Steve Berry - The Venetian Betrayal

They were outside, heading for the chopper, two of her remaining soldiers parading the prisoners at gunpoint. Viktor had taken the other two militia and retrieved Vincenti’s computers and two of the robots they’d not used inside the house.

She needed to return to Samarkand and personally supervise the covert military offensive that would soon begin. Her tasks here had ended with total success. She’d long hoped that if Alexander’s tomb were ever found it would lie within her jurisdiction, and thanks be to the gods that it did.

Viktor approached, carrying the computer mainframes.

“Load them onto the chopper,” she said.

She watched as he deposited them into the rear compartment along with the two robots, both marvels of Asian engineering, developed by her engineers. The programmable bombs worked with near perfection, delivering Greek fire with an expert precision, then detonating on command. Expensive, too, so she was careful with her inventory and glad these two could be salvaged for reuse elsewhere.

She handed Viktor the controller for the machines still inside. “Take care of the house as soon as I’m away.” The upper floors were all ablaze, only a matter of a few minutes before the whole house became an inferno. “And kill them all.”

He nodded his consent.

“But before I go, I have a debt to repay.”

She gave Viktor her gun, stepped toward Cassiopeia Vitt, and said, “You made me an offer up at the pools. About giving me a chance to be even with you.”

“I’d love it.”

She smiled. “I thought you might.”

“WHERE ARE THE OTHERS?” MALONE ASKED ELY, AS HE LOWERED the rifle.

“Zovastina has them.”

“What are you doing?”

“I slipped away.” Ely hesitated. “There’s something I have to do.”

He waited for an explanation, which had better be good.

“The cure for AIDS is in this house. I have to get it.”

Not bad. He understood the urgency of that quest. For both Ely and Cassiopeia. To his left, one of the spewing dragons passed by at the intersection of two corridors. He was pushing it, hanging around inside the house. But he needed to know, “Where did the others go?”

“I don’t know. They were in the dining hall. Zovastina and her men had them. I managed to get inside the wall before they could follow.”

“Where’s the cure?”

“In a lab below the house. There’s an entrance in the library, where we were first held.”

The excitement in his voice could not be disguised. Foolishness, surely. But what the hell? That seemed to be the story of his life.

“Lead the way.”

CASSIOPEIA CIRCLED ZOVASTINA. STEPHANIE, HENRIK, AND LYNDSEY stood, at gunpoint, to one side. The Supreme Minister apparently wanted a show, a display of prowess before her men. Fine. She’d give her a fight.

Zovastina struck first, wrapping her arms around Cassiopeia’s neck and hinging her spine forward. The woman was strong. More than she’d anticipated. Zovastina deftly dropped and tossed Cassiopeia over her, through the air.

She hit hard.

Brushing off the pain, she sprang to her feet and planted her right foot into Zovastina’s chest, which staggered the other woman. She used the moment to shake the pain from her limbs, then lunged.

Her shoulder connected with rock-hard thighs and together the two women found the ground.

MALONE ENTERED THE LIBRARY. THEY’D SEEN NO SOLDIERS ON their careful trek across the ground floor. Smoke and heat were rising. Ely darted straight for a corpse that lay on the floor.

“Zovastina shot him. Vincenti’s man,” Ely said, as he found a silver controller. “She used this to open the panel.”

Ely pointed and pushed one of the buttons.

A Chinese wall cabinet rotated one hundred eighty degrees.

“Place is like an amusement park,” Malone said, and he followed Ely into the darkened passage.

ZOVASTINA’S ANGER BOILED. SHE WAS ACCUSTOMED TO WINNING. In buzkashi. In politics. In life. She’d challenged Vitt because she wanted this woman to know who was better. She also wanted her men to see that their leader was not afraid of anyone. True, there were only a few present, but tales of a few had long been the foundations of legends.

This entire site was now hers. Vincenti’s house would be razed and a proper memorial erected in honor of the conqueror who chose this spot as his final resting place. He may have been Greek by birth, but he was Asian at heart, and that was what mattered.

She pivoted her legs and again threw Vitt off her, but maintained a savage grip on one arm, which she used to yank the woman upward.

Her knee met Vitt’s chin. A blow she knew would send shock waves through the brain. She’d felt that agony herself. She slammed a fist hard into Vitt’s face. How many times had she attacked another chopenoz on the playing field? How long had she held a weighty boz ? Her strong arms and hands were accustomed to pain.

Vitt teetered on her knees, dazed.

How dare this nothing think her an equal? Vitt was through. That much seemed clear. No fight left in her. So Zovastina gently nestled the butt of her heel against Vitt’s forehead and, with one thrust, rudely shoved her opponent to the ground.

Vitt did not move.

Zovastina, as much out of breath as anger, steadied herself, and swiped the dirt from her face. She turned, satisfied with the fight. No wit, humor, or sympathy seeped from her eyes. Viktor nodded his approval. Looks of admiration filled her soldiers’ faces.

It was good to be a fighter.

MALONE ENTERED THE SUBTERRANEAN LABORATORY. THEY WERE at least thirty feet underground, surrounded by bedrock with a burning house above them. The air reeked of Greek fire and he’d felt a familiar stickiness on the steps leading down.

Apparently, biological research was being conducted here, as several gloved containers and a refrigerator labeled with a bright biohazard warning filled the lab. He and Ely hesitated in the doorway, both of them reluctant to venture farther. His reluctance was fueled by packs of clear liquid that lay scattered on the tables. He’d seen those before. In the Greco-Roman museum that first night.

Two bodies lay on the floor. One an emaciated woman in a bathrobe, the other an enormous man in dark clothes. Both had been shot.

“According to Lyndsey,” Ely said, “Vincenti was holding the flash drive when Zovastina killed him.”

They needed to finish this. So he stepped carefully around the tables and stared down at the dead man. Three hundred pounds, at least. The body lay on one side, an arm outstretched, as if he’d tried to rise. Four bullet holes in the chest. One hand lay open, near a table leg, the other fist closed. He used the rifle barrel to pry open the fingers.

“That’s it,” Ely said with anticipation, as he knelt and removed the flash drive.

The younger man reminded Malone of Cai Thorvaldsen, though he’d only seen that face once, in Mexico City, when his life first intersected with Henrik Thorvaldsen’s. The two younger men would be about the same age. Easy to see why Thorvaldsen had been drawn to Ely.

“This place is primed to burn,” he said.