“Why not leave him for the moment,” Bodie said. “Let’s not forget at least that a Chinese government faction and one other brutal gang are hunting these statues and, possibly, the compass by now. As we know, the international artifact- and relic-hunting grapevine runs faster than a fiber-optic cable.”
Cassidy took a closer look at the poster in Kirke’s arms while Cross played with the big Gardamm. The man from Alabama had employed his field kit already, using a portable listening device for the tumblers and a blindfold for the concentration. He wouldn’t break off to jot anything down; he wouldn’t even move unless someone physically lifted him out of the way. Cross was way down the rabbit hole already, the job the focus of all existence.
Not even Gunn’s anxiety could move him.
Cassidy returned. “It’s a signed poster of Heather Locklear,” she said. “I don’t get it.”
“I do,” Bodie said. “Is he butt naked?”
“Eww, no. Whoa dude, are you saying he fell asleep . . .” She made a gesture.
“Maybe. Maybe millionaires like to sleep with their old memories. Let’s try not to disturb him.”
Cross remained as stiff as the statues that surrounded him. Bodie left Jemma on watch and cataloged all the valuables he could see. He didn’t have to do that—Heidi hadn’t requested it—but the careful relic hunter inside him knew that a thorough scrutiny of the safe room could pay dividends in the future.
Thirty minutes later the silence in his head was broken.
Heidi came out with something odd. “Chatter heading your way.”
Bodie frowned at a reflection of himself in a highly polished Faberge egg. “What?”
“The agency set up a listening station around our perimeter. We have eight unknowns inbound.”
Bodie looked over to Cross, still huddled in front of the safe as if at daily worship. “They hostile?”
“If you mean hostile hostile, then I don’t know, but in your situation any new development is hostile. Wait, it appears they flew in.”
Bodie knelt down beside Cross. “Like we did?”
“No, no, they flew in over the mountains and landed right beside the house. Smooth as silk. I have no idea what they used. We only caught the ‘all-safe’ communication that passed afterward.”
Bodie looked up toward the ceiling as if his eyes could penetrate all the way to the third building and the land that lay beside it. “They’re about to find out somebody beat them to it.”
“Finally,” Heidi groaned. “You caught up. I figure you have minutes.”
“I don’t agree,” Bodie said. “If they’re good they’ll take their time, and their method of entry so far suggests they’re good. They won’t want to alert Kirke in case he has some kind of self-destruct system inside the safe room. Several wealthy benefactors of ours have used that method to destroy evidence and avoid jail. I believe a lost da Vinci was ruined that way.”
Heidi’s tone suggested she didn’t like it. “All right, Bodie. Your call. But watch your damn back.”
Immediately he rose and dispatched Cassidy to check for signs of the new interlopers. Interrupting Cross now would be like making the man start all over again, so Bodie chose to let him work until the very last moment. Seconds ticked away into minutes, each filled with a heavy silence broken only by Kirke’s snoring and Bodie’s pounding heart.
Then Cross sat back so fast Bodie jumped.
“What?”
“Do you have it?”
“Maybe.”
“Crap! Maybe?” Bodie struggled to keep his voice low.
“Is there a problem, Guy?”
“Oh, there’s a few. But chiefly, how do we get into this safe?”
Cross whirled the spindle. Tumblers clicked and a lock disengaged. The thick silver door inched open. Some might then have pulled it wider, but Bodie remembered Cross teaching him to always double and triple check a newly cracked safe door.
Cross took his time. Gunn practically squeaked with impatience, but Bodie saw the thin wire at the same time Cross did.
“Bollocks.”
“Indeed,” the older thief noted. “Connected to a secondary alarm, no doubt. There must be . . .” He leaned forward, flashlight in hand, trying to get a better look at the new obstacle.
Gunn sighed heavily. “We’re fucked. My hack just failed.”
Bodie swallowed the surge of worry, knowing it wouldn’t help them now. Cross moved a millimeter at a time, not daring to breathe, leaning in.
“I need pliers.”
Bodie found a pair and placed them in Cross’s hand.
“Kirke must cut this every time,” Cross murmured, “and then attach a fresh wire. Just shows the importance he places on whatever’s in this safe.” Gently, he snipped, the sight of his rigid frame making Bodie tense up.
The door opened. Cross grinned. Bodie clapped him on the back. Jemma pushed through and pulled hard.
“Gunn,” Bodie said. “Watch for Cassidy. The moment you see her, tell me.”
“We’re on comms, dumbass,” the redhead’s voice came back.
“Not in the safe we aren’t.”
“Shit, the old redneck did it?”
“You can call me a redneck,” Cross said, “just don’t call me late for dinner.”
Bodie ignored the banter and took a swift gander around the safe. The shelves were crammed with items, but at least there was room for two inside. “Jemma,” he said. “Have at it.”
Quickly they sifted through the items, starting low and working higher. They even started at the back, suspecting the older items would be lying forgotten behind the newer. Ten minutes later and Jemma found a compass. She took it out of the safe and sent a picture to Lucie, but the historian discounted it.
“Chinese,” she said. “Ming dynasty. Probably fifteenth century.”
Bodie kept hunting. No more compasses turned up. He was beginning to despair. Jemma worked hard too, the pair of them sweating alongside each other. When Gunn reported that Cassidy was seeing movement up in the loft, Bodie was ready to call it a day.
“Not here,” he said. “Pass it on.”
Gunn held a finger to his ear as he related the message over the comms. Cross groaned loudly, having wasted so much effort. Carl Kirke stirred in the living room, rattling and creasing Heather Locklear as he turned in his sleep.
Cross clicked a finger. “You check the other safe?”
Bodie kicked himself. There was always a safe within the safe. Wealthy clients loved it. And because it was always small and hard to get at, they usually never stored the valuables they wanted to access regularly there. Cross does it again. Bodie didn’t know what he and the team would do if they couldn’t lean on the man’s vast experience.
Lying on the floor, feet sticking out of the safe, he found the portable metal box and studied the lock. Jemma kept searching. From his pocket Bodie withdrew a set of truly bespoke Allen keys, fitting one above the other into the lock and twisting. At first it protested, but then he attempted brute-force realignment and snapped off the keys.
“Bollocks, that’s not good.”
Jemma hovered over him, holding an object wrapped in a white cloth. “How about this?” Quickly, she uncovered it and snapped a photo.
The squeal from Lucie suggested one of two things. Either Jemma had hit gold or Heidi was turning frisky. Bodie bet heavily on the first option and rose fast.
“Out, out, out,” he growled into the comms. “We have the package. Time to go home.”
“Thank God for that,” Cassidy whispered back. “These guys look the shit up here.”
Gunn’s face twisted as he waited for her. “Is that supposed to be good or bad? I can never understand you lot.”
“It’s real good,” Cassidy affirmed. “And you can hardly talk, with your ‘bollocks’ and ‘dog’s bollocks.’ Get a move on; I can see you.”
“Which way?” Gunn asked, never too sure.
“The quickest, I’m afraid,” Bodie said. “We go
right past Kirke and out the front door. We don’t all have combat experience and can’t risk a battle. Hightail it to the car and back to the plane. Shit, is that the sunrise?”
The others glanced out of the room’s only window, opaque from the outside. Sure enough, the pitch black at the edge of the horizon was turning orange.
“Bad timing,” Jemma said.
Bodie radioed Heidi. “Break out all the guns,” he said. “These guys are gonna be chasing us, and Cassidy says by the look of them and the way they move, they’re good.”
“She knows that?”
“She’s that good. I trust her.”
“Shit.”
“Glad you see it our way.”
He signed off. If Cassidy Coleman said these people were good, then the best place to be was a world away from them.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Heading downstairs, they ran through the house, staying quiet but making no extra effort to mask their movements. The car was minutes away, then the twisting road back to the airfield.
Cassidy urged the others ahead, disturbed by what she had seen coming down from the loft—a force of men, eight strong, lithe as Olympic athletes, and bristling with lethal armaments. Their faces were covered, their bodies clad in black. She heard not a single murmur between them but noticed a perfect communication through hand signals. She studied the way they moved and carried themselves. The discipline. The competence.
And she backed away quickly. These were not men she wished to cross. The sensation was an odd one for her, but something she recognized from a distant past and respected. Beating a hasty retreat, she rejoined the team, casting a worried glance at Carl Kirke as she passed him.
“I don’t think much of his chances.”
Bodie, ahead, answered, “Did they see you?”
“No.”
“You leave them a surprise?”
“There wasn’t time.”
“Kirke will be fine. We’re thieves, not bloody government agents sworn to serve and protect.”
Cassidy kept her own counsel. The slim chance Kirke had was that his soon-to-be questioners were masked, concealing their identities, and would find him asleep. She watched out for her team as they fled headlong toward the front door. Bodie wasted no time unlocking three separate bolts and then slipping it open. Cassidy saw him slide a handgun from a holster at his back and then step outside. It was no small risk, but the coast looked clear.
“Go.”
The path was dusted with snow, a mild breeze stirring the soft flakes. Cassidy ran for ten meters and then stopped and turned to appraise the bulk of the house behind them.
The first faceless man stared down at her from the top floor, hands gripping the rail of the balcony he had just walked onto; a second dark figure studied her from an adjacent window. And judging by several shadows crossing other windows, Carl Kirke had been awakened to the fright of his life. Cassidy saw a shadow fall, then shook her head as it was dragged back up again. Through the open door she heard a faint scream.
“Wait,” she said. “These men are hurting Kirke.”
Bodie slowed. “Can you see a way back to him?”
Cassidy eyed the faceless, motionless watchers and remembered their firepower. “Sure, I can do anything.”
“That’s a negative,” Heidi broke in. “The op will maintain its priority. Get that compass here now.”
“I could meet you at the airfield.” Cassidy rated her chances pretty low but hated to see an innocent man left behind. She also hated being told what to do by the CIA.
“Kirke is a criminal.” Heidi appeared to read her mind. “Didn’t you wonder why we were able to locate him so easily? Shit, the man’s been sticking our noses in it for years. Boasting about acquisitions in certain circles where he knew word would eventually reach us but always a step removed, always out of reach. Don’t waste this hard work on him.”
Cassidy tore herself away, vowing to find out if Heidi was telling the truth about Kirke, and to take it out of her hide if she wasn’t. She ran decisively, turning one more time to look back at the house.
Nothing. No men standing on the balcony. No sounds. The visage was as empty as a ghost’s face and now just as haunted.
Bodie started the car. The team piled inside. The engine roared as he swung it around in the direction they’d originally come. A beam of sunlight pierced the distant horizon, illuminating the side of a mountain and slowly burnishing the length and breadth of the skies.
“I remember cursing the sunrise a few times before,” Cassidy said as she buckled up. “But not as intensely as this.”
“I’ve never seen you with your knickers in such a twist, Cass,” Bodie said.
“My what? Forget it, just step on the gas.”
He drove urgently. Cassidy stared back through the rear window, her edgy mood soon infecting the rest of the team. Gunn was at her side, searching the roads with frightened eyes, and a worried Jemma sat next to him. But when Cassidy saw what terrifying wickedness chased them she quickly reached for her gun.
“Load up, people,” she said. “We’re about to become roadkill.”
The midnight-black Toyota 4Runner tore up the road, barely slowing for the twisting bends that climbed higher and higher. Alpine passes and towering peaks stood all around, snow-capped, emerging faster as the sun rose higher. Sweeping through the skies in pursuit came three motorized paragliders, large chutes filled with air, each one carrying two men in the buggy-like frame that hung beneath. Cassidy saw front and side wheels and a tubular framework, but most of all, she saw the occupants leaning out, leaning down, semiautomatics aimed.
Gunfire rang out. Cassidy saw Bodie turn the wheel involuntarily, sending the tires bouncing from the tarmac onto the hard-packed soil at the side of the road. He corrected immediately and everyone saw a line of bullets make a suture across an upcoming bend in the road.
Cassidy used the grab handle to steady herself. Bodie gunned the car’s engine, now seeing a straightaway leading to an apex. The paragliders came lower, three abreast and weighed down with firepower.
Bodie hit the crest of the hill just as the paragliders opened fire again. Deadly lead slammed into the road behind their rear tires, bombarding the paintwork with fragments. Bodie kept it straight even as all four tires caught air. The body bounced down an instant later, jostling Gunn right out of his seat and into the footwell.
“Stay there,” Cassidy growled.
Gunn struggled. Cassidy pressed the button to lower the back windows, then leaned out, sighted up toward the eastern skies and the rising sun. The glare was blinding and she fired off a couple of shots. Bodie swung the car hard right, and she found her cheek mashed against the window frame.
“Call it out!” she cried.
Cross took the command to heart. “Straight, sixty feet,” he cried. “Then easy right.”
Cassidy steadied herself. At that moment the lead paraglider swooped and crossed over to the other side of the car. The second descended, firing relentlessly. A bullet clanged off the nearby framework and another penetrated the lower skin. Cassidy loosed a shot that broke one of the paraglider’s upright struts, rendering it unstable but nothing worse. The masked occupants didn’t flinch, drifting lower and lower.
Bullets raked the other side of the car. Gunn cried out. Jemma leapt away. The window next to her head imploded, showering everyone with glass. Bodie swung the wheel and the paraglider shot overhead, looping and spinning around to come back at them. Cassidy saw only one behind them now, and watched it carefully line them up in its sights.
“Hard right, thirty feet,” Cross called.
She fired two shots. The paraglider shifted unhappily as the pilot flinched, losing line of sight. Her third shot winged the passenger, sent his weapon hurtling away and spinning to the ground.
The man hung on with grim determination.
Now Bodie turned the wheel again, and the other two paragliders shot right over them, bullets flying from their weapons and
passing harmlessly to the right. Cross swore and then shouted, “Switchbacks coming up! A dozen of them!”
Cassidy turned in disbelief, thinking Cross might finally be losing his mind. From their vantage point, at an elevation above the road below, she saw a twisting ribbon, a crazed snake of hairpin bends and switchbacks, flowing sharply down to the valley floor below.
To her right ran a chaotic row of small concrete posts, the only barrier preventing them from flipping end over end down a thousand feet.
“We came up here in the dark?” Jemma asked, voice unsteady.
“Yeah, aren’t you glad we did, though?”
Cassidy waited for the car to slow, then used the first hairpin to sight on one of the paragliders. Bullets sprayed from both parties, but none came close. The second bend replayed in much the same way, tires squealing as Bodie struggled to keep control around the tight curve. Cassidy reloaded on the straightaway, giving Jemma a long look as she slammed in the spare mag.
“Would work better with backup.”
Jemma breathed deeply and then nodded. The rest of the team, except her and Gunn, was proficient with firearms. This was way outside her comfort zone.
“Don’t worry, girl,” Cassidy emboldened her. “Just point and squeeze. Whatever you hit in the sky, it’s good.”
Jemma inched her way out of the open window, as ungainly as a newborn gazelle on a treadmill. Cassidy tried something new as they hit their fifth hairpin, now about a third down the mountain. Cold wind blew between open windows, scouring the inside of the car. Cassidy leaned out, farther this time, using one hand to take firm hold of the grab strap and the other to steady the gun.
Hanging out of the car that way, she waited until Bodie straightened and let the lead paraglider drift into her sights. There! She squeezed the trigger three times. The first bullet flew high, but the second took the pilot right between the eyes. The man’s head jerked back, blood spraying the passenger, and then the machine took a nose dive. Cassidy saw he had become entangled in the guiding rope, placing pressure in multiple places. The glider became unruly, shifting this way and that. The dead man hung over the front, dragging it down. The passenger tried to climb over him and cut him away, lost his balance, and plummeted to the ground. Cassidy watched and held on, keeping her aim steady in case either of the remaining two paragliders came into view.
The Atlantis Cipher (The Relic Hunters Book 2) Page 12
