Red Notice

108

Tom was halfway through the hatch before Sambor realized what was happening.

Laszlo’s hand grabbed for his carving knife but Sambor was quicker. He whipped out his own double-sided fighting blade. ‘Brother, I will take care of this. I, too, have a debt to repay. Go. I will meet you at the other end. If I don’t, promise me to fulfil your pledge. For both of us.’

Laszlo nodded. ‘Be quick, brother. I will take her, just in case.’

Sambor ripped off his mask, dumped the oxygen tank and ran towards Tom, who was now through the hatch. Sambor knew he wasn’t invulnerable: he could just as easily lose this fight as win, but even losing would buy Laszlo time and distance.

As soon as Laszlo was on French soil the device would be detonated. Sambor wanted to be with him when that happened. If that wasn’t possible, he had to die some time, and this would be the best way. His debt to his brother had been a heavy weight to carry; now was his chance to repay him. He would make sure Laszlo was free to carry out the pledge of revenge.

Sambor advanced to within a pace of his adversary, no hesitation, no fear, eyes glazed as he aimed for a quick kill.

Sambor angled his blade, ready for the fight. Tom glanced beyond him to see Laszlo and Delphine disappear into the airlock, then ripped off his jacket and wrapped it as fast as he could around his left hand and forearm.

He stood his ground and waited.

Tom felt the rush of the knife against his cheek as his left arm deflected the stab at his head. Then he heard a rending sound as the blade, keen as a razor’s edge, sliced through the jacket’s leather. Sambor struck again and again, shredding the fabric as Tom parried the strikes. He felt a searing pain as the blade sliced through the material bunched around his fist and pierced his knuckles. But, finally, he managed to get inside the giant’s reach.

The fight was now more even — or, at least, it felt that way to Tom. He pushed his weight into Sambor, forcing him backwards against the pipe, knowing that if he could not finish him quickly, they were all fucked. He couldn’t take much more punishment. Keeping his head hard against his opponent’s chest, he threw a flurry of punches into his body. He heard Sambor grunt, and the knife clatter to the concrete.

But it wasn’t over.

A flash of light exploded in his head as Sambor’s fist smashed into his temple like a jackhammer.

Tom forced himself to rally. Sheer willpower made his body respond. He launched another attack, unleashing the same combination of punches that he had used to knock out Ashton during Fight Night. But Sambor didn’t go down: he just seemed to soak up the punishment as Tom got weaker. Tom threw everything he had, every ounce of his being, into one last blow, a savage, twisting uppercut to Sambor’s chin.

Sambor still didn’t go down, but he stumbled. He lunged at Tom, his fingers clawing at his face, searching for his eyes.

Tom seized his chance. He piled a vicious right to the other man’s kidneys and as Sambor reeled, dived across the concrete, scrabbling wildly for the knife. He felt the air being driven out of his lungs as Sambor toppled onto his back — but at that instant his left hand closed around the knife handle.

Stabbing backwards, he felt the blade tear into the soft flesh beneath Sambor’s ribs. He stabbed again, not caring where, and worked the blade into whatever part of the big man’s body the weapon penetrated. He twisted the blade into Sambor’s soft tissue and heard him grunt and moan. He churned his hand up and down and round, any way that he could to maximize the damage.

At last the Russian started to shift his weight, now desperate to remove himself from Tom’s immediate killing area. It was enough for Tom to extract the blade from his side, turn, and ram it into Sambor’s chest. He felt the steel jam momentarily, as it wedged itself between the man’s ribs.

Managing to get both hands on the handle, he pushed it home. Then he held Sambor close, so he couldn’t do any more damage to him as his life ebbed away.