The Thieves of Faith (55 page)

Michael stood there, a gun at his back, staring at the lead guard with a literal lifeline at the end of his blade. Michael knew if he made any sudden move he would be cut down in a short burst of bullets through his lower spine. He needed a diversion, but no matter how hard he thought on the matter, nothing came to mind.

The guard continued tapping the rope, his blade bouncing as if on a trampoline, staring his point home to Michael. “Maybe I should make you cut the rope.” The guard smiled and motioned to Michael. “Come here.”

Michael refused to move until the butt of the gun jammed into his lower back, forcing him forward. Michael reluctantly walked to the edge and stood next to the guard with the knife. The guard sat there crouched down, his arm over the side incessantly tapping the rope with his blade.

Michael was jabbed in the back again, this time knocked to his knees. He was face-to-face with the lead guard.

“Would you mind providing our friend here with a little motivation?” the lead guard said to his partner. The guard raised the barrel of his gun, placing it on the back of Michael’s head.

The lead guard handed Michael the knife. “Now, don’t be getting any ideas.”

Michael rolled the handle of the blade back and forth in the palm of his hand. His mind was racing but his head felt the cold metal of the gun barrel.

“You can do it,” the guard said. “Just lean over here and start cutting.”

Michael didn’t budge. The guard violently grabbed Michael by the wrist and forced his hand toward the rope, bringing the blade against the line. Michael fought back. The rope was still jumping about the rock; Michael glanced over the edge but saw no sign of anyone. The guard forced the blade backward, trying to pull it across the rope. Michael fought with all of his strength as the guard struggled to force his hand.

The guard began to shake with effort and anger. “You’ve got three seconds to start cutting or Carl here is going to send your brain into the sea.”

Without warning, a hand reached up out of nowhere and grabbed the guard by the arm, pulling him over the edge. The guard cartwheeled past Simon, tumbling through the air, disappearing in the darkness. There was a long silence before a loud
splat
echoed up from below.

Michael spun around on the surprised guard, who watched in horror as his partner disappeared. Michael grabbed the barrel of the gun at his head with his left hand and jammed the knife into the guard’s thigh. But the guard kicked Michael hard in the chest, sending him tumbling backward, almost over the edge. The man dived on him, grabbing Michael about the throat with his left hand as he pummeled him with his right. Michael tried to fight back, but the man’s weight pinned him down.

Simon scrambled up over the edge and before the guard could react, Simon grabbed him by the hair and struck him three times in the throat. The man crumpled to the ground, clutching his throat, gasping through his crushed larynx, finally going limp.

Michael sat up, panting, trying to catch his breath; he looked at Simon who was already stripping the guard of his radio, gun, and uniform. Michael looked back at where Busch’s rope had been and nearly broke down at the loss of his friend.

“Hey.” A whisper came from below.

Michael looked over the edge to see Busch climbing Simon’s rope. Michael collapsed backward on the ground in relief as Busch ascended the last two feet.

“What the hell?” Busch whispered, more pissed than Michael had seen him in a long time. “I thought you were supposed to be some expert climber.”

Michael smiled, happy to see his previously-thought-dead friend.

“It’s a good thing I felt it giving out. Look at my hands.” Busch held out his palms, which were both lined with two-inch-wide rope burns. “You know, that fucking kills. I could have died.”

Michael continued to smile. “It’s good to see you.”

“Wipe that smirk off your face, this isn’t funny.”

Chapter 58

T
he small hangar was only big enough for
Kelley’s jet. The owner, a seventy-three-year-old flight instructor, was more than happy to move his fleet of Piper Cubs out for the evening in exchange for five thousand euros. He would finally be able to take his wife to Greece as he had promised her annually for the past twenty years.

The hangar wasn’t fortified; in fact, it was nothing more than a corrugated tin, oversized box that dated back to World War II, but it would have to do. Besides, the five armed guards that Martin had arranged for looked better than metal gates and barbed wire. Kelley never questioned Martin’s ability to find the right person for the job, no matter where they were. Each of the guards was large and imposing with faces that had seen their fair share of street fights. All looked a little left of legal, but that was of no concern to Kelley. Current circumstances considered, the law be damned.

The airstrip was a wide open space surrounded by woods, mountains, and streams with a southerly exposure to the ocean. The stars seemed to shine brighter in this peaceful part of the world than anywhere he had ever seen. It rattled his very nature that abominations in the name of God and faith were being conducted not thirty miles away. The airstrip—he couldn’t call it an airport—was five miles outside of the small seaside village, and every now and then Kelley caught a whiff of the sea air that he loved so much. The winding road out of the mountain ran right past the strip and straight into town. It was the only way in or out.

Kelley sat in a folding deck chair on the side of the runway, sipping a whiskey. He tilted his head back, listening to the classical music that flowed through the open doors of the limo parked next to him. Martin emerged from the hangar, a bottle of Macallan Scotch whisky in hand and two cigars. He sat next to Kelley, poured him a refill, and handed him a Cohiba Lanceros, but Kelley couldn’t see smoking it in the face of everything. He would reserve the celebratory ritual for Michael’s return with Susan.

“Do you think he can do it?” Kelley asked.

Martin looked at Kelley and nodded. “There is a tenacity and ingenuity that runs rather deep in your family. Michael did penetrate the Kremlin.”

“I can’t believe he broke into the Kremlin.”

Martin nodded. “We all have our talents.”

Kelley nodded back. In an odd kind of way, he was more than impressed; he had no idea what it took to do such a thing, but if Michael was able to pierce such a high security location, then maybe Susan would return unharmed. It tore apart his soul that she was in such danger and all he could do was sit here helplessly. “I hate waiting.”

“You always have.”

“Doesn’t change the way I feel.”

“You always say the right attorney, the right expertise for the job. Well, this particular job is in the right hands.”

Kelley looked at Martin. For twenty years now, Martin had been the yin to his legal yang, balancing his irrational moments with foresight and clarity.

“If you don’t mind me saying, there is more than just a resemblance between you. He may be much different than Peter, but there’s no doubt—” Martin smiled—“he’s your son.”

Kelley looked away. The more time he had spent with Michael, the more he realized that their commonality went beyond appearance. Where Kelley first thought of them as polar opposites, he had come to realize that they were really two sides of the same coin. There was the Michael whom he had assumed he knew and there was the Michael he had learned about. He had only known him through pictures and articles, not character and soul.

Michael’s friends would lay their lives down for him and his beliefs, a quality unknown to most, which spoke volumes about the individual who inspired such blind loyalty. And Michael would lay his life down not only for them, but for strangers, people he had met not a week earlier, people like him and Susan, who didn’t exactly leave the best first impression. Michael would risk his life based on a story that would challenge even the most spiritually accepting of minds. When Stephen met Genevieve, when she visited him at his office to give him the lockbox for Michael that had contained the Kremlin underground map, she had said that Michael was one of the finest people she had ever come to know, a fact that he found hard to swallow knowing that he was a thief. She insisted that Stephen get to know Michael before judging him. And now that he had, there was no doubt; Kelley was proud to call Michael his son.

The sound of a truck broke the stillness of the night, it was distant but seemed to be getting closer. They couldn’t see anything, but its engine’s noise was enough to put everyone on guard.

Kelley squinted to see past the airstrip lights. But the truck never arrived.

One of the hired guns came running over. “You may want to take cover,” the guard said in a thick Italian accent as he continued past them to the electrical panel on the side of the hangar. He opened the gray box, reached in, and threw the switch. The world was swallowed in darkness.

And then, without warning, gunfire erupted. Not just in front of them but everywhere. It was louder than anything Kelley had ever heard, splitting his ears, their ringing competing with the continued gun battle. Kelley instinctively dived down next to the limo. All around, voices shouted in staccato bursts of orders and confusion. The battle seemed to last for hours but was over in less than a minute, the world falling silent. Kelley lay there, a panicked mess of confusion; he dared not speak for fear of giving away his location. He looked about, anger replacing the fear. He slowed his breathing, gathered himself, and slowly rose up.

“Martin,” he whispered. In all of the confusion, he hadn’t seen where his friend had taken cover. He admonished himself for being so selfish in the face of danger. “Martin,” he whispered again.

As Kelley stood, he saw the first body, not twenty feet away. The bodyguard lay on the airstrip, his head haloed in blood. The silence left a question over the moment; Kelley was unsure if he would even feel the bullet from the darkness that would end his life.

He cautiously leaned down and picked up the guard’s gun, moved around the hangar, and nearly tripped on another body; one of Zivera’s men, his chest blossomed with gunfire.

Kelley ran to the breaker box and threw the switch. The airstrip flashed into brilliance. Two more bodies lay on the runway. Kelley stayed to the shadowed edge and walked around the strip. He counted eight bodies, checking each one not for a pulse or for a sign of life but for identity. He had to find Martin. He finally stopped at the gate. There was no sign of him or any living guard. The fear began to creep back in, taking over his senses.

“Martin!” Kelley shouted. But there was no answer, not a sound.

And then it hit him. Kelley broke into a full run back to the hangar. He raced into the darkened metal hut and up into the jet. He knew before he looked. The safe hung open. The files scattered the floor, one of the pistols was missing. And the golden box was gone.

Kelley stood there, stunned. He was alone; Martin was gone, dead somewhere out in the night. And worst of all, Michael was walking into a trap. Stephen reached in the safe and took out one of the two remaining pistols and a box of ammo. Somehow, he would get back into the compound that he had escaped from not twenty-four hours earlier; he had to get to Michael before it was too late. He ejected the clip from the nine-millimeter and loaded it up, slamming the cartridge back in place.

He gathered his thoughts and turned to leave when the cold barrel of a gun pressed up against his temple.

Chapter 59

M
ichael, Simon, and Busch sprinted through
the woods that ran adjacent to the mansion. Simon had slipped the guard outfit on and had the radio earpiece in his left ear. They each carried two pistols, a rifle, and a knife, plus Simon had the two guns they had taken off the guards. There had only been routine chatter on the radio, nothing indicating they had been spotted. Though Michael had protested, Simon had tossed the other body over the edge into the waiting sea. They couldn’t afford anyone finding a corpse; it would bring the cavalry out and on the hunt. Simon explained it was despicable but necessary.