King's Crusade (Seventeen) (14 page)

Alexa straightened and scrutinized the men at the table. They had not moved. Her gaze shifted to the figure with the red hair and deep-set eyes. ‘Where’s Boyko Dragov?’ she demanded curtly.

‘Who the hell are you?’ retorted the man closest to her.

She glanced at him. ‘Answer the question.’

One of his companions leveled a calculating stare at her. ‘What makes you think we know someone by that name?’

Faint groans rose from the injured henchmen on the floor. Alexa’s eyes never moved from the still figure at the head of the table.

‘Well, the
Rose Croix
tattoo on your neck is a bit of a giveaway,’ said Jackson darkly.

The second man grinned and glanced at his companions. Alexa smiled thinly. She had the Sig out and was squeezing the trigger before he had fully straightened the arm holding the semi-automatic Makarov pistol he had been hiding under the table.

The bullet struck his shoulder with a dull thump. He jerked back in his chair, a startled cry leaving his lips. The gray eyes of the man at the head of the table never flickered.

‘We just want to talk,’ said Alexa. Though she sighted down the barrel of the Sig at the man with the pistol, she kept her stare on the silent, red-haired figure.

The injured man swore, features contorted in a grimace. He gripped his bleeding limb and brought the gun up again. Her eyes shifted briefly to his companions as they reached for their own weapons.

A bullet suddenly whistled past her right arm from behind and took a stone chip out of the ceiling. She glanced over her shoulder.

The blue-eyed man on the floor steadied the handgun in his grip and aimed the pistol at her head once more.

Alexa brought out the second Sig, twisted sideways, and fired both guns.

The blue-eyed man jerked as two 9mm Parabellum bullets entered his chest.

One of the figures at the table grunted and crumpled to the ground, his face frozen beneath the gunshot wound in the middle of his forehead.

She backed into Jackson and bore him to the ground behind the beer barrels a second before a hail of bullets peppered the space where they had stood. The men at the table crowded protectively around the older, red-haired figure and ran from the room, guns jerking in their hands as they discharged their weapons.

Their shots punched harmlessly through the wooden casks and riddled the wall above Alexa and Jackson, showering them in a fine layer of plaster dust. She straightened, looked briefly at the documents on the table, and headed after the fleeing figures.

‘Hey, wait a—’ Jackson called out after her.

The dark-skinned henchmen scrambled out of her way when she reached the corridor. The exit door at the end banged against the outer wall of the building. She moved toward the opening.

A bullet whined through the night and struck the ground an inch from her right foot when she entered the narrow courtyard at the back of the tavern. She dropped to the cobblestones, rolled to one knee, and fired at a figure on the high concrete wall to her right. The man dropped from view.

Alexa rose, holstered the Sigs, took a step back, and ran at the wall. She stepped up against the vertical surface, jumped, and caught the top edge of the rampart with the tips of her fingers. She pulled herself up with a silent grunt.

A narrow alley ran behind the tavern. It was empty. Running footsteps faded in the direction of the main street to the right.

Jackson shouted her name at her back. She ignored him, swung her legs over the wall, and landed lightly in the passage on the other side. She headed briskly toward Istiklal.

Though barely half an hour had passed since they arrived in Beyoglu, the avenue was less crowded than it had been earlier. Alexa scanned the thin press of people and made out four running figures. She started after them, the excitement of the chase making her blood sing in her veins.

The man at the rear of the group turned when he heard her footfall. There was a flash and a bang in the night. A bullet hissed past her head. She raised a Sig and fired a volley in their direction. The men bolted down the street.

A woman screamed somewhere to her right. Shouts of alarm echoed further along the avenue.

A uniformed guard stepped out of a cabin outside the Dutch Consulate as Alexa drew close to the building. He backed hurriedly inside the hut when he saw the gun in her hand and was reaching for the phone on his desk when she darted past.

Seconds later, the running men ducked inside an opening on the left. Alexa skidded to a stop in front of a wide portal flanked by commercial buildings. A flight of stairs descended into deepening gloom beyond it, with a darkened church at the bottom.

She glanced at the gray statue of the Virgin Mary guarding the lintel of the ancient stone frontage above and headed down the steps. Her gaze skimmed the shadowy recesses of the steep forecourt before focusing on the double doors guarding the entrance to the church. The one on the right swung slightly on its hinges. She pushed it and stepped inside the building.

A large chandelier hung from the middle of a beautiful vaulted ceiling. At the other end of the chancel, stained-glass windows framed a wide, marble altar. Alexa barely had time to assimilate these details before a bullet thudded into the wall next to her. Shadows shifted to the left of the nave.

Gunfire shattered the peaceful tranquility of the church as she sprinted down the aisle toward the fleeing figures. Flanked by the guard with the injured shoulder, the red-haired man stared at her briefly with cold, gray eyes before disappearing through an open archway beyond the nave.

The remaining two men rounded on her.

Alexa holstered the Sig and slid the sais out of their sheaths just as the first man raised his gun toward her. She blocked the barrel of the weapon between the shaft and prong of one of the daggers, twisted it to the right as he fired, and brought the handle of the second blade down on his wrist. Bone shattered under the metal. A strangled cry left the man’s lips. It was choked off when she elbowed him in the throat. He collapsed to the ground.

She shifted and felt heat flash past her face as the bullet from the second man’s gun missed her skin by an inch before striking a marble pillar. A second later, footsteps sounded from the direction of the church entrance.

‘Alexa!’ shouted Jackson.

Her attacker leveled his gun at the doors and squeezed the trigger once. Jackson gasped and jerked backward.

Alexa scowled, twisted on one foot, and back-kicked the pistol out of the gunman’s hand. He stumbled a couple of steps before lunging forward. A snarl left his lips as he aimed a straight jab at her head. She bobbed and countered with a cross punch to his jaw. He blocked it with one arm and came at her with a wide swing. She leaned back, pivoted, and jumped, her heel striking his chest with a back kick.

His feet left the ground and he hit the metal rail behind him. There was a snap of breaking ribs. She straightened and lowered her foot to the ground, her breathing slow and even.

‘What did Dragov do with the tombs?’ she demanded sharply.

A thin trail of blood trickled past the man’s lips as he panted with exertion and pain. He wiped the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand and grinned at her wildly. ‘You’ll never find out, bitch!’

His left fist sailed toward her head. Baring her teeth, she parried his strike with her right forearm, hooked the prong of the left sai behind his neck, pulled him down sharply, and kneed him in the face. His nose broke with an audible crunch. He groaned and slumped unconscious to the floor.

She looked over her shoulder. Jackson was cursing liberally while he staunched the flow of blood from the wound on his arm. He turned an accusing glare on her. ‘Will you wait a goddamned minute?’ he growled.

The mild unease that tempered her fierce excitement faded; he did not look like he was going to die anytime soon. She turned and headed for the opening through which the other two men had vanished.

The figures of several monks appeared in the dim light that illuminated the inner recesses of the church. Alexa disregarded their anxious queries and focused on the fresh crimson spatters that dotted the corridors of their living quarters. Moments later, she reached a rooftop terrace adjoining the church bell tower.

She halted in front of a concrete archway and studied the pattern of blood several feet ahead of her. The floor was wet from the sleet and snow that had been falling steadily over the last hour; ice patches had started to form on the cold stone. Lights glimmered brightly along the Bosphorus Strait to the far right. The noise of the city below was a dull clamor that would effectively mask the sounds of any ambush.

Her lips thinned in a grim smile. She walked through the opening to the terrace.

There was movement on her right. She blocked the gun aimed at her head with her sai and deflected it toward the ground. The metal barrel of the Makarov pistol clanged against the prong of her dagger and a bullet whispered close to her face before striking the stone floor.

She turned and thrust her left knee up into her assailant’s stomach. The man with the wounded shoulder leapt back with a grunt and barely avoided the full impact of the blow. His face contorted in an expression of unadulterated fury. He raised the pistol once more.

Alexa threw her right sai in the air, drew her Sig, and shot him twice in the chest.

The man gasped. Blood burst past his lips and he started to fall. She holstered the Sig and caught the falling dagger by the handle just as his body thudded dully to the ground.

A silver blur erupted at the corner of her eye. She leaned backwards sharply at the waist. A blade sang past her cheek with a low hum and sheared a sliver off the end of a stray lock of hair at her temple.

She dropped to the ground, rolled toward the archway, and jumped to her feet, her heart thudding against her ribs.

The older man with the red hair and gray eyes stood facing her across the empty terrace, a beautifully polished, double-edged Schiavona broadsword clasped in his right hand. From the look of the hand guard, the weapon was well used. Although his face remained impassive, Alexa detected a brief flash of emotion in the slate colored gaze. He was seething with fury.

‘You will not get in my way, immortal,’ he stated irrevocably in a low, hard voice.

A chill darted down her spine at his words. This man was dangerous.

The gray eyes watching her darkened. The old man moved, the heavy sword twisting in his grip as if it weighed nothing.

Alexa spun the sais and countered with a flurry of strikes and blocks, the daggers blurring with the speed of her movements. Metal clashed against metal as their blades met repeatedly under the icy rainfall.

It did not take long for her to appreciate her opponent’s expert skills. Her brow furrowed as the weapon whispered close to her skin once more.

He handled the broadsword better than some of the tutors who had taught her fencing.

Seconds later, she captured the tip of his blade inside the prongs of one sai, brought the other dagger down sharply higher up the double-edged sword, and tried to yank it out of the old man’s grasp. A muffled grunt left his lips. His fingers whitened on the hilt of the sword.

The back of her neck prickled.

Alexa dropped to the ground a second before gunshots erupted from the neighboring rooftops and was reaching for the Sigs even as she rolled toward the shelter of the bell tower. She rose to her feet, backed up against the wall, and looked to her right. The old man had disappeared.

Bullets struck the other side of the tower. One pinged against a bell and produced a dull, musical clang.

A thrill rushed through her at the sound of the gunfire. She smiled savagely, shifted, and fired at the shadows on the roof of the adjoining buildings. Her first shots took out two of the seven men targeting her.

Her feeling of elation was short-lived. Jackson had appeared in the archway to the terrace. He raised the Beretta and started to fire at her assailants.

Chapter Eleven

A
larm tore through Alexa, the
feeling unexpected and all the more shocking in its intensity. She scowled and darted from behind the wall, the Sigs rigid in her grip as she repeatedly pulled the triggers. Two more men fell under her charge. Bullets pelted the floor and the wall of the terrace behind her.

She slammed into Jackson and knocked him to the ground beyond the arch. A harsh gasp left his lips when she landed on top of him. She rolled, grabbed his shirt, and pulled him behind the shelter of the wall. Further shots thudded into the concrete floor a foot from where they hunkered down.

Alexa rose on one knee and returned fire through the opening. ‘What was that?’ she hissed over her shoulder.

Jackson’s eyes dilated with anger. ‘What was—hell, I was only trying to save your skinny ass!’ he barked.

‘I don’t need your help,’ she retorted furiously.

‘Lady, there’s a whole load of things I think you’re in serious need of,’ he said between gritted teeth. A shot flashed past his head. ‘But now’s not the time to get into that,’ he added hastily.

Chips of concrete and plaster rained down around them as a barrage of bullets slammed into the walls of the arch. The sound of running footsteps reached Alexa’s ears above the fading echoes of the gunshots. She straightened and dashed out onto the church terrace. Jackson followed on her heels.

The shadows on the rooftops melted in the darkness as their attackers bolted in the night. Alexa leapt on a low wall and climbed onto the nearest building.

‘Oh, for the love of—’ Jackson blurted behind her.

She chased the last two fleeing figures across the icy canted roof of the monks’ living quarters to a spiral fire escape that backed onto a commercial complex overlooking the main avenue. The men slid down the bars of the metal frame enclosing the staircase and dropped along a series of narrow ledges to the church forecourt.

She landed after them seconds later and sprinted up the steps onto Istiklal Avenue, her breath pluming in small, white puffs in front of her face.

Armed officers stood on the road in front of the Russian Consulate to her left. They stared at her warily when she emerged from the shadows of the church stairs.

Alexa turned and scanned the road. Her gaze fell on two figures just as they merged into a noisy parade coming down the avenue some hundred feet to the right. One of the men glanced over his shoulder. Light from an overhead street lamp illuminated his face briefly before he disappeared in the crowd.

She froze.

‘Hey!’ someone called out behind her. Panting, Jackson appeared at her side. ‘Wasn’t that one of the men you shot back at the tavern?’ His perplexed gaze shifted from the spot where the two figures had vanished. He stared at her.