Russell Blake: Jet

One of the guards above her leaned over the railing with an alarmed look on his face and, seeing a woman, looked past her to the lower deck. His partner joined him, and she screamed ‘fire’ again, but the second man was quicker on his feet and sensed a threat, woman or not. He was pulling at his shoulder holster when she squeezed off a shot at him, hitting him in the center of the chest, and then fired at his partner, who took two rounds in the throat.

Screams of horror emanated from below as the crowd went berserk after hearing the sounds of the shots, scrambling and clawing to get away from the new threat of gunfire even as the security men around them drew their weapons, adding to the mayhem.

She swung onto the metal ladder that led from the entertainment deck to the command center and was three quarters of the way up when she heard the percussive blast of the FN P90, still loud even with the silencer. Shots answered it, and the little gun chattered back.

Jet rolled onto the command level, using a fallen guard as cover — one of the windows near her went opaque as bullets pounded into it. She crawled towards the access door, and when a guard’s head moved into view, she blew the top of it off.

The clamoring of the alarm was even louder on this deck, and her ears rang from tinnitus caused by the guns’ detonations. She heard more shooting inside, and then her earbud crackled. David’s strained voice echoed in her ear.

“I’m hit.”

No.

“Where are you? How bad?”

He wheezed and then answered, “By the surveillance room. I took one in the chest. Not good.”

“I’m coming. Where’s Grigenko?”

“Near the bridge. He’s still got two bodyguards with him. The rest are dead.”

“I’ll be with you in a second. Hold on.”

She moved into the dark, the layout of the bridge level burned into her brain from studying the blueprint.

Another shot rang out, and she heard a grunt of pain in her earbud. They were killing him.

She ran in a crouch to where she thought David would be, and then a pistol butt slammed into the back of her head, and she collapsed, even as she tried to spin to fire at her assailant. Her gun clattered uselessly by her feet as her legs lost the ability to support her, and then she blacked out, the dim glow of the emergency lighting on the controls from the far bridge spinning giddily as the night rushed in and everything went silent.

Jet smelled smoke, and when she cracked her eyes open, she saw that she had been dragged near David, whose breath was burbling in his throat, blood seeping through one of the chest wounds with each labored breath.

“Sir, you need to get out of here now. The police are at the dock and are demanding to be allowed onboard, and the firefighters are right behind them. The boat cannot be saved — this level will be engulfed in a matter of minutes. You have to leave.” Vaslav, the head of the security detachment, was holding Grigenko back, keeping him from approaching.

“I want to be the one to shoot her,” Grigenko insisted, and then a sharp crack and a muffled explosion shook the ship from directly beneath them.

“Any more shooting now that the police are right by the ship is going to have them stopping everyone from leaving, and that will be extremely complicated for you, sir. There are a lot of explanations that will need to be made as it is, but if we’re lucky, the fire will destroy most of the evidence of the gunfight.”

“Give me a knife, then. I’ll cut her head off and dance on the flying bridge with it,” Grigenko snarled.

“I’ll finish her. You need to leave now. Can you fly the helicopter yourself? The pilot is on shore for the evening.”

“If I go slowly, I can manage it. I had a few lessons. It will be tough at night, but I can handle it.”

“Stay low, and you’ll evade the radar. Put down near the airport in Nice, and you can be airborne, on the way back to Moscow, before anyone is the wiser. By the time they get around to questioning all the guests, you’ll be in Russia, having narrowly escaped an assassination attempt. We can figure out the rest from a safe distance — the authorities will lose interest quickly once they realize that the only casualties were members of your security detachment.” He gestured at Jet and David. “These two don’t exist, and their bodies will never be found. We’re only eight miles away from the airport, so you should have no problem making it. Just keep your running lights off and stay close to the water,” Vaslav cautioned.

Grigenko grunted assent. Vaslav was right. They walked towards where Jet was lying on the floor next to David, and the Russian abruptly stepped closer and kicked her in the ribs, the toe of his loafer connecting with bone with an audible snap.

“That’s for my brother, you bitch. Rot in hell,” he spat, a stream of sour spittle landing on her still face.

“She’s out cold. Come on. Don’t waste your time. She’ll be dead within two minutes, I promise. I’ll strangle her myself,” Vaslav assured him.

“Fine. Oleg. Come on. You’re going with me. Let’s go,” Grigenko ordered, and the second security man joined them from the com room.

“But the computer and the-”

“It doesn’t matter. It’s over. Move,” Vaslav said.

Grigenko took one final look at Jet and then fixed Vaslav with a glare.

“Rape her. I want you to violate her in every ugly way you can think of. Tear her apart. Film it for me. Use your phone. Do not disappoint me in this, Vaslav.”

Vaslav nodded. There might just be time, and the idea had already occurred to him when he’d caught a good look at her.

Trailed by Oleg, Grigenko mounted the stairs to the next level, where the small helicopter he kept for shore excursions was located. When they reached modest flight deck, Oleg unfastened the straps that held the conveyance in place, coughing from the toxic cloud that rose from the entertainment deck. Grigenko climbed into the cockpit and flipped several switches, and then a starter whirred. The engine caught, and the rotor began turning lazily overhead.

Oleg gave him a thumbs-up signal, swung the co-pilot door open, and slid into the seat next to Grigenko.

After a few false starts, the rotor picked up speed and the small craft hesitatingly lifted clear, ascending shakily into the night as Grigenko struggled to keep the little chopper under control.

Jet felt herself being dragged away from David, then a powerful hand yanked the zipper on the front of her jumpsuit down with violent force. Vaslav strained at her clothes, his breath catching in his throat when he saw the bronze of her nakedness under the leather. He pulled her arms out of the sleeves and then began stripping the pant legs off, tearing the outfit down to expose her.

He stood, fumbling with his belt, and then dropped his trousers as he looked to the railing, where smoke was pouring from the deck below. He would have to rappel down using one of the cables from the helicopter deck once he was done with her. There was no way to make it down the stairs now.

And no way for anyone to get up.

David gurgled helplessly beside them, unable to help her, his life ebbing from him even as the nightmare he was witnessing grew worse with each passing second.

Vaslav knelt between Jet’s legs, and then his hands flew to his throat. Blood sprayed from a gash running from below his left ear to his esophagus. He tried to staunch the stream with shaking hands, and then his eyes rolled into his head, and he slumped onto the deck next to her, twitching as life departed him in a rusty puddle. Jet pulled herself to a sitting position, the plastic card from the casino still clenched in her right hand. She’d retrieved it from her jumpsuit’s only pocket, the stiff edge as effective as a razor in her skilled hands. She wiped the blood from it using Vaslav’s hair and then pulled her jumpsuit back up, zipping the front before moving to where David was laboring to breathe.