“Take care,” Carey murmured so only she could hear, “and don't let anyone in that door.” The intensity of his tone was steel hard.
“Don't worry,” Molly replied, warring impulses battling within her. “Good luck,” she softly added as the door closed behind the men.
While she didn't consider herself some Amazon warrior, neither did she relish the idea of passively waiting to see whether Carey and Egon were killed. Certainly with three enemies outside they could use another weapon on their side. Although life and death situations were distinctly foreign to Molly's repertoire, she'd always prided herself on responding well to crises. She could help; she knew she could. And she was going to.
“Mariel, I'm going with them. They could use another rifle. Can you shoot this if you have to?” Surprised at her solid conviction, Mariel's answer was unimportant. She was going.
When Mariel nodded, it was as though the movement confirmed Molly's resolution. “If it will help Egon, I'll do it,” she said in a very small voice. “They're after him, aren't they?”
“Only because he owns a munitions factory,” Molly clarified. “Otherwise he wouldn't be involved with men like those. Here, now look, this is all you have to do.” And she placed the semi-automatic gun in her hands. “If a stranger comes through that door, pull the trigger.”
Straightening her shoulders, she called on all her reserves of strength. “I'll manage. Now go, before you lose them.” And, pulling up a dust-covered chair, she sat down and aimed the gun barrel at the door.
Molly glanced back once before she left and gave her an encouraging smile. Mariel was rigid as a mannequin, but the determination on her face was resolute.
With her adrenaline and heart pumping at maximum speed, Molly ran down the attic stairs, hoping Carey and Egon hadn't gotten too far ahead of her. But if they had, she'd already decided to exit the house through the study doors facing the veranda. Maybe she could serve as backup if Carey and Egon flushed the men out of hiding. The rifle felt solid in her hand as she paused on the second floor to listen for sounds. Nothing. The silence held an ominous quality; she knew that predators could be closing in, and were perhaps already in the house.
She was more careful descending the staircase to the main floor, keeping close to the wall. Her ears were alert to any noise. At the last step she paused before leaving the protection of the wall. Her approach to the study across the open area of the entrance hall was not conducive to stealth. With the shiny black-and-white marble of the floor, her footsteps would be audible. Certainly she'd be an easy target once she stepped out into the open foyer.
Apprehensively she took her first step away from the wall and listened, her rifle held defensively, her finger on the trigger. Utter silence. Even the outdoor night sounds of frogs and crickets were muted by the thick stone walls. Just as she was about to make her dash across the large expanse of marble to the study, she heard a man's voice, and she moved back one step to the protection of the wall. She waited another slow count of twenty, but the sound was not repeated.
She couldn't stand pressed against the wall forever. Gathering her courage, she raced toward the study across the thirty feet of marble, through the partially open door into the sights of two rifles poised to fire.
Catching a glimpse of the rifle barrel and two shadowy forms, she dove for the floor just as she heard Carey mutter, “Oh, Christ…”
As she lay on the floor, he stalked over and stood silently over her, making no effort to help her up.
“You could have been killed,” he growled.
“So could you,” she replied. She knew damn well she'd come within a hair's breath of being shot; her pulse rate was still loud as a gang war in her ears, and she was bordering on hysteria.
He'd put a hunting jacket over his white T-shirt so he was dressed all in khaki. The only color catching the moonlight was his pale hair.
“You don't follow orders very well.”
“I don't follow orders at all.”
“I don't have time to watch you.”
“You don't have to, and Mariel's in control.”
He sighed and put out his hand to help her up. He didn't have any more time to argue. “Welcome aboard,” he gruffly said. When she placed her hand in his, he pulled her up without effort.
“Thank you,” Molly said. Standing before him, she was dwarfed by his size, but felt a new competence. “I'm a very good shot.” She wanted to tell him she had a girl scout badge in marksmanship and was always a tomboy, but knew how ludicrous it would sound under the circumstances. So instead she said, “I can help.”
He laughed, a dry humorless sound. “They don't say ‘Take 2' if things don't go right, you know. You're risking your life.”
“You are, too.”
He shrugged. “You should think of Carrie.”
“So should you.”
“Okay, Honeybear. We'd better make sure we do this thing right, then. She needs us.” And, putting his arm around Molly's shoulder, he gave her a hug. “Egon,” Carey said, “we have backup now.”
“Mariel's doing fine,” Molly assured him. “She's determined to be brave and help you.”
Even in the dim light Molly saw Egon's expression change to one of tenderness. “She's a remarkable woman,” he said.
“Great,” Carey said, wanting Egon to keep his mind on the problem at hand. “Now, if we're all ready.” He looked at Molly. “You'd better take one of these jackets. You'll need it for your ammo.” He passed it to her, and reached over for a handful of cartridges. Filling her pockets, he gave her a quick kiss and a shove in Egon's direction. “Follow Egon, he's going to lead the way around the house from the servants' entrance. I'll follow you. We're looking for their car first, in case they left a driver there we don't know about.” With Molly between Egon and himself, he could protect her best. But her presence set his already taut nerves on edge.
They slipped out the back door without incident. Concealed by the shrubbery growing close to the stairway, they descended the steps. Every receptor on alert, they crept along the shadows of the kitchen garden wall, passed through the gateway separating it from the south lawn, and immediately stopped. The car was parked at the edge of the lawn where the rose garden boundary began, perhaps thirty yards away.
“I'm going to check the car out.”
“There's no cover,” Egon warned.
“They won't be watching the car. You two keep an eye on that tree line.” And he was gone before the arguments could start. Carey operated best on intuition and impulse-always had. Racing forward, he instinctively tumbled into a rolling dive milliseconds before the barrage of tracers reached him. He'd felt it like a sixth sense and dove for cover behind the car as if his guardian angels were still on full alert.
They wouldn't be firing like that at the car if they'd left a guard inside, so he could take a quick breath. They wouldn't attack in the open, either. Rifat's hired killers weren't looking for dead hero status. He wanted to look inside the car, though, hoping to get his hands on an assault rifle. It would even the odds considerably.
Egon and Molly watched with horror as the pattern of tracers sailed toward Carey, the flash and clamor erupting in the tranquil evening air. Then they fired into the trees in an attempt to protect Carey. The sharp retort of their rifles was distinct from the rapid barrage of terrorists' weapons.
But as suddenly as it began, the fusillade ended, as if in a freeze frame of time. All the participants waited and watched, poised to determine the next move. Normal night sounds and scents once again filled the moonlit scene of open lawn and car and bordering foliage: the low, muted whir of night birds and insects, the rustle of leaves stirred by the ocean breeze, the sweet fragrance of roses incongruous in this drama of death.