Iris Johansen: Deadlock

"They're going to see it soon," Borg said. "We should be ready."

"I'm ready." Staunton said. "I'm always ready." He put the binoculars down. "Stop worrying, Borg."

"We can't delay that escort any longer. They're going to be right on top of us within thirty minutes."

"Thirty minutes can be a long time. I've prepared everything. It will all go well."

"Sure." Borg clenched his hand on the stock of the rifle. Staunton had ice water running through his veins. The bastard was always cool and certain of everything. "Do you think she has it in that truck?"

"I hope she does." He smiled. "It will be so much easier for her if it's there."

"FOR PETE'S SAKE, WILL YOU turn off Bruce Springsteen?" Joel asked. "You played him all the way here. I need a break."

"You're never satisfied." She started searching her iPod. "I'd think you'd appreciate the difference between The Boss and Casablanca. 'Born in the U.S.A.' is definitely not sentimental."

"But he goes both ways. 'Dancing in the Dark' is a little too- what the shit!" He jammed on the brakes. "It's Al's truck!"

Emily's eyes widened in horror. "My God."

The truck was turned over and artifacts were strewn all over the gravel road and bordering ditches.

"I don't see Al or Don." Joel opened the door. "Where the hell are they?"

"No!" Emily grabbed his arm. "Don't get out of the truck. Get us out of here."

"No way. I have to find-"

"You know what we're supposed to do when we run into anything unusual. We'll come back as soon as we run into the escort. This could be a trap."

"And it could be a hit-and-run by those son-of-a-bitchin' bandits or Taliban. If our guys are hurt, they could bleed to death before we can get back to them." He grabbed his gun from the glove box and jumped to the ground. "Stay here. I'll check it out." He strode toward the overturned truck. "Call for help."

If he was going to do it, then she couldn't let him go in alone. She grabbed her Glock and got out of the truck. "Be careful, dammit. Don't go barging in and-" She stopped as she saw the blood.

A thin red stream was running toward them from behind the truck.

She forgot about being careful. She was around the truck before Joel got there.

"God in heaven," she whispered.

Al was crumpled near the ditch. His head had been almost torn from his body by a barrage of bullets. Don was half under the truck as if he'd tried to get away from the attack. He hadn't succeeded. Bullet holes peppered his entire torso.

"Butchers," Joel said huskily. "They didn't have a chance."

Emily tore her gaze from the bodies. Bodies. So impersonal a word. These had been her friends and companions. "We can't do any¬thing for them. We have to get out of here."

He didn't move. "Sons of bitches."

Emily grabbed him by the arm. "We have to leave. Now. They could still be-"

"And they are." She whirled to see a tall, loose-limbed man with sandy hair coming toward her, an AK-47 cradled casually in the crook of his arm. "Don't lift your guns. This weapon could cut you in two before either of you could press the trigger."

"You killed them?" She stared at him in bewildered horror. "Why? If you wanted anything in the truck, they would have let you have it. Those are our orders. We're not supposed to fight to protect those ar¬tifacts."

"But, love, I needed a distraction." He raised his thick sandy brows. "How else could I be sure to engage your attention?"

His voice was smooth, casual, and had a faint Australian accent. In comparison, his words were shockingly ugly and cold. "Now lay your guns down on the ground. Very carefully."

Emily hesitated. "Do it, Joel." She put her gun down.

Joel didn't move for an instant, then reluctantly laid his gun down, too.

"Very smart." The Australian lifted his fingers to his lips and gave a piercing whistle. "Time to check your cargo. Stand very still while we do it, and you may live for a while longer."

"Bastard," Joel said. "You killed them in cold blood."

"Of course. It's always best to keep a cool head when violence is involved." He glanced at the six men who had streamed down from the hill. "Borg, be quick about it. I want to know in the next five minutes." He turned back to Joel. "If you'd been a little cooler, we might have lost you. I saw the lady trying to make you stay in the truck. If you'd been less emotionally involved, you could have-"

"It wasn't his fault," Emily interrupted. "I would probably have done the same thing."

"You're defending him even in these circumstances? You must be very good friends. I can't tell you how happy that makes me."

Emily was watching his men carelessly tossing artifacts out of the back of the truck. She flinched as a three-foot-high vase broke. "Tell me what you're looking for. You don't have to destroy every¬thing."

"How devoted you are to doing your job. Preserve and protect."

"That's right." She had to figure a way to get out of this. The sit¬uation was too dangerous to make mistakes. "Let me protect the rest of these artifacts. Tell me what you want."

"I will if we don't find it." He called, "Borg?"

"It's not here, Staunton," A short, burly man with thinning brown hair jumped to the ground and motioned to the other men to leave the truck. "I thought maybe in the vase, but it wasn't there either."

"Look, there wasn't anything valuable in this museum," Emily said. "If anyone told you there was, they lied."

"I was told there was a very valuable item, and my source is very reliable." He shook his head. "Which means that you're lying."

"I have no reason to lie. I told you, our orders are to give up any artifacts if it means risking personnel. What are you looking for?"

He tilted his head and studied her expression. "Zelov's hammer."

"What?"

"Maybe you don't recognize it by its name. But I'm sure you'd recognize the treasure hidden in the handle. You're an expert in Rus¬sian artifacts. Was it too tempting for you to give up?"

"We don't know what the hell you're talking about," Joel said. "There weren't any tools on display at the museum. Certainly none with any hidden compartments."

"No tools at all?"

"There were used gardening tools in the cellar of the museum," Emily said. "Go check those out."

"I will," Staunton said. "You're being very cooperative. I'm im¬pressed."

"Then let Joel leave. You don't have to keep both of us as hostages." Joel began to curse. "No way."

"He doesn't like the idea," Staunton said. "Neither do I." He smiled. "But I do like the idea of getting out of here. We've run out of time." He turned away. "I'll call the helicopter. Bring them."

Borg was coming toward them. Emily tensed. Going anywhere with these murderers might be a death sentence. She had no choice but to make a move.

Her gun that she'd dropped at Staunton's order.

She fell to the ground, reaching for it.

"Oh no, bitch." Borg swung viciously, and the stock of his rifle struck her in the temple. Darkness.

"WAKE UP. I'M GETTING IMPATIENT."

Emily tried to open her eyes, but the pain was too great.

"Wake up!" She was lifted by her shoulders and slammed against the wall.

Her eyes flew open.

"That's better." Staunton was standing before her. "I thought you might be playing possum. I've actually been very lenient, but it's time we got down to business. My employer wants answers and isn't at all pleased with me."

Australian accent, deadly words.

Don andAl lying butchered by the side of the road.

The memory jarred her into full consciousness. Her gaze flew to Staunton's face. "You killed them."

"We've already gone into that. You're beginning to bore me. We've already moved on." He shook his head. "And I've already lost time because you were stupid enough to try and go for that gun. I do hate waiting."