You can do this. I’ll be in the water right after you. There’s light on the river. Try to stay out of it, and look for me.”
She looked terrified. “Ryan, I—”
He grabbed her hand and pulled her to her feet. “Come on, let’s go.” He guided her to the edge of the air conditioner. The rain was following the wind, which was howling along the course of the river. Lightning rippled over their heads, the jagged forks of electricity obscured by side-blown clouds of water. The thunder was so close it seemed to shake the very foundation of the building.
“On the count of three, turn the corner and jump,” Kealey shouted. “I’ll fire to cover you.” She shook her head instinctively, but he knew she would do as he asked. “I’ll be right after you.
Ready? One… two… three. Go! ”
She turned the corner instantly, exposing her body to the roofs on the other side of the river.
Kealey was aware of distant flashes as he blindly squeezed off 2 rounds of his own, then instantly adjusted his aim, shooting toward Vanderveen’s muzzle signature. He heard the supersonic crack as a round passed by his ear, no more than a few inches away, but Naomi was already over the edge. He fired twice more as he dived after her, falling into the darkness, something plucking at the sleeve of his shirt. Then he hit the water, and everything went black.
On top of the opposite building, Vanderveen threw off the poncho as he got to his feet, running to the edge of the roof. He looked down at the river. The view was almost completely obscured by a curtain of rain, but he lifted the rifle anyway, having already loaded a second 5-round magazine. Peering through the scope, he thought he caught sight of a dark shape in the water. He fired quickly, emptying the magazine in a matter of seconds. He was beside himself with rage; the dealer in Dresden had obviously lied about the weapon being sighted in. He was almost certain he’d missed Kealey on top of the roof. The other man’s covering rounds had passed several feet over his head, which was shockingly close for a handgun, given the range. The covering fire had thrown off his aim at the crucial moment, giving Kealey the chance to dive after the woman. He suddenly realized that Raseen had been right all along: they should have simply waited and taken them on the street. With the advantage of surprise, the ambush would have worked perfectly.
There was nothing to be done about it now, though, and he could see emergency service vehicles racing over the bridge to his left. He dismantled the rifle, removed the scope, and placed everything back in the case. Then he retrieved the poncho and the mat, stuffing them into the pack. Ninety seconds later he was back on the street, jogging through the rain to the idling Mercedes. He opened the back and tossed in the pack. Moving around to the passenger-side door, he got in and propped the case between his legs.
Raseen dropped the car into gear. “Did you get them? Did it work?”
“I don’t think so. I might have clipped the woman, but I can’t be sure.” He swore viciously and slammed his hand into the dashboard, causing Raseen to jump in her seat. “That fucker in Dresden….”
“What are you talking about?”
“Your supplier lied to us, Yasmin. That rifle was never sighted in. I had Kealey on the roof at one hundred meters, and I missed. I fucking missed.”
“It must have been the rain,” she protested. “You can barely see your hand in front of your face.
I’ve worked with that man before, Will. I don’t think he would—”
“It was the rifle,” Vanderveen insisted. “But it doesn’t matter. I’ll come back and settle up when I get the chance.” He leaned back and took in a deep breath, trying to calm himself. “We need to get out of here. Stop near the Oberbaumbrücke. I’ll toss the case in the river, and then it’s the airport.”
She looked at him. “Canada?”
He nodded and glanced at the dashboard clock. “Our plane leaves in two hours. We’re due in the morning. With any luck, we’ll be in the States by tomorrow evening. Driving time from Montreal to New York City is about seven hours, but it’ll take nearly twice as long since we’re using Nazeri’s normal route.” During the drive from Potsdam to Berlin, he had told her about Amir Nazeri and his part in the upcoming attack. “I don’t want to deviate from the norm.”
“And then?”
“And then we finish it. We may have left them alive, but we left them with nothing.” He smiled at her. “They can’t do a thing to stop us.”
Kealey hit the water hard, his stomach imploding, the air rushing out of his lungs. He went down fast, then started to kick for the surface. Just as it seemed he was about to lose consciousness, he broke the surface and took a huge breath. The rain was bouncing off the surface, finding its way into his mouth and nose. He fought to keep his head above the water, looking around blindly.
He was tempted to call her name, but something deep inside, some lingering thread of rational thought, told him it would be a waste of time. Then he spotted her. She was trying to swim with the current, but even through the rain he could see she was having a hard time of it, her right arm doing all of the work. He started toward her. When he reached her side, she grabbed for him instantly.
“I can’t do it,” she sputtered. “I tried, but…”
“Just hold on to me,” he said. “Don’t panic, and try to keep your head out of the water.”
She nodded weakly, and he started to swim, aiming for the houseboats beneath the Luisenbrücke.
Her wounded arm was wrapped loosely around his torso. She was definitely slowing him down, but he knew she was trying to do her part, because she wasn’t struggling, and he could hear her splashing the water with her free arm. Finally, they reached the wooden ladder of the pier.
Pulling her forward, he guided her arms to the ladder.
“One more time, Naomi.” He tried to sound reassuring. “Come on, it’s just a few rungs.”
She was obviously exhausted, but she reached up with her right arm and grabbed hold. Her left arm came up slowly, and she struggled to make it up the ladder. Kealey followed right behind her, supporting her body, helping her whenever he could. They reached the pier, and she rolled onto the wooden planks.
He helped her up and paused, looking around, trying to figure out his next move. He looked to his right. There were five houseboats tied up in a row. The first two had lights in the windows, and he could hear the low hum of portable generators. The next three were dark.
He looked over and saw she was shivering violently in the cold rain. A brief flash of lightning lit her pale face; her lips were tinged with blue. The temperature had plummeted since nightfall, and he knew it couldn’t be more than 40 degrees Fahrenheit, maybe closer to 30. She needed to get inside immediately.
He grabbed her good arm and pulled her down to the last houseboat. It was a large craft —nearly 60 feet in length — with a fiberglass arch over the flying bridge. Kealey climbed over the rail and helped her over. There was an aluminum table bolted to the deck, surrounded by chairs, potted plants by the rail. He went to the sliding glass door and tried to open it, but it was locked.
There was a mat under his feet. He lifted it but didn’t find a key. Looking around, his gaze was drawn back to the plants. Ignoring Naomi’s bewildered expression, he crossed the deck and kneeled by the clay containers. He started dumping the soil out of them, one after the other, running his fingers through the dirt. Finally, he saw something glinting silver. He grabbed the key and went back to the door.
“How did you know that was there?” Naomi managed to ask. She was leaning against the exterior wall, shaking impossibly hard, her arms wrapped tightly around her body.
He didn’t reply, unlocking the door and sliding it open. He stepped inside, and she followed him in.