The Venetian Betrayal

“We’re insurance,” Thorvaldsen said.

“Bait. Probably for Cotton and Cassiopeia. But this guy,” she pointed at Lyndsey, “him, she wants. His babbling made sense. She doesn’t have time to be sure an antiagent works, or that he’s being truthful. Though she may not admit it, she needs him. She’ll be back for him before this place burns. You can count on it.”

ZOVASTINA LEAPED INTO THE POOL. MALONE HAD BESTED VIKTOR and Cassiopeia Vitt had managed to elude her.

If she swam fast she could catch Vitt in the tunnel.

MALONE PLANTED HIS PALMS AND PUSHED HIMSELF UP FROM THE pool. He felt a rush beneath him and saw Cassiopeia surface. She deftly sprang from the warm water and, dripping wet, grabbed one of the guns that lay a few feet away.

“Let’s go,” he said, retrieving his shoes and shirt.

Cassiopeia backed toward the exit, gun leveled at the pool.

A shadow clouded the water.

Zovastina’s head found air.

Cassiopeia fired.

THE FIRST EXPLOSION STARTLED ZOVASTINA MORE THAN FRIGHTENED her. Water cleared from her eyes and she saw Vitt aiming one of the guns straight at her.

Another bang. Unbearably loud.

She plunged beneath the surface.

CASSIOPEIA FIRED TWO TIMES AT THE ILLUMINATED POOL. THE gun seemed to jam so she worked the slide, ejecting a cartridge, loading a new round. Then she noticed something and faced Malone.

“Feel better?” he asked.

“Blanks?” she asked.

“Of course. Rounds stuffed with wadding, I imagine, so there’d be enough kick to at least partially work the slide. But not enough, obviously. You don’t think Viktor would have given us bullets?”

“I never thought about it.”

“That’s the problem. You’re not thinking. Can we go now?”

She tossed the gun away. “You’re such a joy to work with.”

And they both fled the chamber.

VIKTOR RUBBED THE BACK OF HIS HEAD AND WAITED. ANOTHER few seconds and he’d roll into the pool, but Zovastina returned, breathing hard as she emerged from the water, and rested her arms on the rocky edge.

“I forgot about the guns. They have us trapped. The only way out is guarded.”

Viktor’s head hurt from the pounding and he fought an irritating dizziness. “Minister, the guns are loaded with blanks. I changed all the magazines before we escaped from the palace. I didn’t think it wise to give them loaded guns.”

“Nobody noticed?”

“Who checks rounds? They simply assumed the guns aboard a military chopper were loaded.”

“Good thinking, but you could have mentioned that to me.”

“Everything happened so fast. There wasn’t time and, unfortunately, Malone gave my skull a good pop on these rocks.”

“What about Malone’s gun from the palace? That was loaded. Where is it?”

“In the chopper. He changed it out for one of ours.”

He watched as her mind rolled through the possibilities.

“We need Lyndsey from the house. He’s all that’s left here now.”

“What about Malone and Vitt?”

“I have men waiting. And their guns are loaded.”

EIGHTY-NINE

STEPHANIE STARED OUT THROUGH THE OPEN PANEL INTO ONE OF the mansion’s bedchambers. The room was elaborately furnished in an Italian style and quiet save for a mechanical whir from outside an open door, which led to the second-floor hall.

They stepped from the back passage.

One of the Greek fire machines whizzed passed in the hall, spewing mist. A pall hung heavy in the room, evidence that the robots had already visited.

“They’re quickly basting this house,” Thorvaldsen said as he moved to the hall door.

She was just about to caution him to stop when the Dane stepped out and a new voice-male, foreign- shouted.

Thorvaldsen froze, then slowly raised his arms.

Ely crept close to her ear. “One of the troops. He told Henrik to halt and raise his hands.”

Thorvaldsen kept his head toward the guard, who apparently was positioned to their right, without a way to see inside the room. She’d wondered about the troops, hoping that they’d been evacuated when the machines started their patrol.

More loud words.

“What now?” she whispered.

“He wants to know if he’s alone.”

MALONE AND CASSIOPEIA CLAMBERED DOWN THE INCLINE IN their wet clothes. Malone buttoned his shirt as they descended.

“You could have mentioned that the guns were duds,” Cassiopeia said to him.

“And when would I have done that?” He hopped over rocks and hastened down the steep slope.

Breaths came fast. He certainly wasn’t thirty years old anymore, but his forty-eight-year-old bones weren’t totally out of shape. “I didn’t want Viktor to even sense we knew anything.”

“We didn’t. Why’d you give up your gun?”

“Had to play his game.”

“You’re an odd bird,” she said to him, as they found level ground.

“I’ll take that as a compliment, coming from someone who traipsed around Venice with a bow and arrow.”

The house lay a football field away. He still saw no one roaming the exterior and no movement inside, past the windows.