Lamont kicked downward until he found the bottom of the gate. He swam under it and came up on the other side.
"You look like a drowned rat," Nick said.
"Called camouflage."
Nick handed him a flashlight through the bars.
"Find that control."
"Aye, aye, Cap'n."
The boathouse was long and high, a cavern of moldering brick and moss-covered stone. A wide stone landing ran along one side. White boat fenders hung down at regular intervals. Steps cut into the landing led down to the water and disappeared below the surface. A cabin cruiser was docked at the far end. Polished brass gleamed in the light from the flash.
Lamont swam to the steps and climbed up on the platform. A switch box was mounted on the wall. Next to the box, a narrow flight of steps led to the villa above. His feet left wet prints on the rough stone as he walked to the box. It contained two switches labeled in Italian, one marked LAMPADAS, the other PORTA. Lights and gate.
Lamont flicked the PORTA switch down and the two sides of the gate swung inward. He went along the platform to the open gates, caught a rope from Nick and pulled the boat stern first into the cavern and up against the bumpers. The others scrambled onto the platform. Lamont dressed and picked up his MP-5. They pulled black balaclavas over their heads.
Nick said, "Korov, you stick close to me."
"What if Foxworth is not here?"
"He's here. I can feel it."
Nick's ear tingled, his sixth sense, the one that had failed him back in Mexico. Back when Selena was shot. He shook off the thought.
They went up the stairs single file. The steps ended at a closed wooden door.
"This feels too easy," Ronnie said.
"Uh huh," Lamont said. "That's what I was thinking."
"There could be alarms," Korov said.
Nick shone his light around the closed door, looking for anything to show the door was wired.
"I don't see anything. But something doesn't feel right."
"I had a place like this, I'd have an alarm on the gate." Lamont spoke softly.
"And someone on the other side of that door," Korov said.
Nick flicked the selector on his MP-5 to three round bursts. He thought about Selena, paralyzed in a hospital bed because of the man somewhere in this house. As far as he was concerned, everyone here had forfeited the right to presumed innocence. This early in the morning they weren't going to run into the cleaning lady.
Nick put his hand on the latch and felt the adrenaline begin. He mouthed the count.
One. Two. Three.
He opened the door. Nothing happened.
They stepped into a hallway lit by a single bulb. To the right, the passage ended in a brick wall. To the left, there was a window at the far end and another set of steps.
The soft rubber soles of their shoes made no noise. The hall floor was paved with large marble tiles in black and white. They moved down the hall, past a side passage to another set of stairs. Looking up, Nick saw a high, plaster ceiling, dimly lit. He climbed, quiet and careful. The others came behind.
The stairs led to a room big enough for an embassy reception. A second story balcony lined with a railing ran along three sides. More stairs led up to the balcony at each end.
Brocaded sofas and chairs and antique end tables were scattered about in ordered groupings. Four elaborate crystal chandeliers hung from a ceiling forty feet overhead. The floor was tiled with white marble. Museum lights illuminated oil paintings in gilded frames on the walls, pastoral country scenes and portraits of medieval nobles with malevolent eyes and sharp noses and floppy hats. There were no religious paintings.
A large white marble fireplace dominated one end of the room. Over the mantle, a single light shone on a larger than life-sized portrait of a hard faced man in a blue pinstripe suit and lavender tie. The man sat in a carved wooden chair that could have been a throne. The artist had caught a gleam of light on the arm of the chair where the man rested his hand. It looked as though he held a butcher knife.
Foxworth.
Nick pointed at Ronnie and Lamont, signaled for them to clear the rooms on the left. He pointed at himself and Korov, indicated the right. The first room Nick entered was a dimly lit conservatory with high ceilings and tall French windows, filled with plants of every description. He stepped back out. Across the way Ronnie and Lamont emerged from a doorway and shook their heads.
They came together at the last room. It was a study and library, rich with leather and wood and soft rugs underfoot. The windows faced out toward the river below. The room was on the far side of the house, away from the boat.
Nick went to the desk. It was a modern piece, out of place in the library's atmosphere of classic European elegance. He started opening drawers.
Papers. A bound stack of purple Euro notes. A Walther pistol. Two British passports. Nick glanced at them. One for Foxworth. One for someone named Mandy Atherton. The bottom drawer was locked. Nick used his knife to pry it open. Inside was a brown, tissue-thin envelope with blue writing on it. Nick took it out and opened it. It was a list of names. One of the names was Ogorov's. He showed the paper to Korov.
"Take a look." His voice was quiet.
The Russian read the list. "Ogorov. So, he is involved. A traitor." His expression was grim. "This one, Maupassant. That's the name of the French Finance Minister."
"Yeah. I think we've got what we need."
Nick heard the scrape of a boot somewhere outside the library. His ear began to throb. He tucked the envelope inside his shirt and signaled. The four men moved silently to the door.
From where he stood, Nick couldn't see anyone in the main room or on the balcony to the sides. There could be someone on the balcony above the library. He spoke in a whisper.
"Someone's out there."
"Guards?" Ronnie said.
"Maybe. Time to leave."
"What about Foxworth?"
Nick patted the paper under his shirt. "We've got proof he's mixed up with Ogorov. Forget Foxworth. We have to get back to the boat."
"It's a long way across that room." Ronnie pointed with his MP-5 at the ceiling. "If someone's on that balcony, we're sitting ducks."
"Ducks?" Korov said.
Nick shook his head. "I'll explain later."
"There is another set of steps down," Korov said. "To the right as we go out. Not far, maybe five or six meters."
"I saw that. They have to lead back to the lower level. I don't want to cross that room again." He looked at the others. "All right. We go for those stairs."
They stepped out of the library. The chandeliers erupted in a blaze of light. The adrenaline hit him, the aliveness, the fear. The rush.
"Drop your weapons!"
The voice came from above.
"Go!" Nick yelled. They ran for the stairwell opening. Nick lifted his MP-5 and fired blindly up at the balcony as he ran. The room filled with the sound of guns. Bullets ricocheted and whined away off the stone floor, leaving puffs of white dust where they hit.
One of the men on the balcony fell over the railing and plunged to the floor below. It sounded like someone had dropped a large watermelon onto the marble. Korov went down. He cursed in Russian. Ronnie and Nick kept up heavy covering fire and Lamont helped him to his feet. They reached the steps and started down.
The steps ended in a short hall. They ran to the end and found themselves in the long passage leading to the boathouse. Lamont fired a burst at someone who'd made it down the stairs. They reached the boathouse door, slammed it shut behind them and ran down the steps and out onto the platform. The boat was still there. The engines fired with the touch of a button. Ahead, the gates began to close. Someone had triggered them from inside the house.
Lamont grabbed the throttles and the boat leapt forward. The gates scraped along the fiberglass hull as they cleared the boathouse. An Uzi sounded nearby and the back row of seats shredded in bits of foam and leather. Nick lifted his gun and shot a man firing from the steps. He tumbled down the stairs onto the landing and lay motionless in a crumpled heap.