Land of the Gods

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

Hawke and the rest of the team stepped into the private elevator and ordered it up to the penthouse suite on the top floor. Kozlov’s ring was the fifth part of the puzzle, but the ancient gods weren’t going to give up all their secrets without a fight. Even with all five rings put together in various different combinations, they doubted any of the lines and other markings would make any sense at all until the whole set of eight was together.

When the elevator reached the top floor and the doors pinged opened, Hawke led the small team along a plush, carpeted corridor until they reached the main living area. Guns drawn into the aim, Lea, Reaper and Nikolai were at his side as he swung around into the formal living room.

Empty.

He beheld a hideous place of tiger hide rugs complete with head mounts and snarling jaws, pink diamond chandeliers, a Porsche pool table and a full-size roulette wheel. The faint smell of cannabis drifted in the air, and a bottle of flat, warm undrunk champagne was on top of a table near the window.

Seeing one of the tiger rugs, Nikolai looked at the beast’s dead face with disgust. “These things are an abomination.”

Lea nodded. “I’m with you on that one.”

“Moi aussi,” Reaper said, cracking his knuckles. “I don’t think I’m going to like this Kozlov.”

Hawke gave an absent-minded nod as they progressed deeper in the suite. He was pretty certain he wasn’t going to like him either, but they had to meet him first and there was still no sign of the big boss or any of his goons. Moving into the study and still no luck. He noticed a paneled door behind the desk. It was ajar. Stepping closer, he opened it and they found themselves inside the tycoon’s study. Tastelessly furnished in brightly colored leather and with a long bookcase on one wall, an open sliding door led out to a deep balcony.

“He’s not hiding out in here either.”

“I’m not hiding anywhere.”

They all heard the thick Russian accent, and then they saw the man himself. Kozlov stepped into the study from the balcony. Two men with guns stepped in after him. As calm and casual as if he were ordering from a wine list, the tycoon started speaking. “Who are you and what do you want?”

“Drop your guns!” Hawke said.

“I think not.”

“You’re outnumbered.”

“Again, I think not.” As he spoke, the bookcase slid open to reveal two more men, both armed with submachine guns. “It is you who is outnumbered. Drop your guns.”

Like the others, Hawke knew their handguns were no match for the two Makarov PP-90s staring them in the face. They lowered their guns to the floor and kicked them over to the Russians.

“Da,” Kozlov said. “Now we make progress. Before I have you drilled with bullets, you will tell me who you are and what you want.”

“We’d like to buy into your Gold Star Membership plan,” Hawke said.

One of the men clubbed him with the stock of the Makarov and he tumbled down to the thick white plush pile.

Lea leaped down to him. “Joe!”

“Last time I ask,” Kozlov drawled. “Who are you and why are you in my home?”

It happened faster than anyone expected. Lea disarmed one of the men holding the Makarov and took hold of his hand, rapidly twisting it sharply in the wrong direction. The brutal rotation of the hand shattered the wrist bones and the goon howled in pain as his wrist hung down from his arm like a dead fish.

“My hand!”

“It’s your balls you should be more worried about.”

He looked at her confused. “Huh?”

The axe kick landed like a cruise missile between his legs. Reaper and Nikolai both winced in pain as they watched him crash to the ground, clutching his most prized possessions and howling like a baby.

The other man with the Makarov took a step back and prepared to fire, but Hawke jumped to his feet and tackled the man back down to the ground. He punched him in the face and stole the Makarov away from him, turning it on the other two goons armed with handguns standing either side of Kozlov.

“Stop them!” the tycoon yelled.

One of Kozlov’s other guards took a step back and raised his gun. He was about to fire his weapon, but fumbled at the last hurdle. It was enough for Nikolai to jump into action, flying through the air like a ninja, arms in a martial arts readiness pose and tough as hardened steel.

As Reaper punched Kozlov back against the bookcase, Nikolai landed in front of the goon and spun around in a three-sixty circle, pivoting on his waist to deliver a taekwondo round kick in the side of his face, which crumpled on impact as his head smashed away with the power of the blow.

The gun spun in the air and landed with a metallic clatter on the asphalt surface of the alley and skidded to a stop behind some trash bins. Facing him now, Nikolai pummelled him with a merciless barrage of hook punches and hammer fists until he gave up the fight and fell to the ground like a sack of rotten potatoes.

Momentarily distracted by the sight of the brawl, Kozlov lowered his guard. Reaper took instant advantage, striking the Russian tycoon on the jaw and knocked him out in one blow. He collapsed to the floor, and Hawke slid the Ring of Ramesses off his finger in half a second. Lifting his palm mic up to his mouth, he spoke rapidly and clearly to the whole team. “We’ve got the ring. Get the car ready, Lex.”

“Incoming, Joe!” Lea cried out.

She pointed into the apartment where at least half a dozen men armed with Makarovs were sprinting toward them.

“Time to leave, I think,” Hawke said. “Care to join me?”

They followed him out into the balcony, where he climbed up over the railing and looked down at the seven hundred-foot drop to the ground. Lea peered over too, and gave an appreciative nod. “I love my job.”

The goons were bursting through into the study. “Hold it right there!”

Hawke made sure the slim BASE jump container on his back was comfortable and in the right place and leaped from the balcony. Lea, Reaper and Nikolai followed him over, instantly tumbling away from the top floor and rapidly approaching the terminal velocity.

The goons fired on them, but they were too far away. Carried off to the east by a strong westerly, they opened their canopies and soon found themselves drifting over the Las Vegas cityscape. To their west, the setting sun turned the glittering boulevards and hotels a warm amber, and at their backs, a very angry Russian mafia tycoon.