Minotaur

7

Chapel never fully lost consciousness. The idea you could knock someone out by hitting them on the back of the head was a myth. It could stun someone, leave them reeling, make them temporarily blind. It could leave them disoriented and confused. It could give them a concussion or even brain damage.

But it didn’t just put somebody to sleep. Chapel lost the ability to see straight, but he could still hear everything going on in the small dining room.

“I’m sorry—Ygor, forgive me, I’m sorry! I panicked!”

He heard Favorov rise stiffly from his chair, heard him walking around the table. Chapel realized he must be on the floor, that he must have fallen when he was struck, because his reeling vision showed him two pairs of feet. He saw Fiona’s feet in her elegant heels, and then he saw Favorov’s penny loafers.

One of which came right at his face. Chapel was helpless, unable to move as the kick landed hard on his cheek.

“Piece of American trash,” Favorov said. “My dear, you just did the stupidest fucking thing in a lifetime of empty-headed blunders. Do you have any idea what is going to happen now? To me? To you? To the children?”

“Ygor—please—please—I—”

Chapel heard a meaty thwack and he knew Favorov must have struck his wife across the face. Sounded like he’d used an open hand.

In his dazed state he felt strangely detached from what was happening to him. He was able to feel sorry for Fiona, though. She wasn’t stupid at all, from what he’d seen, and all she’d done to deserve that slap was try to defend her husband. He tried to say something in her defense but his tongue wasn’t working right and he only managed to groan.

Favorov must have bent over him, then—his voice sounded much closer. “Looks like you didn’t kill him.”

“I just wanted to—”

“Shut up,” Favorov said. “In a long life of pointlessness and vacuity, you did one smart thing, you know that? You married the right man. There is a way we can control this situation. Call in Stephen and Michael. We’ll take him to the billiards room—there are no windows there. And get me my satellite cell phone. It’s time to call in some favors.”

“Of course, Ygor, I’ll go right away,” Fiona said. Chapel heard a door open and shut again.

He tried to move. Tried to get his arms under him so he could push himself up, somehow get to his feet.

It didn’t work.

He felt practiced hands search the pockets of his jacket. “Unarmed,” Favorov said, with a surprised grunt. “Interesting. I assumed you had orders to kill me if I refused you. That’s how the CIA would have handled this, back during the Cold War. Perhaps your masters have lost their nerve.” Favorov chuckled. “That may bode well for you. Ah. Here’s your phone. I imagine I don’t even need to dial, do I? They’re already listening. Do you hear me, Pentagon? Are you receiving me? I have your man. I have him hostage. If you want him back alive, call me. There will be certain conditions.”

The door opened again. Rough hands dug into Chapel’s armpits and hauled him off the floor, then started dragging him away.

He had no idea what Favorov was planning, no idea what his fate was going to be. He did know one thing—he was expendable. If Favorov planned on using him as a bargaining chip, he was going to be disappointed at the response. Too bad Chapel wouldn’t live long enough to see the look on the Russian’s face.