I saw his hand lift, as if he was going to grab me. I
reached for him—
Vasily’s hand dropped back to his side. Indecision played
across his face. His hand rose again—
There was a splintering, cracking sound and the
remainder of the gallery came away from the wall. Both
of us cursed as it slumped sideways, tilted at a crazy
angle. Vasiliy hit what was left of the handrail but his
muscled body was too big and the rail was too weak.
He went smashing through it and fell. He would have
fallen straight down to the floor far below, but his
fingers caught the edge and clung. Now we were both
dangling, and in another few minutes the whole gallery
would collapse into the fire.
The smoke was curling down into my chest, making me
cough and rasp. Every gulp of red-hot air I took in
scorched my lungs. I tried to use the carpet to haul
myself up but, as soon as I pulled, I heard the distant
sound of ripping. It was only held in place by carpet
tacks and my struggles were tearing it free. Shit! I
started climbing, hand over hand, but the edge of a
carpet isn’t the easiest thing to hang onto. I heaved
myself inch by inch back onto the gallery, but I could
feel the tacks letting go: pop, pop, pop—
The whole carpet suddenly slid with me still on it. I was
just high enough to make a grab for one of the handrail
supports and it creaked...but held. Beneath me, the
carpet hissed past, carried by its momentum, and fell
into the fire.
I crawled on hands and knees towards Vasiliy. He was a
tough old guy but his strength was fading. One hand
slipped from the wood. Shit. I tried to crawl faster.
He looked up as he saw me. A wry smile crept onto his
face.
I wasn’t going to reach him in time. “No,” I gasped.
“Tell Irina—” he panted.
I forced my limbs to move faster. “No! Hang on, you
stupid Russian bastard!”
His fingers squeaked as they lost their grip and slid
along the wood. “Tell Irina I love her.”
I lunged for him. “No!”
55
Angelo
Pain.
First a hard, ringing pain as my head hit the wooden
floor of the gallery. Then, as my head cleared, a tearing,
burning pain in my shoulder. It came in waves, as if a
giant was standing on my shoulder and rocking back
and forth. I looked down.
Vasiliy was dangling from my hand, his fingers just
barely hooked in mine.
The gallery creaked beneath us. “Climb, you asshole!” I
yelled.
Vasiliy heaved and swung himself up, grabbing my arm
with his other hand. It felt as though he was going to
tear the damn thing off. Then he got hold of my back
and the edge of the gallery and finally he could pull
himself up. He hauled me to my feet and we staggered
together through the door we’d first come through and
back down the hallway. No more than thirty seconds
later, we heard the remains of the gallery crash down
into the fire.
Vasiliy turned and looked at me. He looked as if he
wanted to say something, but he didn’t know how.
He was saved by Luka, who ran up out of the smoke.
“She’s not that way,” he panted, pointing behind him.
The games room and the minstrel’s gallery were the
back of the building—there was nothing else in that
direction. “Then she’s not on this floor,” I said.
“She must be,” said Vasiliy. “We’ve searched every room
below. This is the top floor.”
There was a sickening groan as the timbers that
supported the house began to give up their fight.
Flames were breaking through the floor in several
places. The whole place was coming down. We looked
at each other. “The bastard slipped past us,” said Luka.
“He got past us and took a car. He could be miles
away!”
He started to run for the stairs but I grabbed his jacket.
“Wait!” I snapped.
“What?” He shook free of me. “We have to go! They’re
getting away!”
“Listen!”
He glared at me but listened. And then he heard it: the
dull whump of helicopter blades.
“They didn’t get past us,” I said. “They’re on the roof!”
56
Irina
The roof of the mansion was a good facsimile of hell.
Mikhail and I were standing on a narrow stone walkway
formed by the top of the walls. It ran all the way around
the building and it was the only stable part left: the
whole center of the roof was rapidly collapsing, the
timbers and sagging as they gave, every one of the
ancient slate tiles edged with cherry-red light as the fire
broke through from below.
A bitter wind was blasting snow almost horizontally
across us. It would have been freezing even in clothes: I
was in my underwear. While one side of our bodies
froze, the other roasted in the flames that were erupting
through the roof. All of the smoke that had choked us
inside was pouring up into the sky in a pillar so thick it
almost looked solid: when the wind whipped it towards
us, we couldn’t see.
And the walkway had no walls. It was only a few feet
wide, with a sheer drop to one side of us and an inferno
to the other.
I heard the helicopter before I saw it. Then I scanned
the sky, squinting against the wind, and finally made out
its lights in the distance. It was coming straight towards
us, fighting the side winds. If it could hover above us,
we might just be able to climb aboard to safety….
Safety and a life as Mikhail’s prisoner. And all for
nothing. Angelo is dead.
I looked at the edge of the roof. Even death was better
than what Mikhail had planned for me. He’d taken the
only man I’d ever loved from me. If I did it right, I could
take him with me when I died. I was a lot lighter than
Mikhail but, if I threw myself suddenly enough, just as
he was off balance, I should be able to pull him with me
off the roof.
I glanced across at him. His eyes were fixed on the
helicopter. I sidled a little closer to him, so that the
handcuff chain went slack. I didn’t want it to hold me
back. I wanted it to snap taut with as much energy as
possible. I took a deep breath. Bent my knees. I love
you, Angelo.
There was a clang as the metal hatch that led onto the
roof flew open. My head whipped around...and my jaw
dropped. The hatch was almost halfway around the
mansion from the walkway where we now stood, but I
would have recognized him from a mile away. “Angelo!”
I screamed in delight.
Mikhail cursed and raised his gun, narrowing his eyes
and squinting as the wind whipped snow and smoke
into his face. I grabbed for his gun hand, but I was on
the wrong side and there was no room on the narrow
walkway to step around him. I looked at Angelo. He
was heaving himself up onto the roof, but that meant
both hands were occupied: he couldn’t shoot back. He
was a sitting duck.
There was only one thing to do.
I jumped off the roof.
57
Angelo
I saw Mikhail take aim at me. Shit! I couldn’t go back:
Luka was behind me on the ladder. I’d hoped to climb
up silently and take the bastard by surprise, but the
wind had whipped the hatch cover out of my hands. All
I could do was heave myself up onto the roof as fast as
possible and hope he missed...but even at this distance,
it was an easy shot.
Then I saw Irina tense her legs. I realized what she was