breath.
Mercer gently closed his eyes. “Enjoy your virgins, my friend. You’ve earned them.”
He stood and quickly made his way down the columned promenade, an arrow at the ready. At the entrance to the burial chamber he paused and scanned the space, unable to see anyone hiding amid the clutter of funerary artifacts. He took a cautious step into the room.
The bronze sword swung in a tight arc and sliced into the tough wooden bow, which saved Mercer’s life. Poli had been hiding just inside the entrance ready to ambush him.
The blow sent Mercer staggering back, and the sword lodged in the bow was ripped from Poli’s hand. Stunned by the attack, Mercer tried to dislodge the blade but it was stuck fast. Poli reared from around the corner, his single eye glinting in the firelight. Mercer backpedaled to give himself room. When he drew the bow the weakened wood broke where it had been sliced and the weapon just sagged in his hands.
Poli was only a couple feet away, his massive arms outstretched as he towered over Mercer. Mercer threw the bow at him. Poli caught it, contemptuously tossed it aside, and came on like a machine.
“You are a dead man.”
“Funny,” Mercer said. “I was about to tell you the same thing.”
Poli lunged at him. Mercer dashed to his left to avoid the attack and almost got free, but one of Poli’s big hands clamped down on his wrist. He turned on the inside and punched the Bulgarian under the arm. It was like hitting a truck tire.
Poli bent his wrist back, forcing Mercer to his knees. The mercenary fired a fist into Mercer’s face using all his weight. Mercer felt his nose break and the blood jet from his nostrils before he lost consciousness for a second. Poli yanked on his arm to rouse him and punched him again, even harder.
Mercer felt like he was being worked over with a sledgehammer. Poli heaved him to his feet and shoved him back against a wall. He tried to knee Mercer in the groin but Mercer shifted just enough to take the blow on the thigh. The leg went numb to his toes.
“I have never particularly enjoyed killing people,” Poli said. He wasn’t even breathing hard. “It is something I happened to learn I was good at doing.”
“So maybe now’s a good time to quit,” Mercer said and spat a glob of blood on the ground.
“But I am going to enjoy killing you. It will be hours before they dig us out so I am going to take my time.” He casually cuffed Mercer on the side of the head.
When he let go, Mercer couldn’t stay on his feet and he collapsed. Poli grabbed him by the hair and started dragging him back into the burial chamber. Mercer grabbed Poli’s wrist to lessen the pain as his scalp was nearly ripped off.
Poli dragged him upright again and, using one hand to hold him and one hand to punch him, fired a rapid series of shots into Mercer’s already bloody face. There was nothing Mercer could do but take the beating. He’d fought, and even defeated, men who were bigger than himself, but nobody with Poli’s size or immeasurable strength. He felt as powerless as a child at the hands of an abuser.
When Poli stopped, Mercer collapsed again. The big assassin went to a pile of swords leaning against a stack of sandalwood boxes. He came back, testing the edge, and showed Mercer the bloody line it left on his thumb.
“How do you think you’ll look without skin?”
Mercer could just lie there and stare up at him. Poli set the weapon down and forced him onto his feet again, saying, “I thought you were tough. The least you could do is make this interesting.” Holding one of Mercer’s arms Poli spun in place like a discus thrower and tossed him across the room. Mercer smashed into one of the chariots, almost flipping over its side. He couldn’t straighten himself by the time Poli grabbed him and threw him again. This time he crashed into the long wooden skiff Alexander was to use on the rivers of the underworld.
Poli reached for him again and just as his hands clamped on the back of Mercer’s neck, Mercer turned and rammed the butt end of a skinny oar into the giant’s eye.
Poli Feines roared in pain as blood and clear ocular fluid sprayed from the wound. Mercer took a painful step forward and rammed the oar deeper into the eye socket. Poli’s screams turned shrill.
Mercer reached out and yanked the oar from Poli’s eye and the merciless killer fell to the ground, clutching at his ruined face. “You’ve blinded me.”
Mercer grabbed a nearby lance to help keep him on his feet. “Not exactly an eye for an eye, you sadistic son of a bitch, but I think you get the point.”
Dawn was just brushing the eastern horizon when Cali Stowe brought the big Riva close to shore, where Booker Sykes and Devrin Egemen were waving her in. Behind them the camp was still, littered with the corpses of fifty terrorists. The Janissaries had won but at what cost? She scanned the beach for Mercer but there was no sign of him.
“He’s not dead,” she whispered as tears formed in her eyes. “He’s only a little wounded. He’s okay.”
As soon as she was in earshot she shouted, “Where’s Mercer? He’s not dead. He can’t be.”
Booker and Devrin looked at her stonily. She dropped the anchor and raced for the stern dive platform. She didn’t even kick off her shoes before jumping into the cool lake and stroking for the shore.
She scrambled to her feet as soon as it was shallow enough and charged out of the water, practically colliding with Booker. “Where’s Mercer?” she screamed.
There was blood on Booker’s uniform and his eyes were glassy with exhaustion. He could barely stay on his feet. Devrin was in even worse shape. His pants leg was sodden where he’d taken a bullet.
“He was underground when Professor Ahmad blew up the entrance to the tomb,” the young Turk said.
Cali fell to the ground and started to sob. “Was there anybody else down there?” When no one answered her Cali knew the worst. “How many?”
“Four, including Poli Feines,” Booker said.
“He might already be dead.” Her sobs turned into choking gasps as the enormity hit her. Mercer was dead. “Oh God, oh God.”
Booker hunkered down next to her. “We don’t know that for sure. He’s one tough piece of work. We’ll dig him out. We just need to get people here with heavy equipment.”
“That will take days. What if he’s injured? He could be bleeding to death right now.”
“Honey, there’s nothing we can do,” Booker soothed. “The quicker we get going the quicker we can come back. We’ll call Admiral Lasko and he’ll get the ball rolling. We have to go. Devrin needs to show that leg to a sawbones.”
“But…” Her voice trailed off.
“Cali, I know you think you should stay but sitting here watching a pile of dirt isn’t going to help him. We can be back here first thing tomorrow with a chopper and enough people to get him out.”
“I just can’t. I mean he’s…”
“I can’t believe it either but this is the only thing we can do. Come on.”
Cali let Booker draw her to her feet. They used the terrorists’ speedboat to motor out to the Riva. Booker and Cali had to carry the injured Janissary onto the luxury yacht. The scholar was going into shock from exhaustion and loss of blood. They set him in Cali’s cabin and they tucked blankets around his shivering body after Booker had redressed his wound. Booker asked Cali to stay with Devrin until he fell asleep, and then climbed up to the cockpit. Cali stroked Devrin’s feverish forehead, carefully brushing back his hair, her emotions in such turmoil that she could focus on nothing but the simple gesture.
The big engines rumbled to life and the Riva started to pull away from shore. Cali left Devrin and made her way to the stern window. The camp was quickly receding behind them as Booker brought the boat onto plane, a fat white wake forming a V that spread across the whole width of this narrow part of the bay.
She was about to turn away when she spotted something else marring the flat surface of the water. She almost dismissed it as a rogue wave but something piqued her curiosity, a vague sense of something she knew was caused by grief. Still, she ran out into the open dive platform. Unable to make out what had caught her interest she launched herself up the stairs to the top deck for a better vantage.
“Book,” she screamed, and when he didn’t hear her over the rumbling diesels, she ran up and smacked him on the shoulder. “Go back. Go back. There’s someone in the water.”
“What?”
“There’s someone in the water. Turn around.”
