Amber Beach (48 page)

“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 brother 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 Resnikov 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, Resni-kov 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.

“Don’t worry about him”, Kyle said hoarsely. “All he cares about is dragging air.”

Jake took in a little air himself, then let it out.

“Kyle!” Honor called. “Are you all right?”

“Tired. Thirsty. Disgusted. Surprised. When did you learn how to cast?”

“Jake taught me.”

Kyle looked at the man who was shoving Marju’s pistol into his dive belt. “You got her to handle a rod? You must be some kind of, uh, teacher.” The tone of his voice said that Kyle had noticed every time Resnikov called Honor Jake’s lover.

“Maybe she’s a hell of a student”, Jake said.

He went to Resnikov and looked at him skeptically. Without warning the side of Jake’s hand shot out and connected with the Russian’s head. He made a stifled sound and went limp.

“Tie them up with fishing line before they come to”, Jake said, turning toward the boat. “I’ve got a call to make.”

“Ellen?” Honor asked.

“Yeah. Don’t worry. I’ll drive a hard bargain. By the time I’m done, your brother will be a bloody hero.”

“What about Marju and Pete?” Honor asked. “What will happen to them?”

“Who?” Jake said sardonically.

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“I’ll let Ellen explain it to you. She’s good at making people believe that what happened didn’t happen at all.”

“I still think you should have gone to the hospital”, Honor said, frowning down at Kyle. “You leaned on Archer all the way home from the clinic.”

Kyle smiled up at her from the comfort of his own bed. “The view is better here and it’s going to be a gorgeous sunset”, he said, waving to the window. “The nurse is a real nag, though.”

“Nurse?” she retorted, pulling the down comforter up to his chin. “I’m the doctor or I don’t play, remember? And as doctor, I think you should…”

“Relax”, Archer interrupted. He set down a pitcher of juice and a glass on the bedside table. “Like the real doc said, Kyle is fine as long as he keeps guzzling fluids that don’t have alcohol or caffeine in them.”

“Easy for you to say”, Honor said, glaring up – way up – at her oldest brother. “You’re not the one in bed.”

Archer smiled wearily. “I’d like to be.”