A Raging Storm

Lebedev punched the longitude and latitude coordinates into an app on his cell phone.

“It’s near the Valley of Five Caves in Uzbekistan?” he said, making the statement sound like a question.

“Yes,” Petrov cried. “I swear it. Now, save me, my brother, I’m dying.”

Lebedev pointed the Glock directly at Petrov’s forehead. “I believe you, my brother,” he said. “If there is one thing that I have learned because of our years together, it is when you are telling the truth and when you are lying. This is my reward for wiping your butt.”

He fired the Glock, spattering his best friend’s brains across the sedan’s back window and seat.

Satisfied, he turned his attention to Showers, who was now so weak and groggy that she could barely comprehend what was happening. Her body was in shock. Without emergency help, she would die.

“I will tell the police that you forced us at gunpoint to come here after the rally and that you shot and murdered my friend with your Glock. I had no choice but to kill you with my own pistol.” He rested her Glock on his lap and picked up his own gun.

“You’re insane,” Showers responded, her voice a whisper. “No one will believe you.”

“I will tell them that you shot him in the foot to torture him, trying to make him confess. I will tell them you went crazy. It will be the word of Petrov’s oldest and dearest friend against a dead FBI agent who came here to avenge the murder of a U.S. senator. The British press will love it.”

“My partner,” she uttered.

“Don’t worry about him. He’ll be dead, too. Nad will see to it.”

Lebedev leveled the gun at her chest.

“Good-bye, Special Agent April Showers,” he said.

It was at that very moment that Lebedev heard the sound of a loud explosion coming from outside the Mercedes and momentarily turned his face to look out the driver’s side window.

* * *

The flying Vauxhall nose-dived into the stone wall of the old farmhouse with a tremendous roar. It hit with such force that the vehicle seemed to burst into pieces of shattered glass, busted chrome, twisted plastic, and crumpled metal. The trunk of the sedan flew upward upon impact, and for a moment it appeared that the Vauxhall might topple end over end, but the rear axle crashed back onto the ground with a loud boom. Flames, smoke, and steam poured from under the demolished front hood.

The car’s crumple zone, driver’s side air bag, and the driver’s seat belt had saved Storm’s life. But Nad had not been so fortunate. She had not bothered to put on her seat belt and Storm had flipped off the car’s passenger side air bags. Nad had not noticed and it had cost her her life.

The impact had launched her from the car’s passenger’s seat, rocketing her through the windshield, ripping her unblemished face to shreds. Her head had hit the farmhouse’s wall like a melon hurled at a hundred miles per hour. Her skull had burst open. Her spinal cord had been telescoped. Her broken body was now lying in an unnatural twisted position on the ground next to the burning Vauxhall.

Storm pulled himself away from the wreckage and fell facedown onto the long grass. He could not hear from one ear. There was blood dripping from it and from his nose. His right knee was throbbing. But he was alive.

Gathering his senses, his first thought was of Showers, and the black Mercedes parked a hundred yards down the road, under a clump of English oaks.

Much like a drunk staggering from a bar, he tried to steady himself as he slowly plotted a course to Nad’s body. He spotted her pistol about eight feet away, next to the stone wall. He reached it and with great effort bent down and examined the handgun. It looked undamaged.

I must save April, he thought. I must get to her.

With tremendous willpower, fighting the intense pain that was streaking through his limbs, Storm began making his way from the farmhouse toward the parked Mercedes.

He had gone about fifty yards when he heard a loud crack.

It was the sound of gunfire.

And it had come from inside the parked car in front of him.

To be continued in A Bloody Storm,

available in August 2012

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Richard Castle is the author of numerous bestsellers, including Heat Wave, Naked Heat, Heat Rises, and the critically acclaimed Derrick Storm series. Castle currently lives in Manhattan with his daughter and mother, both of whom infuse his life with humor and inspiration.