"Yes. Unless they are afraid, they will cling to their 'rights' and hamper the efforts of more intelligent people who are trying to protect them from that plague," Malovo scoffed. "But enough of this. I didn't come here to debate. I came here to kill you and this stupid woman. Now, in memory of our romance in Kabul, I'll let you choose who dies first."
"And I'll give you one last chance to lay down your weapons," Karchovski replied. "You are surrounded."
"What sort of fool do you think I am?" Malovo sneered. "My men are in complete control of this ferry. At this moment, they are holding the captain, the crew, and the other passengers captive. Watch, I will even stop the boat."
Smiling, Malovo waved a hand over her head. She waited for the engines to shut down, but instead the ferry continued to proceed across the water as normal. She scowled and looked up to where her man was supposed to be watching for her signal. He was there, and she angrily signaled again. But instead of the expected response, he plunged forward over the rail and onto the deck of the ferry.
The sentinel was replaced by a tall, thin man who appeared to be wearing a robe. His pale face glowed yellow in the ferry's running lights, which gave him a ghostly appearance that shook the men with Malovo. "Shayteen," one of them mumbled in fear.
Of the people standing on the deck, only Ivgeny was not surprised to see David Grale peering down at them.
After the restaurant bombing, the Karchovskis had quickly dismissed the idea that some other Russian gang was behind the attack. Gangsters were first and foremost businessmen. While friction and territory could lead to killings, even outright warfare, they all knew that it was bad for business. It attracted the police and put a stop to normal transactions. And usually, there was some indication-threats or reports of hostility-that preceded violence.
It led the Karchovskis to conclude that they had another mole within their organization. From there it had been easy to figure out who. In fact, the traitor was the man standing next to him, his bodyguard. How Malovo had turned him, Ivgeny did not care. In fact, in one way, he owed the man his thanks for giving him this opportunity to kill the woman who had tried to murder him and his father. Yet, it had been all he could do not to strangle the traitor with his own hands when he thought about the death of his friend Gregory, with whom he'd served in Afghanistan, and the other innocent people who died in the cafe.
The traitor had been fed the information about the meeting with Ariadne Stupenagel and then left alone to contact Malovo. Ivgeny had felt a twinge of remorse for exposing the reporter, and unexpectedly her boyfriend, to danger, but he knew that the bait had to be too tempting or the rat might smell the trap.
Even then, there were great risks involved. Malovo might have tried to plant a bomb on the ferry, but he dismissed this, knowing her preferences, and counted on her wanting to kill him herself up close.
He'd also had to leave his other men behind and bring only the traitor. Where there was one rat, there might have been another who might have warned Malovo of a trap. However, he'd arranged for backup by having a go-between contact Grale with his plan.
Grale was something of a business associate. The mad monk's network of street people were spread throughout Manhattan, and to a lesser degree the other boroughs, and provided excellent intelligence. In exchange, Grale sought medical supplies, weapons, and food for his followers. The arrangement worked well, though even his own men, as tough as they were, didn't like dealing with Grale and his so-called Mole People. It was an added bonus that he and Grale had discovered that they had mutual enemies.
The appearance now of Grale at the railing above froze Malovo for an instant. But she was trained to deal with the unexpected and whirled to shoot Karchovski. However, he, too, was a trained fighter and knocked the gun from her hand with a telescoping baton he'd had up his sleeve.
Stupenagel and Murrow dove to the deck just as Malovo's men were suddenly overwhelmed by robed fighters who'd appeared like wraiths out of the shadows. Terrified, the Muslims didn't put up much of a fight, screaming, "Shayteen! Shayteen!" before being cut down.
Karchovski moved in to follow up his advantage and narrowly missed being eviscerated by a palm knife that appeared in Malovo's hand. He jumped back in the last instant and flipped open a butterfly knife that he carried.
"Put down the knife, Nadya," Karchovski ordered as they circled each other. "Your men are dead or captured. It's your decision to live or die."
Malovo laughed but the sound was bitter and harsh. "What? And submit to your tender mercies? I don't suppose you would be turning me over to the U.S. or Russian government?"
Karchovski shook his head grimly. "No, that mistake will not happen again. But your death will be as painless as I can make it after I have from you what I want to know."
Suddenly, a speedboat roared out of the dark and pulled alongside the ferry. A spotlight from the boat picked out Karchovski and Malovo, and then someone opened fire.
Ivgeny dove to his right just in time to avoid a bullet that rang off the metal hull. He looked up to see Malovo activate a red light on her shoulder harness and then run for the side of the ferry, diving into the black waters.
Cursing, Karchovski jumped up and ran to the rail. But the speedboat and the red light that bobbed in the wake of the ferry were already far behind. He picked up Malovo's gun and fired until it was empty, then heaved it at the escaping woman in frustration. He pulled his cell phone from his pocket and dialed a number. He spoke rapidly in Russian, then flipped it shut.
With Stupenagel and Murrow trailing him, he ran up to the bridge, where the captain and his crew stood in stunned silence. Two terrorists in black lay dead on the ground, the work of Grale's men.
"I apologize for all of this," Karchovski told the captain. "But I need you to stop the ferry. I have a boat picking me up on your port side in a moment."
The captain looked down at the dead men. "All engines stop," he told his crew, then turned back to Karchovski. "I guess we owe you thanks for saving us from these two. But who are you people?"
"It's not important," Karchovski said. "Please allow me to disembark before you get under way again." With that, he took off running, again with Stupenagel and Murrow on his heels.
They reached the stern on the port side just as a motorboat was pulling alongside. "I'm sorry," Karchovski said to Stupenagel as Grale and a half dozen of his fighters climbed down into the motorboat. "You are welcome to join us in case you don't want to answer questions from the authorities."
"I think that's a good idea," Stupenagel said. "And maybe you have time for a few questions?"
"Some other day, perhaps," Karchovski said. "But we'll drop you back at Battery Park."
"What about me, boss?" asked Karchovski's bodyguard, who'd remained standing on the stern of the ferry with two of Grale's men.
Ivgeny turned to the man, his eyes blazing with anger. "What about you, traitor?"
Before the bodyguard could respond, Grale nodded to his men. One struck the bodyguard on the back of his head with a blackjack, knocking him to the ground.
"Tie his hands and feet," Ivgeny instructed.
They did as told, then hauled the man to his feet. "Please, Mr. Karchovski, why are you doing this?" The man started to cry.
Karchovski, however, was unmoved. "My only regret is that I do not have the time to deal with you properly," he said, and spit in the man's face. "But this is for my friend Gregory, and the others whose blood is on your head."
"No, I did nothing, I swear to you," the bodyguard blubbered as Karchovski grabbed him by the lapels of his coat.
"Tell that to the fish," Karchovski replied, and launched the man over the side of the ferry. Weighed down by his clothes and a bulletproof vest, the man kicked violently in an attempt to keep his mouth above water. He was still kicking, his eyes wide with terror, as he slipped beneath the surface and disappeared into the depths.