spherical pod. “You’re not shooting me fifty stories into the air in that thing.”
“It is for your own safety,” Takashi insisted as Kojima hobbled to her and took the last statue, then put it in the case and closed the lid.
“I can look after myself.”
“Don’t worry,” said Stikes. “I’ll take care of her.”
The malice behind his supercilious smirk was impossible for Nina to miss. She had seen it before, as his prisoner. As his victim, tortured for information with scorpion venom. Fear rose at the memory, her fight-or-flight instincts kicking in with a rush of adrenaline.
Fighting was out of the question. She knew she couldn’t win.
Which left—
She burst into motion, shoulder-barging Kojima aside and snatching up the case before sprinting through the doors.
“Dammit!” Stikes spat as they slammed behind her. He reached into his jacket and drew a gun, a nickel-plated Jericho 941 automatic, and ran after her.
“No!” Takashi’s command made him freeze mid-stride. “Put your gun away. She is too valuable to the Group. She must not be hurt.”
The Englishman gave him a baleful look. “She must not be killed. That isn’t quite the same thing.” He flicked off the Jericho’s safety. “Don’t worry, Mr. Takashi. I’m a very good shot.”
Before Takashi could say anything further, he threw open the doors and rushed out after Nina.
Eddie’s gaze flicked back and forth between the two ninjas as they closed in. Donatello was still twirling his nunchaku with dangerous ease, trying to intimidate him into retreating—into range of Michelangelo’s poised staff.
His eyes moved to the exit—and the gun. If he could knock down or even distract one of the ninjas for as little as a second, he had a chance to round the other and reach the Makarov. But he would have to pick the perfect moment … and it wasn’t here yet. Both men needed to be closer, but not so close that they could make an unstoppable strike.
The ninjas knew what he was thinking. They exchanged another look, silently agreeing on a plan of attack. Eddie stepped back. Even if they had figured out what he was about to do, he had no option left but to chance it.
The staff, though less showy, was more likely to fell him than the nunchaku. Donatello was his target, then. The ninja was still approaching, more cautiously. Another couple of feet.
One more step—
Eddie bumped into something. Caught off guard, he instinctively glanced at the obstruction—a display case containing a sword.
Donatello darted forward, the nunchaku whipping up at Eddie’s face. He raised his arms, taking a fierce crack to the elbow from the wooden handle—
The staff swung like a baseball bat, slamming across his stomach and pitching him backward against the case. The whole thing toppled and fell, glass exploding beneath Eddie as he landed on top of it. Shards stabbed into his shoulders. He rolled sideways to get clear of the debris as the nunchaku lanced at his head. More glass splintered as it missed by barely an inch.
Michelangelo raised his staff again, bringing it high over his head to crush Eddie’s skull like a watermelon—
Eddie grabbed Kusanagi and swung it upward as the staff lashed down. A sharp crack of wood against metal—and the bo’s end was neatly chopped off by the sacred sword, its edge still keen even after centuries.
Even with his weapon reduced to two-thirds of its length, the ninja struck again. This time, Eddie used the sword not to parry but for leverage, shoving himself out of the wreckage and rolling onto his feet. Michelangelo’s thrust fell short. Another attack, but this time Eddie was prepared.
He swung the sword as hard as he could at the ninja’s neck.
Swordsmanship was not one of Eddie’s combat skills, fists and firearms the majority of his military training. The blade caught the ninja flat-on instead of with its edge.
But that was enough. The sword made an almost musical ringing note as it hit the side of Michelangelo’s jaw like a hammer. Spitting blood, the ninja crashed through another display, shattering jade figurines.
Eddie had no time to celebrate. The other ninja made another charge, nunchaku flailing so quickly they were a blur. One of the handles clanged off the sword as the Yorkshireman defensively snapped it up. Donatello instantly adjusted his movements to send the next strike past the ancient blade, the chain looping around it. He pulled back sharply, trying to yank the weapon out of Eddie’s hands.
This time Eddie kept a firm grip. He charged, driving the blade at the ninja’s