At the end of the hall they turned right, and started to climb the stairwell of a parapet. Elise and Tom and Genevieve clattered up the stairs behind them, covering their escape. They fired off round after round behind them, ricocheting off the stone. The echoes deafened him as they climbed desperately to the top. His legs ached and the graze from the bullet in the old throne room stung like seven kinds of hells.
Tom gestured him forward when he turned back to fight. “GO!”
Russian mafia soldiers hammered up, full of shouting and gunfire.
“This way!” Sam shouted, dragging Catarina to a left passage, but Elise shook her head, grabbed his wrist and hauled him in the opposite direction.
“THIS way! That way is condemned! You bring this kind of gunfire in there and the whole damn place collapses on top of us!”
Sam pelted down the corridor she’d indicated, only to be confronted by more stairs. He hesitated, but Catarina charged straight up, eyes determined, focused.
They careened to the top of the stairs and encountered a door locked with a heavy chain.
Sam bashed at it with the butt of his machine gun, to no avail. He bashed again, desperate. Though the whole place was in disrepair, the hinges rusty and the knobs worn, this chain was bright, untarnished stainless steel. Sam thought it had been put here by restorers who didn’t want any unexpected visitors arriving from the roof.
He bashed again, and then spun out of the way with an oath at the shout from behind him. He flattened himself against the wall in the narrow stairwell as Tom shoved forward, leveled his gun at the lock and fired.
The metal shattered with a dull clank and Tom kicked open the ancient door with a violent scream of triumph.
Sam pulled Catarina through the door and out into the hot summer night.
They piled out onto the parapets and stalled.
Genevieve swore.
Before them the magnificent vista of rivers and fields spread in all directions, gilded gold by the setting sun, bathing the world in light thick as blood.
Sam had no time to appreciate it.
There was nowhere to go. The narrow walkway encircled the tower giving no room for them to move around. There was barely even space for the five of them to fit on the wall.
Through the doorway Sam saw hooded bodies flood the scene. They shouted in unintelligible Russian and Estonian, commands and curses as Tom’s team’s bullets peppered their men. Though they fired off round after round and yes, for the moment, Sam and company held the high ground, there was only so long they could hang on. The problem was they had prepared to fight a small contingent of armed thugs who were expecting Sam Reilly alone — but instead, had stumbled upon the Bratva’s strong hold.
Now, like a swarm of angry fire ants, the thugs spread through the passageways to greet them. They would never hold out against such large numbers.
Sam held his breath. He told himself they would just have to hold out as long as they could. But after that… there was nothing they could do. They were as good as dead.
A huge roar descended from the sky.
Sam swiveled up.
The Eurocopter hovered above the turret, beating the air around them into a flurry of wind. Dimly, behind the cockpit windshield, Sam glimpsed Veyron at the controls. He felt a surge of hope. Sam had thought he was an engineer, but it seemed like the crew of the Tahila had many surprises up their sleeves.
The helicopter rotated, bringing the opposite side into view.
There, on the side of the sleek helicopter was mounted an M70 Heavy Machinegun and at the helm Matthew the skipper was ready to shoot.
Catarina turned to Sam. “What in the name of…”
Sam didn’t let her finish. “Inside!”
They clambered across the helicopter’s skid and in through the open doorframe. Wide-eyed, Catarina stared at him. Gunfire spat from the stairwell, past the breached door.
She spun for the rocking helicopter entrance and grabbed on tight.
“All right?” Veyron shouted as Sam heaved his way to the back to make room for everyone else.
“Glad to see you!” Sam shouted back.
“Catarina?” Matthew grinned. “Pleasure to meet you.” He actually tipped his hat.
“A little help here, Matthew,” Elise shouted, bringing up the rear, and the door slammed shut, trapping everyone inside just as the hoard of mafia men emerged from the roof door and onto the thin parapet.
But as Sam and company had already figured out, there was nowhere for them to go.
Matthew depressed the red trigger and the M70 Heavy Machinegun turned the turret and everyone on top of it to pieces.
Chapter Sixty-Two
The chartered private jet — a Cirrus Vision SF50 — landed at Rotterdam, The Hague airport. The pilot taxied the aircraft to the private jet’s hanger. A customs officer arrived to stamp their passports and fifteen minutes later, Sam, Tom, Genevieve, and Catarina climbed into a Volvo XC90. Genevieve drove, having mentioned that she’d spent time in The Hague years ago.
Sam said, “Step on it, Genevieve… we’re going to be cutting it down to a fine line!”
Genevieve shoved the Volvo into gear, pulled onto the main highway, and placed the accelerator all the way to the floor. “I’m on it.”
The Volvo spun around and entered the A4 — where the morning traffic was at a standstill.
Genevieve jammed on the brakes.
Tom swore…
The Volvo came to a complete stop.
Sam said, “Now what do we do?”
Chapter Sixty-Three
The International Criminal Court was silent, respectful, and somber.
The hearing had been convened to pass judgment on International War Crimes against a rebel general, Saad Rashid — previously of Pakistan — who had allegedly murdered more than a hundred civilian Pashtuns traveling along the neutral region of the Durand Line — at an important navigational pass between Afghanistan and Pakistan.
Saad Rashid, who was currently being held prisoner in Pakistan, was to be hung for Crimes Against Humanity, as soon as a conviction by the international community was achieved. Throughout the entire time, the man had protested his innocence, arguing that he and his men were in the vicinity, but had not been involved in the slaughter.
The chief judge said to the counsel for the U.S. Department of Defense, “If your witness isn’t here in the next five minutes, I’m going to be forced to end the proceedings.”
The secretary of defense stood up. She took a breath, her lips formed a thin line, and she said, “He will be here.”
The clock at the back of the court room ticked by.
The judge said, “I’m sorry, counsel, but I have extended the time as much as possible.”
The secretary of defense said, “I understand, Your Honor, but an innocent man is to be executed based on the rulings passed here today. Don’t you think it’s worth giving my witness the benefit of a little more time.”
The judge frowned. “Madam Secretary, you don’t need to tell me the severity of my duties in this instance! All right, I will allow another five minutes — and that’s it.”
At four minutes and fifty-five seconds, the door at the back of the court opened and Sam Reilly entered.
Chapter Sixty-Four
Sam Reilly took his place at the witness stand.
The secretary of defense said, “I believe you have new information regarding the murder of more than a hundred Pashtuns along the Durand Line?”
Sam nodded. “Yes, Madam Secretary.”