Trouble and Treasure (#1, Trouble and Treasure Series) (25 page)

I could tell Maratova was starting to
suspect something was up.

“
They are here,” I insisted again, staring
at a patch of dirt on the kitchen floor. The house was in shambles,
even more than it usually was. Glass had been traipsed all the way
through the carpet in the halls, the kitchen backdoor had been
kicked in, and the windows in the library were broken.

“
Stop playing us along, Amanda,” Maratova
growled at me, taking the opportunity to tap the side of his gun.
He was still dressed up as a soldier, still had official army
fatigues on, and still held a regulation gun. The other men with
him didn’t: they were all dressed in varying shades of black, and
though they’d taken off their balaclavas, they were still armed to
the teeth. They hardly spoke unless spoken to by Maratova, and I
got the picture he was definitely their leader and hadn’t chosen to
join them on a whim tonight.

I put my hand up, still not moving my head
to look at him, still staring fixedly at that patch of dirt on the
kitchen floor. I had to think of some way to string this along. If
I could somehow find a way to distract Maratova, I might be able to
make a run for it. “They are in a safe place,” I began.

“
You take us to them now.” Maratova took
several steps towards me, bobbing his head down to my level, the
whites of his eyes growing larger as his brow raised in
anger.

“
Okay,” I said weakly, “They are in the...
attic.”

Maratov
a nodded. He kept his gaze on me, and it was apparent his
threat was still there. If I was lying, Maratova would find
creative ways to make me regret it.

It was just as I led them to the door,
Maratova right behind me, hand always on his gun, that I heard
something through the howling wind outside. That thing sounded like
a helicopter. I paused in confusion, wondering whether Maratova was
calling for reinforcements, but when I saw Maratova freeze by my
side, hand at his earpiece, I realized the helicopter was
uninvited.

Maratova snapped his head to the side and
gave low, quick orders to the other men. Though I couldn't make out
his exact words, I heard something that sounded like army. That one
word managed to rekindle my hope. Could they be here? Had Sebastian
lived, found a way to call them, found a way to tell them where I
was?

Would it matter? I was no expert on these
things, but I realized Maratova had a substantial number of men
with him: almost 20 the last I counted. They were all armed. I
couldn't say any of them looked to be incompetent; they all had
that steely edge to their gazes, that frozen look to their
expressions that told me the only emotion they were capable of was
barely suppressed anger.

Maratova point
ed several of his men towards the kitchen door. He
half turned from me as he spoke into his earpiece, mumbling
directions to the rest of his team.

I heard several shots ring out from the
kitchen door, no doubt directed at the helicopter above. I felt
Maratova push hard at my back.

“
Keep moving,” he growled, “Take me to the
fucking globes, Amanda.”

Oh great, there was about to be a
full-scale war over my house and I still had to take him to the
globes. This man was insane. What was he going to do once he had
the globes? Well, not that he was going to get them, because they
weren't here. But what did he think he was going to do? Tuck them
under his arm, whistle blithely, and walk on by past the army? Or,
I realized with a gulp, take a hostage and demand a
helicopter?

“
Up the stairs,” he snapped by my ear.
“Quick.”

He obviously wanted to get into the attic
before World War Three broke out in my library. Which was great
news for me. The second we got up in the attic, and Maratova saw
how empty it was, he would shoot me.

There were three levels to my
great-uncle's manor, not including the attic above. As the
stairwell ascended to each level, on either side were large
plate-glass windows. They offered a view of the storm growing
outside. Billowing dark clouds met my eyes, the tops of trees
swaying madly in the wind. I saw a powerful light slice through
them, either from the helicopter above as it hovered in the gale,
or from vehicles on the ground. I had no idea how many people were
out there. While I assumed it was the army, judging by my luck, it
could well be every criminal on earth. If there was one thing the
last 24 hours had taught me, it was how valuable the Stargazer
globes were, and to what ends people would go to get them. And
those ends usually involved chasing me.

“
Stay away from the windows,” Maratova
growled as he kept pushing me up the stairs.

If he wasn’t a psychopath armed with a
sodding great gun, I would react. I didn’t appreciate being pushed
upstairs. Then again, when it came to my list of things to complain
about, I didn't appreciate being kidnapped either.

As we ascended onto the third level, I
glanced out the windows and saw more lights slicing around outside.
Maratova saw them too, swore, and snapped at me to move faster.

I reached the end of the corridor, pointing
to the square indent in the ceiling. It was hard to make out. It
was painted the same white as the rest of the ceiling, and the only
indication it was different was a small indent that ran around
it.

“
We need a ladder,” I said.

Maratova swore. “Then get one.”

I nodded. I had hoped he would get a
ladder himself, or at least offer to carry it, giving me a
convenient opportunity to escape.

“
There is one in here,” I said, indicating
one of the rooms further down the hall.

“
Move slow, get the ladder, I will be right
behind you,” Maratova snapped.

I went into the room, and went to turn on
the light, but he grabbed my hand. It sent such a shiver down my
spine as I tried to pull away from him, but his grip was too
firm.

“
Leave the light off.” He tightened his
grip on my wrist before letting go.

I sniffed in the dark. “I will break my
neck looking for it in here,” I managed, massaging my
arm.

“
It will save me having to do it later,”
Maratova replied.

How nice. I gave a
shudder
, but I didn’t
make a sound. Instead, navigating only by the bare light filtering
through the large windows, I tried to locate the ladder. It wasn't
until a slice of light from outside shone into the room that I
managed to see it propped against the opposite wall.

“
Get the ladder now,” Maratova snapped
again. In the entire time I’d known him, which was thankfully not
long, I’d never heard him speak normally; every word was snapped
and dripping with menace. How this guy had gotten into the army, I
didn't know. Perhaps they’d lowered their psych standards that
day.

I made my way over to the ladder, slipping
on several loose magazines, but not falling over. I heaved it up in
my arms and managed to maneuver through the door, though I smashed
into everything in my path. Maratova growled at me to stay silent,
and I grunted in reply, purposefully banging the ladder into the
wall.

I manhandled it until it was underneath
the attic.

Maratova, hand still on his gun, looked up
at the attic above. “If you're lying, Amanda, I will break your
neck,” he said, voice devoid of any emotion.

I felt a powerful wave of sickness rush
through my stomach, and I touched a hand to my belly, but I didn’t
respond to him.

“
You go up first, slow, and you stop when I
tell you too, otherwise I shoot,” Maratova pulled out a handgun as
he spoke, training it right on me.

Though the light in the corridor was off,
I could still see him sufficiently to note the move; I could even
make out the triangles of white at the corners of his eyes. They
were the scariest damn things I’d ever seen.

I turned and made my way carefully up the
ladder. Despite the sound of the gale outside and the occasional
shots coming from the levels down below, it seemed every creak of
the ladder as I climbed it was like a scream. That wasn’t to
mention Maratova's breath: it reverberated around my head, louder
than the thunder had been at the lighthouse, louder than anything
I’d ever heard. It made me feel sick.

I reached the top of the ladder and
reached up to push on the attic trapdoor above.

“
Slow,” Maratova warned, and I felt the
cold muzzle of a gun press into my back.

I pushed the attic door. It creaked open,
but once it reached a 90-degree angle, I lost my grip and it fell
the rest of the way, slamming on the attic floor with a thunderous
bang. It made me jump, and I shuddered on the top of the ladder,
grabbing a hand to the open frame of the attic door to steady
myself.

“
Get up, slow,” Maratova warned again,
voice growling even louder.

The attic was darker than the landing
below, as there were only two small casement windows at either end.
As I saw Maratova stand, I could only differentiate his form from
the light filtering in from the open attic door below.

Every second
another slicing light tracked over one of the
windows on either side of the room, sending in sudden splashes of
illumination. I saw Maratova standing, gun in hand, with the desks
and cupboards neatly stacked on either wall, and a bare flash of
the dusty floorboards beneath us.

“
Where are they?” he demanded, a definite
note of finality in his voice.

Below, despite the sound of the storm, I
could still hear the occasional gunshot, the occasional shout, the
occasional crunch of tires as a vehicle neared from outside. I had
no idea what was going on down there, I had no idea who was
winning, but I had a fair idea it didn’t matter. The only thing
that held any meaning for me was the fact Maratova was barely a
meter away from me with a gun pointed right at me, and a good
reason to use it.

“
They are in a... secret wall compartment,”
I said, coming up with a lie.

“
Where?” Maratova snapped at
once.

“
I,” I kept snapping my gaze around, trying
to find my bearings in the bare flashes of light through either
window, “It's hard to see in the dark.”

“
Where?” Maratova snapped again.

My mind was slowing down, my ears filling
with a distinct buzzing noise. I was like a deer stuck in the
headlights; I couldn’t move, I couldn’t think of anything else, and
I couldn’t answer him.

“
Amanda.” He roared. “Give me the fucking
globes.”

The exact note of rage in his voice was
enough to jolt me into action. I gave a sudden shake that ran all
the way down over my back and legs. I darted to the side, noting
there was a large cupboard off to my left that was pulled away from
the wall. I saw it in another flash from one of the roaming lights
from below, and blood bellowing in my ears, I threw myself towards
it.

He yelled, not firing at me, but I heard the
weight of his body shift as he threw himself towards me, heard the
groan of the floorboards as they absorbed the force of his
chase.

Heart hammering in my throat, I made it
behind the cupboard, but I didn’t collapse there as my brain told
me to do, too overcome by fear to move on. Instead I pushed hard at
the cupboard, flattening my shoulder into it and giving it all I
had.

It moved, teetering forward, and smashing
to the ground. In the dark I had no idea whether it had hit
Maratova, or even where he was. I heard him trip against something,
heard the floorboards groan as something heavy hit them. He swore
harshly.

I turned, spying another tall bookcase
pulled away from the wall further up the attic, as yet another
slice of light darted through the windows at the other end. I ran
towards it, leg collecting the side of a desk
but not tripping me up.

I reached the bookcase and pressed my
back
into it just as I
heard his breath, heard his growl.

So I pushed again, and the bookcase teetered
then fell, slamming onto the attic floor with an enormous thud.
Before I could pause to wonder whether it had collected Maratova, I
felt a move beside me, felt him grab out a hand and latch it onto
my elbow.

I screamed louder than I ever had
before.

Before I could do anything, his arm was
snapped away as I saw a dark shadow collect into his side. There
was a massive grunt and I staggered back as I realized someone had
grabbed Maratova off me, and that same someone was grappling with
him on the ground.

I had no idea who was fighting Maratova, but
my only hope was that they won.

Eyes wide, I watched the scene, trying to
track what was going on. Then I realized I had to do something; I
had to help whoever it was down there, because if I didn't and they
lost, then I would lose next.

Sebastian Shaw

Maratova shoved his hand right into my
face, his palm cupping my chin and forcing my head backwards. In
reply I punched deep into his gut, regretting it as my knuckles
bashed up against the hard weave of his body armor.

Maratova brought his other arm around, gun
still in his hand, and smashed it against my left
temple.