He would never be this close again. Saxon knew it with ironclad certainty-if he did not pull the trigger, Namir would slip away, the Tyrants would vanish into the shadows cast by the Illuminati, and all the deeds they had done would go unpunished…
And the cost would be only one innocent life. Just one single person. Another name on the endless roll of sacrifices laid down for the ideal of the
Illuminati's draconian one world order. Anna Kelso's death in exchange for Jaron Namir's, a man whose soul had to be black with all the horrors he was responsible for.
He could not let him live. It wasn't right that such a man should have a life, a family, a purpose, while all Ben Saxon had turned to ashes around him.
It is not right!
With a sudden snarl of fury, he flung the pistol away into the waters of the lake, turning to Barrett. "Let her go, you son-of-a-bitch."
Barrett grinned through bloodstained teeth. "Sure, whatever you say." He opened his hand and Kelso screamed as she went over the edge of the sky deck and into the churning black smoke.
Saxon heard him laughing as he exploded into a full-tilt run, racing toward the far side of the boat. Barrett brought up his gun-arm and let rip with a screaming hail of rounds that chopped up the decking all around him, shredding wood and plastic.
Without halting, Saxon reached the lip of the rail and threw himself over it, Barrett's shots hissing through the air around him.
One moment, her world was a fog of pain, consciousness hanging by a thin thread, and the next
Anna was falling into the mouth of hell, gasping as black smoke filled her lungs, the heat of an inferno beating at her. She landed badly on the slant of the hull, a glass-and-steel slope that ranged away down to the main deck. Anna flipped over and tumbled. She threw out her hands to arrest her plunge, but she couldn't find anything to grab on to. The smooth, polished glass resisted all attempts to grip it. She slid inexorably toward the flames gathering below.
Above, gunfire rattled, and through the smoke she saw another figure vault over the edge and come down toward her. Fear lanced through
Anna; someone was coming down to finish the job. But then she saw Saxon's blood-streaked face.
He punched his machine-fist into the hull and found a moment's purchase. Anna grabbed for his outstretched arm and heard him cry out in agony as she pulled on the broken limb. Her shoes scraping over the hull, she shoved herself up, feeling plumes of heat from the fires searing her back.
A shape hazed into view through the smoke. Barrett leaned over the edge of the sky deck and sneered, pointing his gun-arm toward the two of them. The tri-barrel cannon spun up to firing speed and spat a line of stark, yellow-white tracer, shredding the paneling.
"Hold on!" shouted Saxon, as the glass window beneath them shattered under the salvo, opening up into a void of hot vapors. The two of them tumbled into the interior of the burning yacht, vanishing from sight.
Barrett spat over the rail and turned away in disgust, cordite vapor coiling from the maw of his gun. He kicked away the spent brass casings at his feet and moved toward the idling helo. Federova, her ice-cool glower now sullen and silent in its fury, shot him a hard look. She'd managed to extricate herself from most of the tangler rounds, but she was angry that none of Saxon's blood had ended up on her blade.
Namir ordered her into the flyer with a sharp gesture, and he climbed into the empty pilot's chair. "Is it done?" he asked.
"Lost them in the smoke-" Barrett's explanation was interrupted by a dull concussion from deep inside the Icarus s engine room. The yacht shuddered and listed alarmingly, tilting so far to port that the lake waters broke over the main deck and swamped it.
"Get in," Namir told him. "The police launches are a few minutes away. We're not going to be here when they arrive."
Barrett threw one last look over his shoulder, listening to the death-throes of the boat as the Icarus was consumed by fire and water. "See you in hell, Saxon," he muttered, pulling himself into the flyer.
The rotors became shrill, spinning the smoke into twisting columns; then the aircraft lifted off and rose vertically, pivoting to survey the burning boat as a raptor would hover over the corpse of a fresh kill.
Anna crouched close to the carpeted decking and did her best to draw what little untainted air remained into her chest. She cast around, finding
Saxon in a heap on top of a broken table. They had crashed through the roof into the forward gallery of the yacht, a richly appointed dining room. Small fires had taken hold here, crawling slowly along the support stanchions. The floor was gritty with a layer of extinguisher powder that had proven ineffectual. She moved to him, staying low, her breathing ragged and painful.
Above, a rent in the glass ceiling looked out into a blackened sky. The smoke filled it like a chimney, the hot haze billowing around her. She blinked, her eyes stinging. "Saxon?" She could hardly speak; the call came out like the bark of an animal.
He stirred and rolled off the table, hissing with pain. Shards of shattered glass were buried in the meat of his damaged arm, and Saxon pulled at them, tossing the bloodstained fragments away. "We… We have to get off this deathtrap."
Toward the bow, the Icarus was already a quarter submerged, a wide slick of burning oil spread out across it. Water lapped in through breaks in the forward doors, but a fallen stanchion blocked any hope of getting them open. They couldn't go back the way they had come in, and the metal staircase leading to the deck above was searing hot to the touch. Anna chanced a look up the stairwell and saw nothing but flames.
She turned back to Saxon. "Down," she told him, a plan forming in her thoughts. "We've got to go down. There's no other escape route." The risk of what she was suggesting made her blood run cold; but at the same time she knew there was no other option open to them.
"This boat's sinking, or hadn't you noticed?" he retorted. "Those decks will be full of water."
"I don't plan on burning or drowning," Anna snapped back. "Saxon, you have to trust me. I know a way out! Come on!"
He nodded, with effort. "Go, then," he said, and limped after her, deeper into the dying vessel.
The corridor to the aft canted at a forty-five-degree angle and the cold water of the lake was at Saxon's waist. All around them, the Icarus was dying, electrical systems firing blasts of sparks over their heads, the hull moaning as it buckled.
At the door to the tender garage, Saxon and Kelso had to put their full weight behind the hatchway to swing it open against the pressure of the water. The pain in his arm and his belly were numbing fires.
The small bay was a mess, debris scattered across the room floating in drifts and the yacht's launch already overturned and knotted in its own guide ropes. Water was pouring in from the port side, and what space they had to breathe was thick with suffocating smoke.
"This is your way off?" Saxon asked.
Anna didn't answer him; instead she dropped beneath the surface and vanished into a cloud of bubbles. A moment later, she broke through again and pulled at his arm. "You can swim, right?"
"Of course I can bloody swim."
"There's a dive hatch set in the deck. We get it open, we can get out into open water."
He shook his head. "This wreck is on fire! We're surrounded by burning fuel, we try to surface out there and we'll die!"
Anna shook her head. "That's not what I said. I told you to trust me, so trust me!" She grabbed his other arm and pulled him.
A crash of fire and heat rippled down the corridor behind them, ending any more argument from him. Taking as deep a breath as he could,
Saxon followed her into the water. His hands brushed the deck beneath them and found the edges of the hatch.
Together, they pulled at the latches as the water around them churned and boiled.