Return to Atlantis: A Novel (14 page)

Eddie’s gaze flicked back and forth between the two ninjas as they closed in. Donatello was still twirling his
nunchaku
with dangerous ease, trying to intimidate him into retreating—into range of Michelangelo’s poised staff.

His eyes moved to the exit—and the gun. If he could knock down or even distract one of the ninjas for as little as a second, he had a chance to round the other and reach the Makarov. But he would have to pick the perfect moment … and it wasn’t here yet. Both men needed to be closer, but not so close that they could make an unstoppable strike.

The ninjas knew what he was thinking. They exchanged another look, silently agreeing on a plan of attack. Eddie stepped back. Even if they had figured out what he was about to do, he had no option left but to chance it.

The staff, though less showy, was more likely to fell him than the
nunchaku
. Donatello was his target, then. The ninja was still approaching, more cautiously. Another couple of feet.

One more step—

Eddie bumped into something. Caught off guard, he instinctively glanced at the obstruction—a display case containing a sword.

Donatello darted forward, the
nunchaku
whipping up at Eddie’s face. He raised his arms, taking a fierce crack to the elbow from the wooden handle—

The staff swung like a baseball bat, slamming across his stomach and pitching him backward against the case. The whole thing toppled and fell, glass exploding beneath Eddie as he landed on top of it. Shards stabbed into his shoulders. He rolled sideways to get clear of the
debris as the
nunchaku
lanced at his head. More glass splintered as it missed by barely an inch.

Michelangelo raised his staff again, bringing it high over his head to crush Eddie’s skull like a watermelon—

Eddie grabbed Kusanagi and swung it upward as the staff lashed down. A sharp crack of wood against metal—and the
bo
’s end was neatly chopped off by the sacred sword, its edge still keen even after centuries.

Even with his weapon reduced to two-thirds of its length, the ninja struck again. This time, Eddie used the sword not to parry but for leverage, shoving himself out of the wreckage and rolling onto his feet. Michelangelo’s thrust fell short. Another attack, but this time Eddie was prepared.

He swung the sword as hard as he could at the ninja’s neck.

Swordsmanship was not one of Eddie’s combat skills, fists and firearms the majority of his military training. The blade caught the ninja flat-on instead of with its edge.

But that was enough. The sword made an almost musical ringing note as it hit the side of Michelangelo’s jaw like a hammer. Spitting blood, the ninja crashed through another display, shattering jade figurines.

Eddie had no time to celebrate. The other ninja made another charge,
nunchaku
flailing so quickly they were a blur. One of the handles clanged off the sword as the Yorkshireman defensively snapped it up. Donatello instantly adjusted his movements to send the next strike past the ancient blade, the chain looping around it. He pulled back sharply, trying to yank the weapon out of Eddie’s hands.

This time Eddie kept a firm grip. He charged, driving the blade at the ninja’s stomach.

Donatello was too quick, twisting out of the way. He braced himself as Eddie collided with him, then with a rapid movement freed the
nunchaku
from the sword and turned to strangle his adversary with its chain …

Eddie headbutted him in the face.

The dark blue of the ninja’s balaclava suddenly blossomed with a damp purple patch around his mouth and nose. Even with his eyes screwed shut, he still tried to attack again. The
nunchaku
swished through the air—

Hitting nothing. Eddie had ducked.

Now it was his turn again—and with a roar he thrust the imperial sword with his full strength, transfixing the ninja through the stomach all the way to the hilt. Donatello gasped, mumbling in Japanese before collapsing face-first into the broken glass of Kusanagi’s shattered display case.

“Cowa-fucking-bunga,” Eddie rasped, forehead throbbing from its impact with the ninja’s nose. He straightened and looked around. Michelangelo was still alive, on all fours and clutching his truncated staff. But the way to the door was now clear—and his gun was just outside.

He ran. The last ninja scrambled up, but Eddie was already past him. The Makarov had landed about ten feet beyond the door. He crossed the threshold, bending to snatch up the weapon—

Something shot past him just before he reached it. The
bo
staff, hurled like a javelin—not at him, but at the gun. It hit the Makarov and sent it skidding through a set of open doors into an adjoining room.

Eddie looked back at Michelangelo, who was now searching for something on the ground …

Leonardo’s
katana
. Michelangelo seized the sword and pointed it angrily at Eddie—then sprinted toward him with a howling battle cry.

“Oh, fuck!” Eddie himself ran, racing after the gun. The doors had been closed when he dropped down from the vent; the ninjas must have entered through them. Beyond was a traditional Japanese dining room, rows of low tables with tatami mats on which the diners would sit lined up along the polished wooden floor.

Where was the gun? It had skittered over the slick wood—and ended up beneath one of the tables.

But which one?

He reached the first table and flipped it over. No gun. Next table. Still nothing. The ninja’s padding footsteps were rapidly closing. Third table, nothing. He grabbed the next in the row and flung it back toward the door. Still no sign of the Makarov, and from behind came a crack of wood as the
katana
slashed the little table in two.

He threw another place aside—and saw the glint of steel beneath.

The ninja was almost on him—

He dived for the gun, grabbing it and twisting to bring it to bear. The blade flashed down—and the ninja took two bullets to the chest as Eddie fired at point-blank range. The Englishman rolled to avoid the bloodied corpse as it fell, the
katana
’s point stabbing into the wood floor to leave the weapon standing beside the body like a tombstone.

“Jesus,” Eddie gasped, regaining his breath as he shakily stood. “Fucking ninjas, they’re like cockroaches!” He checked the room, trying to get his bearings. There were two exits: the one to the gallery and the vault, and another opening onto a windowed hallway. He hadn’t seen the direction Takashi had gone, so a split-second instinctual decision sent him toward the latter.

At the hall’s far end to his left was Takashi’s private elevator, an illuminated indicator showing that it was stationary at the penthouse level. Takashi hadn’t taken Nina and the statues out that way, then. In the other direction was a set of imposing oak doors. The industrialist’s inner sanctum?

He ran toward it, gun at the ready.

The case in her hand, Nina raced into the gallery. “Eddie?” she cried, uncertain—fearful—about what she might find.

She discovered corpses, which in some grim way was hardly a surprise, but to her relief none was her husband. Three in the strongroom, and a fourth in a dining
room through another doorway. Eddie must have gone that way. She ran after him.

More doors led into the hallway to Takashi’s office. She went through them. Beyond the windows, Tokyo was now a glittering sea of lights beneath the twilight winter sky. She looked around. The elevator was to the left; to the right—

“Eddie!” she called again, running after him. Her husband slowed, turned, saw her …

And raised his gun.

N
ina froze, shocked—and afraid. Eddie’s expression was one of pure hatred. “What are you …,” she started, but her mouth had gone dry.

Then she realized that he wasn’t looking at her, but something behind her. “Nina, move,” he growled.

She whirled. Stikes had just come from the dining room—and also had a gun raised. She was directly between the two men, blocking their lines of fire. A standoff.

“Yes, step aside,” said Stikes. “I should have known you’d turn up sooner or later, Chase. It’s a bad habit of yours.” A smile of cruel anticipation twisted his mouth. “One I look forward to breaking.”

“Move, Nina,” Eddie repeated. “I’ve been hunting this shitbag for three months. He’s not getting away this time.”

“Why don’t you just shoot, Chase?” taunted Stikes. “I gather you’ve been having marital problems—it would save you the cost of a divorce.”

Eddie clenched his jaw angrily, about to risk darting sideways for a clear shot in the hope of catching the
other man by surprise … before a thought struck him. Why didn’t
Stikes
shoot?

Nina started to step aside. “Wait!” Eddie snapped. “Stay still.”

“Uh, Eddie,” she said with a nervous glance between the two guns, “what’re you doing?”

Eddie’s gaze remained fixed on Stikes, whose eyes began to betray his frustration. For whatever reason, he couldn’t risk killing Nina, even if that cost him the chance to eliminate one of his enemies.

Now it was Eddie’s turn to smile slightly, confusing Nina and infuriating Stikes. “Nina, come over here. Trust me,” he added, seeing her hesitancy.

“I dunno if you noticed, but the guy who hates us both is aiming a gun at me,” she pointed out.

“He won’t shoot. He
can’t
shoot. He needs you alive. Come on.”

“Alive isn’t the same as unharmed,” said Stikes as she started to move.

Nina cringed. “Oh, I was so hoping he wouldn’t say that.”

“He wounds you, you fall, I kill him,” Eddie told her. “He loses.”

“I don’t exactly come out a winner either!” She was now two-thirds of the way between the former SAS men.

A faint sound from the other end of the hall. The elevator was descending. “That’ll be more of Takashi’s security,” said Stikes, his arrogance returning. “You can’t get away. I’ll tell you what—just drop your gun and I’ll make it painless. One bullet, right in the forehead. For old times’ sake.”

“How about I give you one bullet right in the bollocks? For old times’ sake.” But Eddie knew Stikes was right—he was rapidly running out of time before reinforcements arrived. He needed to break the deadlock …

A bright light suddenly filled the hallway.

From outside.

Eddie looked around in alarm as an approaching helicopter’s
spotlight swept over the penthouse. He whipped back to face Stikes, but the mercenary was just as surprised as he was—

The windows shattered as gunfire raked the building.

Nina shrieked and ran to Eddie, who dived on top of her to shield her from the flying glass and bullets. Stikes also threw himself to the floor. Wood panels splintered, the drywall behind erupting with great sprays of fragmented plaster as more shots carved through the hallway.

The firing stopped. Eddie raised his head, seeing the helicopter hovering about fifty yards from the skyscraper. The glare from its light meant that he couldn’t identify the type, only that it was painted black—and had a machine gun protruding from an open hatch in its side.

But the aircraft was now turning to face the building head-on. The gun wasn’t its only weapon …

Eddie flattened himself over Nina again as a flash of orange fire streaked out from the chopper. A rocket hit the building above the hallway and exploded, the remaining windows shattering. Debris cascaded from the ceiling between the couple and Stikes.

Nina screamed as a second missile struck overhead, the floor pounding like a drumskin. “Holy
shit!
Who the hell are they?”

“They’re shooting at us, so bad guys!” Eddie shouted back. He shook off lumps of fallen plaster and lifted his head. They were dangerously exposed here. If they ran toward the elevator, the building’s central core might provide some protection. But that would mean covering almost the entire length of the hallway, making them an easy target for the gunner—

The floor shook again. Not from an explosion, but a deep, ominous creak of metal and concrete. The helicopter hurriedly retreated. The sound grew louder, joined by the groans and cracks of failing structural supports …

Nina realized the cause with horror. “Oh, crap! Eddie, move,
move
!”

One of the wind turbines outside toppled like a felled redwood, scything down through the ceiling and tearing a great gash out of the skyscraper as the enormous steel tower ripped through story after story before finally being dragged to a halt by the sheer mass of tangled wreckage.

But the danger wasn’t over. Nina and Eddie suddenly found themselves sliding toward the widening hole as the floor, its supports severed, sagged beneath them. They slithered helplessly down the polished wood—

Another loud crack—a floorboard springing up at one end as it buckled. Nina grabbed it, Eddie catching her legs and clinging on.

She was still holding the case in her other hand. “Get rid of that fucking box before we both fall!” he ordered.

“Not a chance!” After what she had experienced earlier, there was no way Nina was going to give up the statues now. Instead she tossed the case back up the sloping floor to land in the corner near the doors. For a moment, it looked as though it was going to slide back down again … then it wedged against another warped board.