Chapter 71
Duncan huddled over Sharyn. Both of them were sheltered behind the gold table as the blast pounded the room.
Archie had followed, too, after noting Marchand’s assist. Likewise, Laurent had abandoned Russo’s body, snatched a pistol from the floor, then shoulder-rolled across the tabletop to join them.
The explosion crushed them all, deafened everyone.
A kilo of TNT has the power to destroy a small vehicle and kill anything within a few meters of its blast. The confines of the chamber amplified this danger.
Even sheltered thirty yards away, the detonation felt like being stomped on by a giant.
Rubble, most of it golden, shattered around them, accompanied by a hail of rocks.
Other softer debris splattered, limbs and body parts, some pieces still bearing armor.
Finally, the barrage ended.
Duncan checked to make sure everyone was okay, then risked rising up.
The view beyond their shelter showed the carnage left behind.
A small smoking crater marked the epicenter of the blast. Golden artifacts—shields and trumpets—had been hammered from the walls, some crushed, others looking miraculously untouched.
Elsewhere, lanterns had been blown off their gilded chains. Menorahs lay crooked in their alcoves.
Still, the cavern remained intact.
Duncan had feared the charge might cause a cave-in, but he had trusted the mountain could withstand such a blast. He was relieved to be proven right.
The soldiers in the room had not fared as well.
Bodies lay everywhere. Broken, torn, smoking.
Blood pooled and continued to spread. A few figures moved.
One man crawled toward the exit, dragging a bloody stump.
Another took a potshot toward them, but a sharp retort next to his ear made Duncan flinch to the side.
Laurent held out his pistol, ready to shoot again, but the gunman collapsed.
Momentarily distracted, they failed to note another.
Julian shoved to his knees, his face bloody, rising to the side of the table, only a couple yards away.
He lay tangled in Russo’s body, as if the dead woman had sought to exact her revenge.
Unfortunately, Julian had vengeance on his mind, too.
With pistol in hand, he fired nearly point blank, driving them all down.
A round clipped Laurent’s cheek, breaking bone.
They dropped low and waited for Julian to stop shooting.
Once he had emptied his magazine, Duncan and Laurent popped up.
By now, using the cover of his barrage, Julian had retreated halfway across the chamber.
He tossed aside his emptied pistol, snatched a bent gold shield in his bloody hand, and grabbed an abandoned rifle in the other.
Laurent returned fire, his aim shaky, clearly concussed from the shatter of his cheekbone. Still, his rounds pinged off gold or struck his target’s body armor.
Julian shielded his head, while strafing blindly toward them. It was enough to force them back down, especially as the slide on Laurent’s pistol had popped. He was out of bullets.
They had no way of stopping Julian’s escape.
Worse, Duncan realized Ferhat and Cardinal Tissot had vanished, too. His last sight of them was when the pair had fled from the tossed charge. Ferhat had been pushing Tissot in front of him.
Had they made it out?
Across the chamber, Julian reached the exit, tossed the cumbersome shield aside, and dove into the tunnel.
Duncan cursed, ready to go after him. Blood dripped thickly from Duncan’s wrist and pain stabbed up his limb. The bullet had broken his ulna, but not his radius, and seemed to have missed major arteries.
I can do this.
As he moved to follow, Julian came flying back into the room. The bastard crashed onto his back and slid. Atop his body rode a snarling, hissing monster. Julian raised a defensive arm, only to meet fangs that tore deep. A toss of the lynx’s head ripped long lacerations across the man’s forearm.
He screamed in pain, and surely some terror.
But Julian was not Katch’s true focus. The lynx leaped away and stalked into the chamber, fur bristling, lips rippling from bloody fangs. Julian used this moment to roll to his feet and flee again.
Duncan was about to pursue him, but Laurent grabbed his arm.
“Stay still.”
Duncan obeyed, recognizing the threat closer at hand.
Katch edged toward them, moving low, haunches quivering.
Still, for now, the cat ignored the group clustered behind the gold altar.
He crossed to Russo’s body, moving ever slower.
Once he reached her, he nudged her with his muzzle, shifting a limp arm, then letting it rest. The cat sniffed at the blood, then shifted to her face, which lay turned on its side.
He nosed her, as if trying to wake her. But he knew the truth.
His hissing quieted to a low pained mewl.
He rubbed his muzzle along her chin, no longer trying to stir her.
Only to say goodbye.
But like his mistress, Katch was not overly sentimental. He had done his duty, paid his respects. He backed a step, turned his head toward the exit, and chuffed at the air. A growl returned, flowing from deep inside, then rose to a ferocious yowl.
Duncan knew not all the blood soaking Julian’s clothes had been his own. Russo’s body had been blown against him, marking him as her killer.
Maybe Katch understood this, too.
Or maybe his fury simply called for blood.
The massive cat leaped away and raced for the exit.
Duncan remembered Russo telling him lynxes were ambush hunters, perfectly evolved to stalk in the dark. Intending to follow his example, Duncan slid on his hip across the table and set off after Katch—and the man he hunted.
But Julian wasn’t the only danger. Ferhat and Tissot had possibly fled, too. None of them could get away, not with the knowledge they possessed.
As Duncan set off, Archie followed at his heels, ever his friend, ever his sidekick.
They both grabbed rifles.
“Stay with Sharyn!” Duncan called back to Laurent, knowing the big man wobbled on his legs. “In case anyone circles back.”