Minotaur

23

When Chapel reentered the kitchen he found it deserted except for the cooling body of the cook, who lay slumped right where she’d died. The place was a mess, pots and pans knocked onto the floor, cabinets torn open and their contents strewn across the counters. Apparently when Michael and his men had come through, looking for Chapel, they had been careful to make sure he wasn’t hiding in any of the cupboards.

“There’s movement outside,” Angel told him. “I’m watching through the FLIR camera on a police helicopter loitering just outside the perimeter. I’ve got a dozen heat signatures streaming toward the house.”

Chapel nodded to himself. He tried to think like his enemy, like Favorov. Those heat signatures would be the security guards normally stationed around the grounds. Most likely they’d been told to stay at their posts even when the shooting started—someone needed to be on hand to repel the SWAT teams when they arrived. If they were heading inbound, that meant Favorov or someone else had called them back, which meant that whoever was running the shots didn’t care about the police anymore.

They just wanted Chapel.

“I was hoping it would take longer,” Chapel told Angel. “I guess Favorov is smarter than that. He’s been waiting to make his escape until the SWAT teams attack, probably hoping to sneak out in the confusion. Now he knows we’re holding off, which means he’ll change his plans.”

“That’s good, right?” Angel asked. “You have about thirty seconds before the first guard reaches the front door, by the way. They’re taking their time moving in, being careful. It’s good Favorov had to change his strategy. That means you’re making him sweat.”

“Maybe, but it’s bad because it means he’s capable of improvising on the fly. He was GRU, one of their best. He’s going to have some surprises for us yet.” Chapel loaded one of his AK-47s and set the fire selector to full automatic. “It’s also bad because it means he’s already started to run away. I’m going to have to make this fast.”

“ETA on the guards, fifteen seconds now,” Angel said. “They’re headed for the front door. Head left out of the kitchen, then take your first right.”

Angel and Chapel had been working together for a while now. She knew how he thought, how he would act in most situations. She knew that if the guards were headed for the front door, Chapel meant to be there to meet them.

He hurried down a narrow servants’ hallway, then around a bend and into the massive foyer where he’d first seen Fiona coming down the stairs. There wasn’t much furniture in the foyer, but he found a big ornamental table. He kicked it over and ducked behind it just as the doors exploded.

The noise and the light were intense. The guards must have had some kind of breaching explosive, either C-4 or some kind of grenade. They hadn’t wanted to take the chance that Chapel was standing right inside the doors, waiting for them to open. These weren’t just rent-a-cops from the local security temp agency. They’d been trained for combat.

Well, that could actually work in Chapel’s favor. If they were ex-military, or at least trained by somebody ex-military, they would understand the concept of suppressive fire. Chapel lifted his rifle over the top of the overturned table and fired a long burst toward the doors, not even aiming. He heard shouting and people running away from his fire. That was good. Rent-a-cops might have just stormed inside, right into his gunfire, and some of them might even have gotten hit. Chapel didn’t need any more bodies on his conscience.

Chapel moved to the edge of his improvised shield and took a quick look. He could see almost nothing through the now open front doors. It was nighttime out there, but there was enough light to show the driveway and the start of the gardens beyond. He couldn’t see any of the guards, though—yeah. There. He saw the tip of a rifle barrel just sticking out past the door frame. The guards were hanging back, standing to either side of the door.

If Chapel had possessed any grenades he might have been able to take them all out at once. But he only had his rifles and pistols, and not a lot of ammunition for either.

Come on, he thought. He needed to get moving. He needed to find Favorov. If the guards would just come storming inside, either he would shoot them all or, far more likely, they would kill him. But as long as they stood out there waiting for him to make a move, he also had to wait for them.

Maybe that was the whole plan. Maybe they were just stalling for time. Maybe—

His train of thought was interrupted as a hand appeared in the doorway, a hand holding something small and round. Chapel could only watch as a grenade arced through the air to clatter on the marble floor, right in front of his improvised cover.