Drake listened but — surprisingly — the moment passed without comment from Alicia and then they hit the deck. Instantly he was out and running, following the route Dudley’s crew had taken moments before. A shot cracked. Drake stared grimly, unmoved as plastic splinters burst out of the parasol pole near his head. The shot served to locate Dudley’s team, concealed behind a questionable divider, but civilians still crowded the walkway behind them.
Staring. Crying. Filming the scene with their cellphones. Flicking onto Facebook to tell their friends. Slap bang in the line of fire.
“Get the feck outta here!” an Irish brogue colored the air.
They ran, Dudley forcibly dragging Miranda Le Brun back into hiding. The oil baroness’s face was blackened, her clothes torn. The last remaining merc fired another shot.
Drake ignored it, Dahl at his side. The decision proved to be a mistake as the bullet slammed into his flak jacket, sending him to his knees with a cry. Dahl stared down at him.
“Stop being such a fucking pussy. It’s only a bullet.”
Drake struggled to his feet, still gasping. The Mad Swede was already halfway across the lido deck and now Smyth and Komodo were at his side. Karin hung back, but held her weapon and analyzed the scene with growing skill. Behind her Alicia’s helicopter slammed onto the deck.
The blond woman leaped out like an avenging Valkyrie. “You all right, Drakester? Saw you go down when you took a hit.”
“I’m fine.” Face reddening he wondered if the entire goddamn world had seen him stagger when he got shot.
“Don’t be so embarrassed.” Alicia ran up to him. “We all have our off days.”
Soldiers streamed across the deck. Drake slipped out toward the rail, keeping their enemy in sight. As they closed in, civilians ran in the opposite direction until the walkway behind Dudley was empty.
The Irishman stepped into view, one hand held high and clasping a polished wooden box with a gold lock and hinges. “One av tree!” he cried in his thick accent. Drake struggled to understand it as “one of three”.
“Tree boxes, tree aerosols. Stand down, yer arse bandits, before I open Pandora’s feckin’ juicy Box on yer!”
Hayden hissed a warning through the comms. “Do it! We don’t know what capabilities he has.”
As one, guns were pointed toward deck. Dudley grinned, almost capering in his delight. “Better! That’s better. Now jump yer feckin’ arses over that rail. Yeah, that’s right. Swim, yer bastards.”
Nobody moved. Crouch, Healey and Russo were in Dudley’s blind spot and inching closer. Yorgi moved to join them, eyeing the route up to the deck above as if he might be considering a climb.
Hayden recognized the thief’s signature tactic at the same moment Drake did. “Can you get above him, Yorgi? Distract him.”
“Da. Yes, I can.”
“Then do it.”
Yorgi scooted forward, leaping at the higher deck and finding handholds in the smooth-looking shell that shouldn’t exist. They didn’t have to hold him for long as his feet found purchase and then launched him even higher. In mid-air he caught hold of the next deck’s handrails and supported the rest of his body. Another lunge and he was over, crouched at the foot of the rail.
Crouch stared up after him. “I doubt I could have done that even in my heyday.”
Dudley pulled out a gun. “So. Yer fixin’ ter jump or do I have to shoot yer where yer stand? And yer goin’ first.” He motioned at Drake. “I remember yer.”
“The ship’s filled with soldiers,” he said. “The Greek Army is ten minutes out. Give it up, help us, and you might get to rot in jail for the rest of your crazy life.”
“Feck it,” the Irishman bellowed, sprayed a hail of bullets, then turned away. “We’ll see how yer like me when I grab some passengers.”
Drake was down, again, but this time so was everyone else. The lead flurry had been nothing more than a wild diversion. By the time Drake gained his feet, Dudley was gone.
“I have him,” Yorgi said. “It is jogging track up here with glass bottom. A nice feature. I can follow mercenaries for short way.”
Drake slammed through the nearest door. “Report!”
“Ah, heading straight back to stern. Passing sporting equipment — gym. Dudley has one box in his hand and a small backpack. He’s dragging woman but other Pythian is helping her. She not happy. Other mercenary is falling back, probably waiting for you.”
Dahl slipped past Drake. “Good.”
Bloody hell! The man’s unstoppable. Drake was forced to fall back a little as the paneled corridor they were traversing narrowed. Soon it opened out into a typical gym, rows of cross-trainers, treadmills, bicycles and rowers laid out in a bland, uninspiring, uniform array. Drake glared in every direction, constantly moving his gun. Then Alicia slipped past. What is this? First to bag a terrorist day?
Yorgi got in on the action. “Past gym and crossing sports deck, I think. Other man stayed behind power plate.”
Drake shifted. There was only one. A flash, the faintest glimmer of movement and he opened fire. There was a low grunt and the merc collapsed, his weapon clattering away. Dahl was already on the other side of the gym. Drake caught up to Alicia, signaling for Kinimaka to check the body.
“We have problem,” Yorgi said. “Dudley and others are among passengers. And the glass deck has ended. I am climbing back down.”
“Do not approach,” Hayden ordered. “Observe only.”
“It is no problem. I have no weapon.”
Drake frowned. A damn stupid oversight. The deck disappeared above their heads to reveal the skies for a short period whilst they negotiated the sports deck, then another door appeared ahead.
“He’s in there,” Drake whispered. “Careful.”
Dahl smashed through the door, calling for quiet. Passengers squealed and huddled in a corner. Drake fully expected to see Dudley standing over them, box held at arm’s length, maybe even open with the aerosol mechanism exposed, but the Pythian team were nowhere to be seen.
Drake slowed. Crouch and Russo spread out to the sides. Hayden paused alongside, thumbing through her tablet computer. “Next is a pizzeria, then a set of staterooms, and finally a way up to the sky deck, the highest deck. Up there is mini-golf and the entrance to the big water chute. But there are three ways out of the pizzeria.”
She reverted to comms. They had teams exploring the outer walkways who would spot Dudley if he emerged from the main hub of the ship. Komodo, Karin and Mai were on one side, Healey, Lauren and Smyth on the other.
All hands on deck, Drake thought, never had a truer meaning. They didn’t want to put their non-military assets at risk but today they had no choice. Caitlyn was still aboard one of the choppers, streamlining and maintaining the complicated communications system in addition to working with Argento’s satellites.
They entered the pizzeria, overturned tables and frightened passengers revealing that Dudley had already stormed through. One of the cooks, wiping his hands on a towel, pointed toward the far door. Dahl was the first to reach the exit with Alicia right behind him. Drake moved to back them up.
“Watch out for traps,” Hayden’s voice came softly through the comms. “Dudley is one sneaky asshole.”
Drake saw Dahl pause then move ahead. They entered a plush lined hallway, doors to each side. As they penetrated the stateroom section all sound faded away and when Dahl stopped to listen, he couldn’t hear even the faintest of whispers.
Beyond the staterooms was a sliding door that led to the ship’s prow, or stairs and elevators up to the sky deck. Drake knew the exterior teams would be heading for the prow, which left the stairs to them.