pall, clearly going for the map inside.
Maria had caught a glimpse of the case flying toward them as the blast blew the table away from the door. Bailey must’ve seen it, too. The case had landed near the balcony slider.
She cursed the priest’s recklessness but crawled after him nonetheless, ready to help.
“Get down,” Mac warned her.
A strafe of gunfire shredded the smoke, shattering glass. But the shooter fired blindly and high into the room, missing both Maria and Bailey. The priest grabbed the roller bag handle and scooted backward.
From her low vantage, Maria noted the smoke swirl near the door as men rushed in. Then sharp pops from the left. Bossard . . . Muffled cries, and a body near the door crashed in the smoke. A chatter of return fire blasted toward Bossard.
Bailey dragged the roller bag past her.
She started to follow—when something skittered across the floor. A black SIG pistol spun up to her. Bossard’s second weapon. A drape of smoke lifted enough to reveal the major sprawled and bloody on the floor. His arm was outstretched toward her, his eyes staring, but blind.
She snatched up the weapon and fired into the smoke as she retreated after Bailey. She emptied the entire magazine, then ducked to the side of the open door. Bailey swung the heavy case over to the railing’s edge and dropped it down the gap between their balcony and the next.
“Go, go, go,” Mac urged. He had ripped off his sling and helped Maria over the rail, all but tossing her. They were sticking to a preplanned evacuation route.
She dropped the twenty feet to the awning over the hotel’s patio restaurant, just missing the case sitting there. She used the bounce in the taut fabric to roll to the side. Bailey and Mac crashed together next to her.
She understood their haste.
Gunfire peppered from above, tearing through the fabric. Screams erupted from the restaurant below. Maria and the two men scrambled for cover, getting directly under the balcony, spoiling any direct shots from above.
Bailey tried to tug the case after them, but one of the wheels had perforated the fabric and trapped it.
“No time!” Mac yelled.
He’s right . . .
They needed to get lost in the crowd, where confusion reigned. Panic had begun to spread from the hotel. Still, farther out, the music, the festivities, the partying had masked most of the firefight and blasts.
The three of them scooted to the awning’s edge and dropped into the chaos of the patio restaurant. Tables and chairs were overturned. Patrons jostled and fled in all directions. Maria caught a glimpse of a woman sitting on the ground, crying, her shoulder bloody.
Guilt stabbed at Maria, but she turned and rushed with Mac and Bailey into the spreading panic. They pushed and shoved into the masses now spilling out and filling the streets. They followed the tide, rather than fighting it.
Bailey kept looking back. She knew what they’d lost, but there was nothing to be done about it. They had a more immediate concern.
Maria searched around.
Where can we go?
9:24 P.M.
Three blocks away, stalled in festival traffic, Gray immediately spotted the plume of black smoke billowing from the hotel’s third floor. He caught a glimpse of bodies leaping to the awning below.
He leaned forward. From the sedan’s backseat, he growled to Rabbi Fine and Monsignor Roe. “Stay here.”
The group had just returned from an excursion to the Mont’e Prama necropolis, where the giant statues had been found—not that they had learned anything new, which clearly disappointed the monsignor and the rabbi.
Gray turned to Seichan. “Let’s go.”
He bailed out one side, Seichan the other. They both ran along the edge of the street, dodging people fleeing in the opposite direction.
Seichan kept up with him. “How did they find us?”
He shook his head, his heart pounding. It was a question that could wait. He nodded ahead to a figure rounding out of an alley between the hotel and the next establishment. The guy carried an assault rifle, trying his best to conceal it next to his thigh.
Gray rushed up behind him, hooked an arm around his throat, and flung him around. He smashed the gunman’s head into the corner of the building. Bone cracked and the body went limp.
Seichan caught the rifle as it dropped and passed it to Gray. She continued ahead, a dagger in her hand. She pointed its tip to another two figures holding pistols cradled at their waists. They stood at the edge of the now-empty patio restaurant and