The Last Kingdom by Steve Berry
Chapter 4
LUKE STOOD IN THE BOAT AND ALLOWED THE FRIGID AIR TO CHAP his face. It felt great. His two compatriots stood with him as they powered across the lake toward their parked vehicle onshore. Christophe piloted the small craft, standing at the wheel, Lexi beside him keeping watch ahead. She was slim and curvy, her body definitely honed by copious amounts of diet and exercise. Her mouth was full but a little wide for her nose, a small imperfection that he’d concluded only added to her allure. She wore jeans tucked into knee-high boots and a loose black sweater beneath her wool coat. No makeup painted her sultry beige complexion, and never had as far as he’d seen. Her long-lashed, barely angled eyes definitely added a mysterious quality he liked. He’d detected a slight accent in her voice. Australian, if he wasn’t mistaken. He knew little about her and none of the few overtures he’d made her way had been returned.
Which was a bit annoying.
“Are you that lousy a shot?” Christophe called out. “The only thing you hit was the wall.”
“On purpose,” he said, not looking over at either one of them. “Would you have preferred him dead? That would have gone over great. Along with two snapshots of the both of you.” He held up the camera. “Luckily, I got the damn thing.”
“I would have preferred that we not be interrupted,” Christophe noted. “It was your job to make sure that didn’t happen.”
He wasn’t going to take any crap off these two. “Then you shouldn’t have taken so long. All I heard was rattling around. I thought you were briefed on where to look.”
“Don’t you worry about what we were told,” Lexi said. “We did our job.”
“Yeah. Right. You kicked the damn thing open. Why didn’t you just do that to start with?”
He knew the answer. The idea had surely been to retrieve the book without revealing they’d actually been there.
“I tried to tell the prince that this one was trouble,” Christophe said. “But he would not listen. Maybe now he will.”
Luke shrugged. He’d dealt with idiots like this all of his life. People too arrogant to know how stupid they really were. “Please do. I wasn’t planning on reporting anything to the prince. But I will now. Especially the part about the photos in this camera.”
“How about I just shoot you,” Christophe said.
“You can try.”
And he meant it.
He’d always been blessed with a toned body undamaged by alcohol, cigarettes, or drugs. He’d spent seven years in the military, going right from high school to the Army and Ranger training. Sixty-two days of hell. One of the toughest experiences on earth. He’d passed, which was admirable considering the failure rate hovered around sixty percent. The whole idea had been to learn how to push yourself to the max. To do what you never thought possible. Twenty hours of training per day, all while eating two or fewer meals, with an average of three hours of sleep. He’d carried ninety pounds of weapons, equipment, and ammunition and patrolled more than two hundred miles across the training course.
And survived.
With his head held high.
So dealing with a cocky ass bully who thinks he knows a winnable fight when he sees one was a piece of cake.
“What’s so important here?” he asked, motioning to the book Lexi held. “Why all the fuss?”
“Not your concern,” Christophe said.
It was worth a try. That book was obviously important. They’d taken a lot of chances to get it. Too many really. And now the damn thing was out in the open. In play. How was he going to get hold of it, or even sneak a look?
Good question.
But he’d figure something out.
He looked around at the black water and noticed lights speeding their way. A boat? Then muzzle fire. Rounds whizzed by.
“Get down,” he yelled.
He and Lexi hit the deck.
Christophe crouched low, alternating his attention from what was ahead to what was following.
* * *
COTTON WORKED HIS WAY FROM THE FERRY’S LOWER DECK, UP through the spacious interior cabin that held a few passengers, to a staircase that led to the bridge. He hopped up the metal risers, burst into the small cabin that accommodated the pilot, and did not bother with an introduction. Instead, a hard-right uppercut sent the uniformed man to the floor, not moving.
“Sorry about that,” he said.
He gripped the ship’s wheel and pushed the throttle forward, increasing the engine’s rev and the ferry’s speed. Luke’s boat was off the port bow, the other one firing a weapon off the starboard but closing the gap. He figured he had the advantage of size and power so he increased the throttle.
The boat lurched from the added horsepower and the bow planed with the new speed.
* * *
LUKE SAW THE BIG FERRY HEADING ON AN INTERCEPT COURSE between where they were located and the boat firing on them.
That could not be happenstance.
God bless Pappy.
Rounds kept zipping by.
One of those stray bullets could eventually find flesh. That was the thing about automatic weapons. Aim meant nothing. Just send enough metal toward a target and some of it almost always hit the mark.
He stayed down, but kept watch on the ferry and on Christophe’s progress to get them off this damn water.
* * *
COTTON HELD TO HIS COURSE AND WAS RAPIDLY COMING BETWEEN the two boats. Luke’s was nearing the shore, and the pursuer kept firing. He’d served in the Navy for a number of years, mainly as a fighter pilot and a lawyer, but there’d been a couple of tours at sea. Never, though, had he piloted a large craft. But, thankfully, the lake was a wide-open expanse with plenty of room to maneuver without fear of hitting anything.
Except—
He spun the wheel hard left and swung the big ferry’s stern around, generating a huge wake that quickly swept toward the boat firing on Luke. In the penumbra of the ferry’s floodlights he saw the craft slow to avoid the oncoming wave. Two men stood in the small V-hull, one holding an automatic rifle. Both were trying to maintain their balance as the boat caught the swell that swept past. Cotton closed the gap and brought the ferry’s starboard side close to the bobbing craft. He then shifted the throttle to neutral and fled the bridge, scampering down the steps and back through the passenger’s compartment.
The five people there looked concerned.
“Nothing to worry about,” he told them. “The captain will be awake in a few minutes.”
He kept going, exiting out the rear door onto the open deck. He eased back toward the bow along the starboard side down a narrow walk. The ferry bobbed in the water, as did the small craft below that kept banging into the hull.
He hopped atop the gunwale.
Waited for the right moment.
Then leaped down.