head and one even up the left arm. Let’s hope it fits in somewhere, because all we have at the moment is some old guy called Plato placing Atlantis beyond the Pillars of Hercules in his works Timaeus and Critias describing events that happened nine thousand years before his time. It has been said that Atlantis was a purposeful invention, a fictional embodiment of immense power that Athens then overcame, thus proving its all-encompassing superiority. Atlantis was actually inconsequential in Plato’s works, but many have picked up on Atlantis and personified it with legend and life. Others wonder where he might have gotten such a notion. His inspiration sometimes arose from old Egyptian records, accounts of the sea people and even the Trojan War, but there is no doubt he portrayed Atlantis as a grand land, full of kings and majesty and unfathomable power, rich not only in gold but in rolling green pastures and mighty mountains.” Gunn shrugged. “That’s how legends are born.”
The Atlantis Cipher (The Relic Hunters Book 2) Page 8
