The Pretender's Gambit. Alex Archer

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      “Do you know who killed Benyovszky?”

      “No.”

      McGilley looked around, noticing then that nearby patrons were starting to pay attention. He returned his attention to Rao. “Perhaps we can talk about this somewhere else.” He slid out of the booth and stood, and the woman closed her computer, tucked it away in a messenger bag and slid out of the booth, as well.

      “I can save us some time,” Rao offered, thinking that maybe the direct approach—though the most honest—was not working in this instance. “I only need the elephant.”

      “We can talk about that outside.” McGilley waved toward the door and indicated Rao should precede him.

      Thinking that maybe he was wasting his time, that the elephant had already been lost, probably taken by the man or men who killed Maurice Benyovszky, Rao felt disappointed and turned his thoughts to getting out of police custody, for he felt certain that was where he was headed. He turned and started for the door, then he spotted one of the Portuguese men he’d encountered weeks before.

      The man stood at the counter next to the side door and nursed a coffee or a hot tea. No one else was around him.

      Rao did not know the man’s name, but there was no mistaking that cruel look or those dead eyes.

      * * *

      UNTIL THE MONK started to walk out with the police detective and Annja Creed, Calapez thought he had the situation in hand. The fact that the monk was there let Calapez know that the Asian didn’t have the elephant. Evidently the piece was still in play.

      However, when recognition flared in the monk’s eyes, Calapez felt threatened and reacted instantly because he preferred the element of surprise to be one of his weapons rather than someone else’s. He pushed away from the counter and swept his coat back, reaching for his pistol.

      The detective, focusing on the Asian, was slow getting to his own weapon. Calapez had the 9mm out and started firing, aiming for the detective because he knew the American would have a weapon and the monk and the woman probably didn’t.

      Calapez squeezed the rounds off as quickly as he could, putting all three of them into the center of the detective’s chest. The American went back and down, the pistol tumbling from his fingers. The woman dropped down beside him, concern tightening her features.

      The monk came toward Calapez so quick that Calapez couldn’t bring his pistol around fast enough to center his weapon on the man. It didn’t matter, though, because one of the men Calapez had stationed outside stepped through the door and raised a machine pistol, spraying bullets indiscriminately.

      * * *

      SEEING THE MACHINE pistol in the other man’s hands as he entered the diner and knowing that continuing to stay inside the building would only be endangering the rest of the patrons, Rao abandoned his forward momentum and threw himself over the counter. As he landed on fingers and toes, he swept out his left leg, caught the legs of the man tending the grill, and knocked him down as well, so the machine pistol’s bullets cut the air where he’d been, instead of tearing through flesh.

      The man sprawled in shock and decided to lie there, still clutching the spatula he’d been using. He mumbled, curses or prayers, Rao couldn’t tell over the yammering machine pistol. Bullets hammered the stainless-steel grill vent and cored through the tile wall, spilling ceramic fragments over the floor.

      Rao ran, staying low behind the counter, knowing that his opponents would seek to find him because they had recognized him as a familiar threat even if they didn’t know what he truly represented.

      Hoping that his departure would draw his enemies away from the diner, Rao slid around the end of the counter and angled for the door. Bullets chased him, cutting through the air just inches behind him. Thankfully the patrons were down on the floor and out of the way.

      He hit the door with both palms, spreading the impact so that the glass door shattered. He ran through the falling fragments and out into the street, thinking that the Portuguese man would have set up his cronies at that door, as well. He just managed to stay ahead of a swath of bullets from the two gunmen standing outside the wrecked door.

      Traffic had been held up by a red light at the intersection. At the sound of the shots, the drivers panicked and began trying to pull around each other. Failing that, many of them got out and ran or stayed in their vehicles.

      Rao ran, his head low, and knew that the gunmen pursued him.

      * * *

      ANNJA FELT THE shock of adrenaline hitting her system, but concentrated on examining Bart. He’d been hit by the man’s bullets. That was all she knew.

      She reached for him, gazing at his chest and expecting it to be a bloody ruin. It wasn’t. Three bullet holes showed in his shirt, one of them piercing his coat as well, but there was no blood.

      Vest, Annja thought frantically. He’s wearing a protective vest.

      Then she was aware of the swarthy man beside her. He grabbed her roughly by one elbow and shoved the hot barrel of the pistol against her neck. The barrel was so hot that her flesh seared. She almost fought back, but she knew that would only fail. All the man had to do was squeeze the trigger and the fight would end before it started.

      “Move,” the man ordered in a harsh voice.

      Annja stood, looking down at Bart. His eyelids flickered, but he was almost unconscious, barely aware of what was going on around him. Even with the vest, his ribs could have been cracked. One of them might have punctured a lung.

      The man yanked her again, guiding her toward the back door. Annja knew she had a chance to escape then. The man wasn’t paying strict attention to her. He didn’t know what she was capable of.

      But there were too many people around. The innocents would get hurt. She didn’t want that. She held herself ready and waited.

      Through the door, outside in the cold air of morning, horns blaring at the traffic jam that had taken shape in the intersection, Annja strode down the sidewalk as the man guided her. They were walking away from the building where Maurice Benyovszky had been killed, walking past the other door to the diner now.

      Police would arrive quickly. She knew that. She concentrated on her breathing, keeping it smooth and regular, and she paid attention. There had been two men inside the diner, the guy who held her captive and the man who followed them that had wielded the machine pistol.

      The Asian man had vanished, but the two armed men sprinting through the stalled traffic gave Annja a good idea which way Nguyen Rao had gone.

      If that’s even his name. Anger flared up in Annja then. She wasn’t sure who to blame for Bart getting shot. From the way the guy who was holding on to her had acted, he’d chosen to shoot Bart as soon as Bart had tried to leave with the Asian man.

      They definitely weren’t working together. The Asian man had been asking about the elephant piece, but that didn’t mean the guy holding on to her was interested in that.

      “Annja Creed,” the man said in that hard voice as he looked around.

      She didn’t respond.

      Angrily, the man shook СКАЧАТЬ