“Okay,” Remi agreed, moving cautiously toward the sound of his voice.
Sam worked the bolt free and swung the door wide as Remi neared. Lazlo and Leonid were crouched inside. “Time for your flashlight,” Sam told Leonid, who switched it on.
Remi located the other gun, a Beretta 9mm semiautomatic, and scooped it up. She quickly checked the magazine, which was full, as Sam retrieved a fallen flashlight. She felt in the gunman’s shorts for a spare and noted without emotion that the dead man was the lead islander who’d captured them, the one who had brutalized Sam’s head with the same weapon she now held.
Now that there was light in the cell, they could see the extent of Leonid’s injuries. Sam didn’t react to the Russian’s appearance, but his stomach tightened when he saw the patchwork of scabs and cuts covering his face and arms. It was a minor miracle Leonid had managed to recover from his spill into the chasm, but he was clearly the worse for wear and every visible inch of skin sported a contusion or scrape.
Lazlo followed Sam and Leonid out of the cell and moved to where the third gunman’s weapon lay near his dead hand. Lazlo leaned over and picked it up, distaste written across his face, and held it out to Leonid. “I suspect you might be able to make more productive use of this than I,” he said. Leonid took the revolver without comment and quickly checked the cylinder.
“Only two rounds,” he said, then grunted and directed the beam at the cave entry. “Who wants to take the lead?”
“I will,” Sam said, but Remi shook her head.
“You’re hurt. I’ll do it. Leonid, give me your flashlight.”
Leonid nodded and handed her the light. Sam looked ready to challenge her, but she cut him off with a determined look. “No arguments, Fargo. I’ve got the most firepower with the automatic. Back me up.” She glanced at Lazlo. “Give him a hand, would you please?”
Remi shone the light around the chamber and froze when a moan drifted from another doorway—which was bolted shut. They moved to the heavy door and Sam pulled loose from Lazlo, a determined expression on his face. Remi stood by the side of the door, pistol at the ready, as Sam worked the bolt loose.
They exchanged a glance and Sam nodded. He swung the door wide as Remi aimed into the darkness, Sam shining his beam into the gloom. When no attack came, he took a cautious step toward the threshold, and then another moan came from inside the chamber.
It sounded like a girl.
“What on earth . . .” Remi whispered as she moved into the cavern. She scanned the interior with her light, holding the pistol in one hand and the flashlight in the other, and then gasped when her beam settled on one of a dozen beds along the wall. A figure lay prone there, one thin arm shackled to a chain dangling from the stone wall.
Sam played his beam along the surface, where manacles hung from rusting chains clasped to iron rings. In one corner, an iron box stood open and he shuddered when he saw what it was—a coffin-shaped contrivance just large enough to imprison a human. Next to it stood a metal cage backed against the wall, its surface grooved from hands scratching at the stone in a futile effort to get free. Rust-colored streaks ran down the wall and again Sam shuddered—it was dried blood, some of it probably decades old, but enough of it relatively fresh to send chills up his spine.
Remi moved to the bed, where a young female islander was laboring for breath. Empty IV bags littered the stone floor, along with discarded syringes and medicine vials. A cockroach scuttled near Remi’s foot and she grimaced.
“It’s . . . it’s like some kind of medieval torture chamber,” she murmured.
“I think we’ve found where the Japanese did their dirty work,” Sam agreed, leaning over to examine the girl. He touched her forehead and looked at Remi. “She’s burning up.”
“We have to take her with us, Sam.”
He took a deep breath and nudged the girl’s shoulder. “Can you hear me?”
She moaned again, a pitiful sound filled with pain and fear, and her eyes fluttered open. Her gaze was unfocused as it settled on Remi.
“Sweetheart . . . Do you understand me?” Remi asked quietly.
The girl managed a weak nod.
“We’re going to get you out of here. What’s your name?”
She struggled to form a word, and both Sam and Remi leaned closer in an effort to make it out.
“Lil . . . ly . . .”
Sam stepped away from the bed and Remi joined him. “She’s too sick to walk, Remi.”
“Then we’ll have to carry her.”
“We need to come back for her.”
“I’m not leaving her in this living hell, Sam. Look at the poor thing. She’s skin and bones.” Remi thought briefly. “I’ll ask Lazlo to help me, if you think you can make it on your own.”
Sam winced as he nodded. “I can try.” He glanced back at the shackle. “How do you plan to free her?”
“One of the guards must have keys. Stay with her while I go check.”
Remi returned several long moments later with a key ring. She tried two keys before finding one that worked. The manacle opened with a metallic click and Lilly’s arm fell across her thin body. Sam moved aside as Lazlo approached the bed and, together with Remi, lifted her frail form.
“Will you be able to manage her?” Sam asked.
“She’s light as a feather. Between us, we’ll do it,” Lazlo said, his voice confident.
Lazlo carried Lilly in his arms as Remi walked beside him, helping Sam. Leonid brought up the rear, weapon in hand. As they emerged from the chamber of horrors, Remi moved into the lead, but then stopped short at the passage that connected the chamber with the medical equipment to the entry cave, pausing to glance at the dead islander lying on the ground with a machete buried in his chest before continuing past—evidence of Leonid’s resilience even when injured.
When they reached the entry cave, a blur of motion flew at them from the shadows. Gunfire exploded as Remi and Sam fired at the attackers. Seconds later, four islanders lay dying, machetes and axes no match for quick reflexes and bullets. Remi stood, sweeping the space with her pistol, wary of another attempt—just because these islanders hadn’t had guns didn’t mean there weren’t more gunmen nearby, waiting for their chance.
Sam pointed to the entry, a gap in the stone, with five yards of passageway leading to the outside. Light streamed through the curtain of vegetation that covered it. Remi nodded and moved to the side of the opening, gun at the ready, while Sam crept to the opposite side of the entry and listened for any hint of ambush, his ears still ringing from the gunfire. Lazlo hung back with Lilly as Leonid eyed Sam and Remi, who gestured for him to move into the passage while they covered him.
At the opening, sensing nothing, Sam whispered to them. “There could be more out there, waiting for us to show ourselves. Anyone have any ideas about how to keep from being sitting ducks?”
Remi regarded the vegetation that hid the opening. “We wait them out.”
“We can’t wait here all day,” Leonid said.
“Why not?” Remi asked. “Let time work against them. Assuming there are any of them left.”
They settled in near the entrance, guns clenched in tired hands. Soon they heard the thump of footsteps on stone approaching—faint, but clear. Remi squeezed her body into a depression along one side of the entry, her pistol trained on the gap, as Sam and Leonid took cover behind rocks deeper in the passageway.
The vines rustled and Remi cocked the hammer back on the Beretta, willing her breathing to slow as her pulse pounded in her ears. She relaxed and lowered the gun when Greg’s head poked through the vines and smiled as she called out to him.
“You scared the—”
Sam’s gun bucked in his hand twice, deafening in the confined space. The gunman who had been holding his pistol in the small of Greg’s back fell backward, his skull obliterated as the first shot caught him in the forehead, and Greg dove to the side. Leonid’s pistol barked once and a round tore through the man’s torso and he dropped, dead before he hit the ground.