“Kyle?” Honor asked. “What can’t you risk?”
“Leaving the amber alone with me,” Jake said savagely. “But that shouldn’t surprise you, buttercup. You don’t trust me either.”
“That’s not-hell,” Kyle said roughly. It took too much trouble to explain, especially with a dry mouth and a fuzzy mind. “Do you have an air tank along? Mine is about done.”
“I have a tank,” Jake said.
“GPS unit?”
“Yes.”
Kyle sighed and almost smiled. “No wonder you have your own business. Not much gets by you.”
“Where is your GPS?” Jake asked.
“It sank with my Zodiac.”
Honor’s breath came in audibly. “What happened?”
“Bullets,” Kyle said, his voice as worn out as he felt. “Jay, I want your word that you’ll bring the amber up before you take me off the island.”
“No!” Honor said. “You need a doctor more than we need any amber, no matter how fabulous.”
Though red and gritty, Kyle’s eyes hadn’t lost their penetrating clarity. He looked at Jake and waited.
“Your sister is right,” Jake said. “You need a doctor.”
“I’ll keep.”
“So will the amber.”
“That’s just it. I was in a hurry when I sank it. It could tear loose and float away at any moment.”
“Let it,” Honor said curtly.
“You don’t mean that,” Kyle protested.
“The hell I don’t.”
“Explain it to her,” Kyle said wearily to Jake. “I’m not up to the job.”
As Kyle lifted the water bottle back to his lips, Honor turned on Jake, fixing him with gold-green eyes that were as determined as her brother’s.
“There’s nothing you can say that would make me value the amber more than I value Kyle’s life,” she said.
“That’s just it,” Jake said reluctantly, for he really wanted Honor off the island and safe. Unfortunately, her safety was directly linked to that of the panel from the Amber Room. “Your brother was the last one to see the panel. If you were someone like Snake Eyes, would you believe that Kyle had lost it?”
“But—”
Jake kept talking. “Or would you believe that he had stashed it somewhere until all the fuss died down? And believing that, Snake Eyes will grab whatever lever he thinks will make Kyle feel talkative. A much loved younger sister, for instance.”
“That’s ridiculous,” Honor said.
Jake knew better. He turned back to Kyle. “You have my word. Where did you sink the amber?”
23
HONOR WAS SO furious with the two bullheaded men in her life that she stayed on board the Tomorrow while Jake took his portable GPS receiver and the Zodiac to the coordinates Kyle gave him—right in the middle of the offshore rocks. Kyle came as far as the island’s waterline, but no farther. He sat with his back against a rock, sipped from the two-liter bottle, and watched the dive buoy Jake had set out a hundred feet beyond the shore and about the same distance from the Tomorrow.
Plainly Kyle meant exactly what he had said. He wasn’t going to leave Jade Island until the amber was safe. Even with the GPS unit, locating the sunken panel wasn’t a certainty. Ten yards, give or take, could be a long way in the cold, dark, unpredictable waters of the San Juan Islands.
Frustrated, Honor waited in the stern well of the Tomorrow. There was no room for her to pace and no outlet beyond yelling at her brother for being such a macho idiot as to worry about her instead of about himself. Yelling at him wasn’t much fun. He just ignored her.
She looked at the rod in the holder to the left of the open cabin door. The gear was rigged and ready to fly. The tip was bowed with the weight of the lure.
“There’s always that,” she said beneath her breath. “In fact, I could screw up, cast in the wrong direction, and ‘accidentally’ brain my stubborn brother. Maybe it would knock some sense into him.”
But Honor made no move to pick up the rod. Restless, anxious, on edge, feeling hunted and jailed at the same time, she paced as best she could in the confined area of the Tomorrow’s stern. She began to regret not being ashore where she could berate her brother without straining her voice.
Abruptly something that looked like a shallow rectangular box popped out of the water barely thirty feet beyond the Tomorrow’s hull. Jake surfaced right behind the box.
“Found it!” he yelled.
Smiling despite his cracked lips, Kyle lifted the water bottle in silent salute. Before he could muster enough energy to call out his congratulations, someone else did.
“Excellent, my friend! Now bring it to shore before I am forced to shoot Ms. Donovan.”
Honor spun toward the sound of the voice.
Two hundred feet above Kyle, Petyr Resnikov was crouched on the crest of the island’s steep slope. He had a sniper’s rifle in his hands.
The barrel was pointed at her.
“Do not move, please,” Resnikov called in a voice that carried easily down the slope and over the water. “An accidental death at this point would be regrettable, but I have had many regrets since the Berlin Wall fell. I would survive another one. Ms. Donovan would not. Jacob, if your hands go beneath the water, I will shoot your delightful lover. Do we have understanding?”
Jake understood all too well. For the moment he was as helpless as Kyle. “I understand.”
“Excellent. With understanding there will be no need for death. Ms. Donovan, take one step forward and close the cabin door. Just that. No more.”
“Easy does it, Honor,” Jake said. “Nothing cute. Pete is worried about you getting on the radio. Make him feel good.”
Honor couldn’t see if the rifle barrel followed her the one step toward the cabin door, but she was certain it did. She jerked the door out of its stop and slammed it shut.
“Stay in my view, Ms. Donovan,” Resnikov said. “If you do not, I will surely kill your lover and your brother. That would be regrettable and so unnecessary.”
She flinched and stopped thinking about going overboard or throwing herself flat on the deck, out of Resnikov’s sight.
“Jacob. Bring the box to the shore. Remember, I can see your hands very well through the scope, whereas you cannot be certain where my attention is.”
Jake already had figured that out. What he hadn’t come up with yet was a way to get up that slope and grab the rifle before Resnikov shot everyone in sight.
Slowly Jake put his hands against the edge of the box. He kicked his feet, pushing the box ahead of him in the water.
“At first I was troubled by your presence,” Resnikov said to Jake. “You are a formidable foe. On reflection, I decided that to have you here is a bit of good fortune for all of us. You have the experience not to, um, lose your cool and force me to kill. You know that death is not necessary for any of us. Only the Amber Room is necessary. Bring it to me, Jacob.”
There was a good possibility that Resnikov was telling the truth, that he wouldn’t kill anyone unless pushed to it. But it wasn’t a possibility Jake wanted to bet anyone’s life on. Especially Honor’s.
“Slowly, my friend,” Resnikov cautioned as Jake stood in waist-deep water, pushing the shipping box toward shore in front of him. “I must always see your hands. Do not remove your fins when you come ashore.”
“Why?” Jake said as he slogged through knee-deep water. “I can barely walk in them and you have a rifle on me in any case.”
“Yes. Comforting, is it not? Leave the fins as they are. The dive cylinder, however, you may remove.”
“Afraid a bullet would ricochet off the tank?” Jake asked.
“It is possible, yes?”
Cursing, Jake splashed ashore as noisily and awkwardly as possible. It wasn’t hard. The big fins were meant for ocean diving, not walking along a rocky shore. While he thrashed around removing his tank and harness, he was careful not to look at Kyle.
Jake was certain Honor’s bro
ther would try something. He only prayed that Kyle was thinking well enough to wait until Resnikov came down off the slope to inspect the amber. Until then, they didn’t have a snowflake’s chance in hell of getting their hands on the Russian without getting killed in the process.
“Kyle, if you are gathering yourself to stand or roll into the trees, do not,” Resnikov said crisply. “I would surely shoot your sister. Remember, I would rather shoot no one.”
“But you will,” Kyle said, his voice savage.
“It is my worst choice. Please do not make it my only one.”
Pale, tight, Honor stood rigidly and watched while her brother slowly relaxed. Only she could see the rock that was now clenched in his big fist.
“Just take the damned amber and get out,” Kyle snarled.
“I will,” Resnikov assured him. “First, however, I will see that I have genuine goods. You will assist me in that, will you not, Jacob?”
“Sure,” Jake said acidly. “Always glad to help a friend.”
Honor couldn’t see the Russian’s reaction. His face was hidden behind rifle and sniper scope.
“Open the box, my friend,” Resnikov said.
Jake looked at the shipping box. It was nailed shut. Water ran from every seam. The edges were so badly matched that they leaked even after being swollen from submersion in salt water. The inked words on the outside had faded and run, but were still legible: “Fishing Greatness/Camp of Kamchatka.” Then there was another stamp: “dried ice, game fish, PERISHABLE.”
“Open it, huh?” Jake called to Resnikov. “Easy for you to say. I don’t have a pry bar.”
“Use the knife you wear. When you are finished, cast the knife into the water.”
Without a word Jake pulled his diving knife from its sheath and went to work on the box. Taking it apart was a lot easier than he thought it would be. Like the wood, the nails were made of inferior material. They had already begun to rust.
He ripped off the lid and tossed it out of the way. A thick, opaque plastic bag lay inside the remains of the shipping box. Sitting on his heels, he cautiously slit the bag down one edge with his knife. When he finished, he put the knife back in its sheath.
“No!” Resnikov said. “Throw the knife into the sea.”
“There’s more wrapping.”
Resnikov hesitated for a moment before he said curtly, “Continue. But I do not forget about your knife, Jacob.”
“For the man with the rifle, you’re sure nervous.”
“I have seen you move,” the Russian said, “in that pub in Kaliningrad. It was very instructive for me as well as for Kyle Donovan.”
“Get real,” Jake said. “You’re twice as fast as I am.”
“I thought so, once. Now I do not wish to put the matter to a contest.”
Jake fished around in the plastic until he pulled out a bubble-wrapped rectangle that was perhaps three feet long by four feet wide and less than a foot thick. With great care he slit the clear, broad tape that held the edges of the bubble wrap together.
Golden fire shimmered up through the opening he made.
“Throw the knife into the water!” Resnikov called.
Jake looked up the slope. He couldn’t see the other man’s eyes, but the rifle looked steady and comfortable in his hands. His pale hair gleamed in the sunlight like another shade of amber. The rifle had no shiny surfaces to attract attention. It wasn’t an exhibition piece or a bit of modern military art. It was all business, and the business was killing.
“I think there’s more plastic wrapping underneath the bubbles,” Jake said.
“Then you will be required to use your teeth. The knife, Jacob. Now.”
He tossed the knife into the water. It sank out of sight. Slowly he turned back to the box. For once in his life he wasn’t eager to see the amber that lay within its protective nest of air bubbles and plastic. Slowly he began peeling away plastic until nothing was left but amber itself.
It was like unwrapping a piece of the sun.
A hundred shades of gold burned beneath his hands. Even as Jake’s mind registered the extraordinary skill of the nameless artisans who had created the amber mosaic, a ripple of awe went down his arms. Hair stirred in primal reflex.
Slowly he lifted the mosaic and tilted it first one way and then the other, sending light pouring over its surface. Embedded in the dazzling golden display was an elaborate capital R made of red amber. Above the R was the austere crown of the Romanovs, also in red amber-austere, but far from unassuming. The rich, rare amber announced the presence of one of the great royal families in human history.
Great, and very dead. Power was a sword with no reliable grip and many lethal edges.
“Is it genuine?” Resnikov called.
“Real or fake, it’s damned extraordinary,” Jake said clearly, turning the panel, absorbing it into himself as though it were truly radiating warmth. “Sunlight and wealth and pride made tangible. A declaration of eternal power that only proves how transient power is. See my name and know how great I am . . . or was, because I’m dead as coffin nails now and so is my empire.”
“Is it genuine?” the Russian demanded.
“Hell, Pete, how would I know?”
“Do not test my patience.”
“Right now, I can’t test anything. My kit is back in my truck. Come down and have a look for yourself.” Please, Jake added silently. Get within my reach for just a second.
Just one.
“Are you in place?” Resnikov called out.
“What—” began Jake. Then he stopped.
The question hadn’t been for him. It was for the woman who was stepping out from cover less than twenty feet away, a machine pistol in her hands.
Suddenly some things that hadn’t made sense, did. Unfortunately, it was too late.
“Hello, Jones,” Jake said. “I was wondering how Resnikov was going to get down that slope without taking the rifle off us. Now I know. Did you slip a tracking device in Honor’s backpack while you were crying on her shoulder?”
Marju smiled. “But of course. She is so like Kyle. So wonderfully naive.”
Honor stared at Marju and wanted nothing more than to wrap her fingers around the woman’s elegant throat. The realization that she had led Kyle’s enemies right to him made her sick.
“Naive, huh?” Jake said. “Well, it beats being what you are.”
“What is that?”
“Stupid. Naive can be educated. Stupid goes all the way to the bone.”
“I am stupid? Who is holding the weapon? Who is not?”
“Well . . .” Jake said, straightening.
“Not to stand!” Resnikov called to Jake. “Not to take the hands from panel! Sit on ground, feet in front. Now!”
Though Resnikov’s English got worse under pressure, there was no trouble getting his meaning. Jake sat.
Under cover of the panel, he worked his feet free of the awkward flippers. Then he held the panel and waited for Marju to demonstrate her stupidity by getting too close to him. Without seeming to, he watched her intently while she picked her way past Kyle, just beyond the younger man’s reach.
“Don’t do it, Kyle,” Jake said urgently. “Pete still has the rifle trained on Honor.”
“I wasn’t planning to,” Kyle said. “I learned to recognize when she’s teasing me. I wouldn’t touch the bitch with a stick.”
Jake let out a hidden breath. Apparently Kyle had gotten to the bottom line without losing his head. That was one of the things Jake really liked about Kyle; when his crotch wasn’t involved, he was smart. Of course, the same thing could be said for other men—like J. Jacob Mallory, for one.
From the corner of his eye, Jake watched Marju’s approach. She chose a position midway between himself and Kyle. It meant she had to pretty well turn her back on Honor, but that didn’t seem to worry Marju nearly as much as keeping the men quite literally under her gun.
“I am ready, Petyr,” she called.
Slowly Resni
kov lowered the rifle. He knew his time of greatest danger would be while he came down the hill, when he couldn’t keep the rifle trained on everyone in sight.
Jake knew it, too. He wished he could call out to Honor to stay quiet for just a bit longer, just one more minute, just until Resnikov was too busy keeping his balance on the steep slope to worry about anything else. But saying anything would just call attention to Honor.
That was the last thing Jake wanted to do. So he sat quietly while sweat gathered beneath his dive suit and ran coldly down his body.
Rifle in one hand, balancing himself with the other, Resnikov began climbing down the slope. Jake watched with an intensity that was tangible. Normally the Russian was as coordinated as a gymnast, but he had been lying up in the cold rocks long enough for muscles to stiffen. On the third step his foot slipped. Instantly he caught himself and glared at the people below.
No one had moved.
With more care for the loose rocks, Resnikov started down again.
Jake measured the distances and angles and didn’t like any of them. Marju might have been stupid to trust Resnikov—or vice versa—but she wasn’t giving away much on tactics. Short of rolling down the hill like an avalanche, Resnikov wouldn’t get in her way.
The Russian’s foot slipped, skidded, slipped again. He took a fast step, then another, but it was too late. His balance was gone. With a curse he windmilled to the ground.
Honor yanked her fishing rod out of the holder and sent the lure flying with every ounce of her strength. Eight ounces of lead and a treble hook thudded into the back of Marju’s head. She staggered, crying out in pain and surprise.
Jake came off the ground like an explosion. He knocked Marju senseless with a swift chopping motion of his hand, grabbed her pistol, and spun toward Resnikov.
Kyle was on top of the Russian.
“Get out of the way!” Jake yelled, sighting over the barrel of the machine pistol. “I’ve got Marju’s gun.”
There was a turmoil of knees and elbows. Then Kyle rolled aside and pushed himself to his feet. Resnikov made whistling noises but didn’t move otherwise.