The Last Kingdom by Steve Berry

Chapter 3

COTTON KNEW LUKE WAS FIRING HIGH. BUT THE OTHER GUY? HE was deadly serious so he dove to the floor, the thick marble balustrade providing some protection from the bullets trying to make it his way.

He counted four rounds.

The firing stopped.

He risked a peek through the stone spindles and saw three forms scamper out of the glass doors into the night. The plan had been to keep them moving, so he hopped to his feet and rushed down the stairs in pursuit. Before leaving upstairs he’d noticed that the camera he’d intentionally dropped was gone. Good. He’d expected Luke to take it. He’d also quickly examined the rolltop desk and saw an empty exposed niche. He’d noticed a few moments ago that while Luke toted the camera, the woman carried a book. Most likely what Luke had been tasked with retrieving. But that had not worked out. At least he could keep up the pursuit, driving them toward the dock and back out on the lake.

Frat Boy would have to take it from there.

He came to the ground floor and bolted out the glass doors into the cold, seeing the taillights of a pickup truck speeding away.

Really?

He looked around and spied a utility vehicle, no more than a golf cart with a work bed. He ran toward it, slipping on his leather gloves, and turned the ignition key. The gas engine roared to life and he whipped the steering wheel to the left and sped off. The cart came equipped with a weak headlight that illuminated only a few feet ahead. Overhead, the sky was a sea of diamond stars on a velvet mat, the night all around him black as soot. He was following a paved road that ran from the palace, paralleling the island’s north shore. The lake beyond, past the reed beds, seemed even darker. Cold air whipped over him, chapping his lips, parching his throat with each breath.

The truck was way ahead, moving faster thanks to more horsepower. But the idea was to maintain pursuit and keep Luke and his cohorts moving away. He gave Luke a hard time but, if the truth be told, he was proud of him. Their first encounter, a few years back, had been a series of errors on both their parts. Ever since, their paths had crossed on occasion and, each time, Luke had delivered. He recalled his own formative years, right after he transferred from the Navy to the Justice Department. He’d been young and green too. Making his share of mistakes. Stephanie Nelle, who’d personally recruited him, had never held back, though. Instead, she’d pushed him hard. Insisting on excellence. And he’d responded.

So had Luke.

He’d been surprised when the call had come a few days ago. A first. Luke specifically asking for help. He’d had his own mentors during his first few years with the Magellan Billet. People he’d asked for help from too. Nothing wrong with that. But there always came a point when you had to do the job, on your own terms, by your own rules. And whether you succeeded or failed was a result of your own choices.

He’d succeeded.

So had Luke.

Funny how life dealt its cards. So random at first. No rhyme nor reason. Then, ever so slowly, patterns always emerged. The trick was to recognize and seize upon those, turning a pair of deuces into not exactly a royal flush, but something that could be made to work like one.

Improvising.

The key to success.

His own life a perfect example.

One day he was an intelligence officer for the United States government with a reputation for getting things done. The next he was retired, divorced, and moving to Denmark to open a bookshop. A complete turnaround, which he’d never regretted. Now he was an entrepreneur, financially well off, deeply involved with a woman who loved him. Cassiopeia Vitt. He’d told her of Luke’s request and asked her to come with him, but she’d declined, saying that her castle rebuilding project required her presence.

And he’d understood.

He loved her dearly. They were a couple. A team.

But not tonight.

He was on his own.

Ahead the truck continued racing down the paved road, its headlights cutting a bright swath in the darkness. They were past the trees, now in an open meadow between the old Augustinian monastery, high on a hill to the left, and the lake on the right. Lights burned in a few of the monastery windows. The truck raced straight for the dock that jutted out into the lake.

He sped ahead.

Cold air kept searing his throat and lungs.

The truck came to a stop and its occupants fled. He saw them run down the dock and hop into a small boat tied at its end. He maneuvered the cart up alongside the truck.

An engine cranked, then revved.

He trotted down the concrete dock, watching as the boat disappeared across the black water. He stopped under one of the amber lights that illuminated the dock, offering plenty of brightness for those in the boat to see him.

Mission accomplished.

The lake’s large ferryboat, the one he’d ridden over in, floated to his right. Once it had been a true saloon steamer with a wreath of smoke announcing its presence across the lake. Now it was diesel-powered. He spotted a few people inside the enclosed cabin. Its engines revved. The boat was departing on its half-hour run back to the mainland. He should hop aboard and leave too. Maybe he’d stay in Munich a few days and check out the antique bookshops. Similar establishments all across Europe had yielded treasures before. Perhaps some of the local dealers harbored a few first editions he could resell to collectors. Or maybe instead of heading back to Copenhagen, he’d take a flight to France and visit with Cassiopeia for a few days.

That sounded great.

He wished Luke Godspeed.

Any assignment came with risks. A fact he well knew. His last with the Magellan Billet, in Mexico City, a perfect example when a bullet tore through his shoulder. He’d managed to take down the shooters, but the resulting carnage had left seven dead, nine injured. One of them had been a young diplomat assigned to the Danish mission, Cai Thorvaldsen. Ten weeks after that massacre a man with a crooked spine—a grieving father—appeared at his front door in Atlanta. Henrik Thorvaldsen.

And changed his life forever.

The ferry’s engines seemed to come to full power.

Lights out on the water caught his gaze. Another boat. Starting to speed toward the boat Luke left in.

Odd.

Then he heard the distant rat-tat-tat and spotted the flash of muzzle fire coming from the new boat.

Aimed Luke’s way. What the hell?

Things had suddenly escalated.

True, he didn’t have a dog in this fight, but it was not his nature to do nothing when a friend might be in trouble.

The ferry eased from the dock, its bow pointed out toward the dark water. Lights illuminated its hull and cabin, a powerful flood lamp pointed ahead off its bow.

Improvise. Use what you have.

He ran toward the ferry.

And leaped aboard.