Day of Wrath

Nothing. With his left hand he signaled the allclear to Helen and slipped ahead-careful to stay close to the metal bulkhead.

His plan was simple. Head for the gangplank, eliminate anyone guarding it, and run like hell for the cover offered by the warehouses at the land end of the pier. Anything more complicated was likely to go wrong — especially since they knew so little about the ship’s layout and the people they were up against.

With his senses extended, and staying as low as possible, Thorn advanced a step at a time — listening, watching, trying to guess where the enemy might be lurking.

Nothing stirred. Nothing except the wind off the Barents Sea whining through the Star of the White Sea’s cargo cranes and radio antennas.

And the sound of water lapping around her hull. He frowned. They were trapped in a nightmare killing house scenario: fighting an unknown number of enemies on unfamiliar ground.

Something scraped against the metal above and ahead of them.

Thorn froze.

Another footfall came a second later. He flattened himself against the bulkhead, listening as the cautious, careful footsteps approached a point directly over his position. There were two men moving on the walkway above. Evidently they still expected to find their prey on the second deck. Not smart, he thought.

Thorn waited until the Russians were past his position and over Helen before moving. He swung around, tracking them by sound. If either of them leaned over the walkway railing, he’d have a good shot.

But he couldn’t wait for that. Fighting defensively wasn’t going to get them out of this jam. His hunter’s instinct told him to take these men down now — while he could catch them by surprise.

The only question was, how? Should-he make a deliberate noise to lure them into looking over the edge? He discarded that idea immediately.

If only one of the Russians fell for it, the other would be alerted, above them, and in a position to pin them down.

The need for speed pushed at him, too. There were at least two other gunmen hunting them. And what were they doing while he crouched here?

Helen was watching him, waiting for a signal.

Thorn spotted a fire hose coiled around a large metal bracket bolted to the bulkhead between them. The bracket looked strong enough to hold his weight. Perfect.

He pointed at the bracket, then at his foot, and finally toward the men above.

Helen nodded her understanding.

Thorn set one foot on the bracket and slowly shifted more of his weight onto it. It held.

He exhaled slowly, running through a mental countdown.

Three. Two. One. Now!

Thorn stood up on the bracket, grabbing for the edge of the seconddeck walkway with his left hand. He steadied the Makarov, aiming for where he guessed the two Russians should be.

The bracket groaned under his full weight.

Both men were already turning toward the source of the sound, weapons at the ready. They were only yards away.

The closest Russian appeared over Thorn’s front sight. He squeezed the trigger. The man fell to the deck, clutching his stomach.

The second gunman, a big man with thinning hair, fired back before he could shift targets. The round clipped the deck near Thorn’s face — spraying sharp-edged paint chips in a stinging arc across his left cheek.

Moving fast, Thorn swung his pistol toward the second man and squeezed the trigger again. Sparks flew off the railing instead.

Damn it, he’d missed! Suddenly, the coiled fire hose shifted beneath him. The Makarov wavered off target. Shit!

Smiling now, the big Russian leaned out over the railing to get a clearer shot. The smile vanished. Helen’s bullet took him under the jaw and blew off the top of his skull. He staggered, then toppled over the railing and fell to the main deck below.

Thorn stood poised on the bracket long enough to make sure the first man he’d shot was still down. Satisfied, he dropped to the deck.

Blood trickled down his cheek. Impatiently he wiped it off.

Two more of their enemies were down — dead or dying. But that left at least two more to go. And they couldn’t stay lucky forever. He glanced at Helen. “Straight on?”

She nodded calmly. “Let’s press it.”

Thorn took the lead again, moving quickly to the portside of the freighter’s superstructure. He peered around the corner.

There was no one in sight — not even near the gangplank. Sure.

Somehow he doubted the bad guys would leave the only exit unguarded.

At least one of them had to be out there somewhere — sprawled in cover, waiting and watching.

He ducked around the corner and dropped behind a large metal box, an equipment locker of some kind. They were going to have to flush out their enemies the hard way.

Helen Gray followed Peter around the corner.

A pistol shot cracked from somewhere ahead and above. The bullet slammed into the deck at her feet and whirred away — tumbling through the air. She went down on one knee, firing rapidly in the direction the shot had come from, trying to keep the shooter’s head down until she could spot him.

Another round hit the bulkhead above her.