Enemy in the Dark (3 page)

Blackhawk turned back toward her. “Stay close to Ace. If the shits hits it, he's vulnerable.” At this point, the mission was of less concern than his crew. For all his skills and enhancements, Blackhawk knew his people were his greatest weakness. Not that they'd let him down, but that he'd let
them
down. He could face his own death, but the thought of his crew being killed tore at
him inside. Other than Augustin Lucerne—and Astra!—they were all he cared about in the universe.

“Don't worry, Ark. I'll make sure he gets out.” She turned her head, looking down the street. “But where are Sarge and his boys? You aren't thinking about going up there alone, are you?”

He nodded. “How are half a dozen of us going to sneak up to the top floor of that hotel without being noticed?” He could see the concern taking over her expression. “It'll be okay, Shira. I'll handle it. And Sarge and his boys will be here by the time we're on the way out, in case we need backup.

“Besides—Kat will be there to cover my six.”

Shira didn't look convinced, but Blackhawk knew she wouldn't argue with him, not in the middle of an operation.

“Good luck, Ark.” Her voice was soft.

“To you too,” he responded with a quick smile. “Take care of yourself.” And with that, he was gone, slipping through the front door and looking like a wealthy Castillan in his exquisite, if poorly tailored, suit.

Katarina felt Aragona's hands sliding down her back, pulling down the zipper on her dress. He had a gentle touch, something she'd found to be quite rare among the butchers and powermad politicians who'd found their way into her crosshairs over the years. It made no difference. Skilled lover or brutish lout, Arragonzo Aragona was just a mission to her.

She leaned back and moaned softly, feeding Aragona's ego. She reached back behind her, rubbing a hand on his face as her dress slid down her body to the floor.

She felt another tingle from the ring on her finger. A signal from Blackhawk. He was ready. It was time.

She arched backward and reached up to Aragona's head,
running her fingers through his hair. She let her hands drop slowly toward his neck then she spun around behind him in one swift motion, pulling upward and jamming her left hand into the side of his neck.

His body tensed for an instant, and she could feel him pulling away, but then he went limp and slid to the floor. The nerve pinch was an ancient Sebastiani technique, one she'd learned as a child acolyte. Most of Katarina's moves tended to be fatal. She was a trained assassin, not a kidnapper. But her arsenal included a few nonlethal maneuvers, and this one was more than enough to deal with the likes of Arragonzo Aragona.

She slid off to the side, pressing her ring hard against her finger, sending the expected response to Blackhawk. She reached down and scooped up her dress, just as the
Claw'
s captain slipped through the door. His shirt was covered with blood. Her stomach tightened for an instant, before she realized none of it was his. “Guards,” he said grimly, as if reading her thoughts. “How long will he be out?”

She could see he was trying not to stare, with mixed success. She paid it no mind. She was used to men's reactions to her wearing a few wispy pieces of silk and nothing else.

That's one of the main reasons I'm in this suite in the first place.

“An hour, perhaps. Possibly a bit less.” The nerve pinch worked differently depending on the subject's body chemistry and recovery time, but she was sure he'd be unconscious for at least forty-five minutes, and probably longer. Which was enough to get out—or get killed trying.

She slipped gracefully back into her dress. “So, shall we get out of here, Arkarin?” She was the only one who used Blackhawk's full name. “I have had quite my fill of Castilla, and I suspect you have too.”

“I have indeed,” he replied, reaching down and hoisting Aragona over his shoulder. “I have indeed.”

Sam crept down the concrete hallway, stopping every ten meters or so to listen. She was looking for the Palais's power core, and she was tracking it like a hunter stalks his prey. Finally, she caught a hum in the air, and she knew it was the reactor.

The subbasements of the massive hotel complex were labyrinthine, and the corridors stretched on seemingly forever, taking her past storage areas and conduits bringing fresh water in and taking waste out. Finally, she could see she was moving into the main engineering area.

She'd never get to the reactor itself—she knew it would be too heavily guarded. But if she could find the main conduit, she might be able to shut down the entire complex, at least for a while.

She crept forward, her eyes focusing on the pipes and other mechanicals running along the ceiling. She was moving as much on instinct as anything else. The hum was getting louder, and she was sure she was close to what she wanted.

Suddenly, Sam heard footsteps come around the corner behind her. “Halt. Who are you?” The voice was gruff, suspicious.

She turned slowly, grabbing the tiny gun she always carried in her waistband as she did. They teased her about the miniature weapon, told her it looked like a toy. But it was compact and easy to hide. And it was made entirely of hardened polymer, so it slipped past metal detectors and most other security devices. It only held four projectiles, but that was all she'd ever needed.

“I was on my way to engineering. They called with . . .” She fired as soon as she came around, and the guard fell onto his back, a small round hole in the center of his forehead.

Better get moving in case somebody heard that.
She jogged down the hallway, turning at each opportunity in the direction of the reactor's hum. She was close, and she started to see heavy electrical conduits along the walls and on the ceiling. They were major trunk lines leading to various subsystems. The main nest of cables had to be close, then.

She pushed onward, tracing the wires backward toward their origin. Finally, she turned a corner. Two technicians were standing in the middle of the hallway, staring right at the main power conduit. When they saw her, they seemed frozen in surprise. Then, as one, they turned to sound the alarm, but she dropped them with one shot each.

Now, I just need to knock this thing out and get the hell out of here.

Blackhawk raced down the stairs, carrying Aragona wrapped in a sheet and draped over his shoulder. He'd considered trying to take out the surveillance cameras in the hallway, but he knew that was a waste of time. He doubted he could find them all anyway, at least in the amount of time he had available. Besides, knocking out a camera was like flashing a warning sign to anyone watching. All they could do was get the hell out before anyone could respond. With luck, they might shake any pursuit once they were outside. Then he could call Lucas and have the
Claw
meet them somewhere near the city.

He touched his ring again, sending a signal to Ace. It was time for him to make an excuse and get the hell out of the casino. Blackhawk didn't have an overwhelming amount of respect for Aragona's people, but they weren't stupid, either.
When they realized their leader had been kidnapped, they would follow the trail right back to Ace.

“You had to get him to take you to the top floor?” Blackhawk glanced back briefly toward Katarina. “Next time, maybe hold back a little.” They were two of the fittest human beings in the Far Stars, but eighty floors was a long way, even going down.

Especially carrying eighty kilos of unconscious Castillan gangster.

“I will keep that in mind, Arkarin. Perhaps next time our target will be a woman, and you can use your own not inconsiderable char—”

Their heads whipped around as one. Someone had opened a door above them. They could hear the sound of boots, first walking, but then running down the stairs. There was shouting too, and more feet.

“I think we're busted.” Blackhawk quickened his pace, whipping around each flight of stairs.

“Go, Arkarin. I will be right behind you.”

“Katarina . . . no.” He knew what she had in mind.

“We need weapons. And unless I am very wrong, those footsteps are bringing some guns closer to us.”

Blackhawk wanted to stop and argue with her, but he knew there was no point. Katarina was going to do whatever she thought was best, and all he could do by arguing was make the maneuver even more dangerous.

Besides—she was right.

“Just take out the first group and grab their guns.” His voice was firm, commanding, though he didn't know how much good it would do.

“I will be right behind you.” She turned and raced back up the stairs, her footsteps silent on the concrete risers.

Blackhawk continued down, listening carefully. He knew he shouldn't slow down, but he did anyway. If it came down to escaping with Aragona or running to Katarina's aid, he knew exactly which he'd choose.

He heard a loud thud and then, a second later, another. No shots went off. There weren't even screams.
Chrono, she's good.
He kept moving down. Eventually, he heard something move up behind him, barely audible. “Well done,” he whispered.

“Thank you.” Katarina reached around him, pressing a pistol into his hand. “Take this. You should be able to manage it carrying that putrid load.”

“Got it. Thanks.” Blackhawk moved forward again, down the stairs. “But let's try to get out of here without having to kill anyone else.” Blackhawk wasn't going to bet on that prospect though.

“I am sorry to disturb you again, sir, but I am afraid there are matters that require your immediate attention. Several of the nobles are vociferously demanding to speak with you.” Shira stood almost at attention, her hair perfectly groomed, not a wrinkle on her suit.

Ace understood. It was time to get out. Now. “It is astonishing that nothing can get done without my direct intervention.” He looked across the table at Cordoba. “If you will excuse me, Lord Cordoba, I am afraid I must attend to this at once. If you are amenable to a short break, I would be very interested in continuing our game in, say, one hour.”

Cordoba stared back at Ace. He was clearly annoyed at the delay, but he nodded and said, “Of course, Lord Suvarov. We must all attend to our work when it demands.”

Ace stood up and stared at Shira with a frustrated scowl.
“Let us go, so that I can finish
your
work and get back to my game.” He reached toward the table and started to scoop up his chips and coins.

“There is no need, Lord Suvarov.” Cordoba's voice was firm. “I can assure you no one will disturb your stake while you are gone. I will have my people guard the table until we resume.”

Fuck,
Ace thought.
All that money
. . . But he couldn't risk insulting Cordoba.
Not this close to getting the hell out of here.

“My thanks, Lord Cordoba.” Ace tried to pull his eyes away from the stacks of money on the table, funds that were about to be written off as expenses of the op.

“Come, Lord Suvarov. Your associates are waiting.” Ace knew Shira was afraid he'd get himself shot to pieces over a pile of chips—and he knew that fear wasn't entirely ungrounded. But the mission came first for all Blackhawk's people, even Ace Graythorn. Even when he had to walk away from a pile of money and an opponent he knew he could fleece.

“Very well, Felice. Let's finish this as quickly as possible.” He turned and followed her back toward the main casino floor. His eyes caught a pair of guards moving from a back room toward Cordoba as he and Shira were crossing the room. He didn't get a good look, but their body language was clear. Something was wrong.

“Fuck, I think we've got trouble,” he whispered to Shira. “Just keep walking.”

“Lord Suvarov . . .” It was Cordoba, and the change in his tone was obvious. “I'm afraid I must ask you to wait a moment.”

“I'm sorry, Lord Cordoba, but I really must attend to my business. I will be back shortly.” Ace could hear the guards starting to move toward him. His eyes darted back and forth, looking for something, anything he could use as a weapon.

He saw a waiter walking by, carrying a large metal tray filled with glasses. He turned his head slightly, and he saw the guards moving toward him, reaching into their jackets.

“Now, Shira.” He spun around and shoved the waiter down, grabbing the tray. Drinks flew across the room, and the crystal glasses shattered as they hit the ground.

Ace turned, swinging the tray hard and hitting both guards in the face. They dropped the pistols they'd pulled out from their jackets, and Ace dove for one.

He could hear the sounds behind him: more guards rushing forward. He lunged for the pistol, grabbing it and swinging around, bringing it to bear. His reflexes were fast, but not fast enough. He knew in that instant his adversary was going to get the first shot off.

He braced for the impact, his enemy's bullet slamming into his body. But it didn't come. Instead, he saw something whip across his field of vision so quickly it was barely visible. Then another.

He fired his pistol, but his enemy was already stricken, hit by the two tiny throwing stars Shira had hidden in her necklace. Ace pulled himself up and ducked behind an overturned table, motioning for Shira to take cover with him. There were half a dozen guards in the room already, and he had no doubt more were coming. He started firing, dropping two almost immediately before they started shooting back . . .

Then the lights went out.

“Sam,” Blackhawk muttered to himself, not at all surprised she'd managed to plunge the enormous Grand Palais into total darkness.
So much for the cameras and alarms,
he thought.

He slowed abruptly, stepping much more carefully in the
total darkness. Blackhawk had an eagle's eyes, but even his uncanny vision couldn't cut through total darkness. He and Katarina could do little but wait.
Can't risk breaking our necks. But shouldn't be much . . .