The Lost Labyrinth

III

Mikhail reached the base of the stalagmite then the edge of the gallery of treasures. The narrow lanes between them were too constricted to allow a good swing of his sledgehammer. He considered leaving it behind or even throwing it out into the surrounding rocks, but he didn't want to give Knox or Gaille even the slightest opportunity to arm themselves, so he gripped it by its throat to shorten its shaft, then pressed on.

He walked slowly, scouring the darkness as he went, half expecting an ambush at every step. It didn't come. He paused to listen, but heard only his own breathing; and just for the briefest moment he had a flashback to that Fort Lauderdale gaol just three weeks before, pressing that psychologist against the interview room wall with his body, the way her breathing had fused with his, the feel of her pussy as he'd cupped it with his hand. He didn't know how he'd come to understand her game, other than he'd always had a sixth sense for duplicity. Luring him on so that she could cry rape and have him banged up for years; or even perhaps wearing a second recording device, hoping to trick him into an indiscretion. It didn't matter which. All that mattered was that she'd thought to betray him and bring him down, and so she'd had to pay, just as Knox and Gaille were about to.

He saw a flutter in the shadows ahead, but pretended he hadn't. If they thought they could ambush him or even outflank him and so get back to the walkway, they had another think coming. It was just a question now of waiting for his chance.