The Last Odyssey (Sigma Force #15) - James Rollins Page 0,80
the guy. “Listen, bub!”
The guard raised his weapon higher, cursing him in Arabic, and drove Kowalski deeper into the room—in fact, deep enough.
Okay, Chuckles, let’s dance.
The yacht gave a gentle bobble, but Kowalski pretended like the boat had been struck by a rogue wave. He fell against the bunk beds, then shoved his arm up, slamming the foldable upper tier into Chuckles’s chin. Metal met bone with a satisfying crack.
As the guard’s head snapped back, Kowalski relieved the man of his weapon, spun it around, and fired a point-blank burst into his chest. As he hoped, two rounds blasted clean through and hit the second guard standing at the threshold. The impacts threw the man against the far wall. Still, the guard swung his weapon toward the door.
Oh no, you don’t.
Kowalski had Chuckles’s shirt balled in his fist and was already moving. He carried the dead man like a battering ram and lunged out the door. Still firing through the body, he slammed into the second assailant, pinning him there while continuing to squeeze the trigger. He only stopped when the man slumped, his head falling crookedly.
He let both bodies drop and rushed to the next door. He slid aside the locking bolt and pulled it open. Inside, Elena gawked at him, then collected herself and rushed toward him.
“So, it worked,” she said breathlessly.
He crossed back to the bodies and retrieved the second machine pistol. He straightened with one clutched in each hand now. “Tried to get them to free an ankle. But no go. Probably didn’t even have the keys.”
“Where do we—?”
“This way.”
Kowalski led her toward the ship’s stern. They needed to get down another level. He prayed no one heard the spate of gunfire. By keeping the muzzle pressed against solid flesh, he had done his best to muffle the shots.
Their escape was risky, but he knew they had to take the chance.
It was now or never.
Earlier, as the ship dropped anchor off of Sardinia, it was plain something had gone wrong with whatever those bastards had been planning on shore. Nehir had stormed into the lounge and ordered Kowalski and Elena to be taken below. Earlier in the day, Nehir had given Elena another deadline to come up with more information to help the bastards.
Midnight tonight.
So, Elena had spent the day poring over history texts, reading ancient poems, even studying geology books. But all of Elena’s work and Nehir’s timetable had been set aside as the situation had suddenly changed.
While being led belowdecks, Kowalski had heard Nehir yelling, dressing someone down. More of her crew passed them, running up to the lounge. Apparently she was demanding all hands on deck.
Either way, Kowalski knew this opportunity might be their one chance. With most of the crew above and land so close, they had to risk it. During the long voyage here, they had sketchily outlined a plan, whispering in secret, though neither of them really thought it would ever play out. It was more to buoy their spirits.
But the Fates must have been listening.
On the way down here, Kowalski had warned Elena to be ready. Still, it had required some last-minute improvisation on his part. His soaked leg was not part of that original plan—and sure, maybe it wasn’t the most brilliant ad-libbing, but it had gotten the job done.
They quickly reached a set of stairs down to the bottom deck.
He led with both pistols raised and did his best to move quietly with his chains. He held his breath the entire way down. He checked the lower hall and pointed a gun to the right.
“The yacht’s garage is down that way,” he whispered. “Through the double doors. But we’ll have to move fast.”
Her eyes were huge and shiny with fear, but she nodded.
“Okay,” he said. “Let’s do this.”
10:22 P.M.
Elena kept close to Joe as he stayed low and rushed down the narrow hallway. She cringed with every clink and clank of his chains. But they reached the double doors safely.
Joe exhaled in relief, likely as surprised as she was that they’d made it this far. He grabbed the U-shaped handle and tugged on it—then tried pushing it. He closed his eyes and leaned his forehead against the door’s polished teak surface.
Locked.
“What about sneaking up top?” Elena whispered. “We could dive overboard and swim for shore.”
“Even if we could get all the way up there without being seen . . .” Joe looked down at his leg irons. “It’s a mile or more to shore.”