Two minutes later, the three of them crossed the promenade once more and reentered the bank.

  The same junior bank officer came for them with more tea, but then recognized them from earlier. “Did your fourth member arrive?”

  Tempest stepped in front of the other two, affecting a haughty air. “I do not tolerate flummery, and I dislike waiting. Bring me to your bank manager this instant.”

  The junior officer hesitated for a moment, calculating the correct response. She erred on the side of caution and motioned for them to follow her.

  Tempest whispered to Chaucer, “Am I overdoing it?”

  Chaucer smiled. “You’re nailing it. This is something you need to bring to the bedroom.”

  Tempest smiled broadly, then covered it with a frown. “Don’t make me break character, asshole.”

  The branch manager was a rotund fellow, fifty-eight and impeccably dressed, with a smile as broad as the Arabian Desert.

  “What is it I can do for you, madam?”

  “I am through with Bahrain. I am through with Dubai. I am through with Abu Dhabi. There was a time when proper attention and security were paid to individual clients of means. And from what I’ve seen so far, I am not terribly impressed by Kuwait City. I have several accounts that need opening, and I need a secure bank for my precious valuables.”

  She snapped her fingers.

  Safira was right on it, producing the gold bullion and placing it on the branch manager’s desk. Chaucer followed a moment later, placing the velvet bag down and opening it to reveal a small fortune in diamonds.

  The bank manager’s eyes went wide as he motioned over several junior officers to help meet each and every need of this enigmatic and very rich woman.

  “And may I ask the nature of your other business interests?”

  Tempest’s reply was stone cold. “You may not. Should I decide to engage with your establishment, I have a bio for just such questions. You will show me the security of your vault, and then we will discuss the particulars of my various accounts.”

  The bank manager glanced over at Lorna Clark’s desk and saw it empty. He covered his worry with an even larger smile. “Of course. I think you will find our bank has one of the most secure vaults in the entire region. Not only do we have multiple biometric safeguards⁠—”

  Tempest silenced him with a wave of her hand, using her assassin’s stare to great effect. “I did not say ‘tell me about your vault.’ I said ‘show me’ your vault.”

  The branch manager held up his palms. “Of course. The moment the vault officer returns, we will make that happen. In the meantime, could I interest you in some champagne?”

  Tempest snapped her fingers again.

  Safira gathered up the gold bullion. Chaucer gathered the bag of diamonds.

  Tempest practically shouted, “Next bank!”

  The branch manager popped out from behind his desk, surprisingly fast for the short, stout fellow.

  “Allow me to show you our vault facilities myself!”

  CHAPTER 46

  Saad found his palms sweating as Lorna Clarke led him and his men into a vault.

  This was not a bank vault in the usual sense. It was a high-security facility, taking up the building’s entire 10th floor, with numerous high-security boxes owned or leased by some of the richest, most private people in the world.

  Thus far, the plan had been going well. Given that this was never how it was supposed to go, Saad was highly pleased. The hardest part took place several hours ago, when they broke into Lorna Clark’s apartment and took her husband hostage. From that moment, Lorna Clark had the hard part: to appear normal.

  She did an admirable job.

  It was a shame they killed her husband shortly after she left for work.

  She was certainly holding up her end of the bargain.

  Her hands trembled as she opened the next security gate and led Saad’s men through. Her lower lip was quivering. She certainly wanted to cry and thought that they were in a private enough state that she could.

  Saad said, “Stop your crying. We’re almost done. Open box 3819, and we release your husband.”

  She nodded, stifled her tears, wiping them on the sleeve of her jacket, and proceeded into the anteroom containing box 3819—the one that held the Red Serpent.

  The room was antiseptic. Pale fluorescent light illuminated every corner, and every wall but the gated one contained row after row of high-security steel boxes. They varied in size from desk drawer to large filing cabinet. Their box was of intermediate size.

  Lorna Clark fumbled with her keys until she found the right one and stuck it in the lock. She looked over her shoulder at Saad, then quickly looked down.

  “You have the second key?”

  Saad laughed. “You think we would go to this trouble if we had the second key?”

  He nodded to Dorum, who opened his briefcase and pulled out a device that looked like a hand drill—which, in fact, it was, of a sort. It was made specifically to drill this kind of lock.

  He moved alongside Lorna Clark, set the drill in place, and put his weight into it, wrenching the small lock until it snapped all the pins.

  Saad pushed Lorna aside. He couldn’t wait another second. He pulled the door open, slid the long drawer out, and flipped it open to reveal the smooth stainless-steel briefcase with Cyrillic markings on its latches.

  It felt cool to the touch. But Saad imagined that it was burning hot.

  It was, after all, the greatest weapon in the history of humanity.

  Chaucer, Tempest, Safira, and the bank manager got into the elevator, and the manager took them to the tenth floor. The moment the elevator doors closed, Tempest unfurled the submachine gun, and the manager went deathly pale.

  Chaucer stepped in, “Sir? Sir. Look at me. We are not here to rob you. We are here to prevent a robbery that is currently taking place.”

  Safira drew her pistol. The manager had a hard time focusing. Chaucer tried again, “Sir? Sir! When the elevator gets to ten, we need to know where the vault is.”

  He swallowed hard. “The entire floor is a vault. For the private security boxes.”

  Chaucer shrugged. “Okay. Point taken. So here is what is going to happen. We will get out on ten, you will go back to the lobby. That way you don’t get hurt. Now I realize this is probably not something I can really ask, but it would be great if you didn’t involve the police the moment you make it to the lobby. I know it’s your job, but by letting you go back to the lobby we’re probably saving your life, and with the police involved, there’s always a chance they’ll get the wrong idea and try to kill us, instead of the robbers. You understand, right?”

  He nodded wordlessly, terror etched on his face. Chaucer said, “Good! Good.”

  Tempest shook her head, “No way that worked.”

  “I’m trying to keep a positive mental space, Tempest. Now, Safira. Your responsibility is the civilian, Lorna Clark. Get her to safety if you can.”

  The elevator doors opened. Ding!

  Tempest frowned. Chaucer knew that was as good as ringing the dinner bell.

  The three of them fanned out into an empty hallway. But not silent. They heard a commotion to their right.

  Chaucer glanced back at the bank manager as the elevator doors closed. He forced a smile on his face that was laughably false.

  Tempest said, “So he yells for the cops before the doors fully open?”

  Chaucer nodded. “Oh yeah. Which means we’re on a clock. We've got maybe three minutes to get the weapon and get gone.”

  They fanned out across the width of the hallway and stalked the sound. At the end of the hall, they saw the open security gate.

  Chaucer noticed Tempest’s head lower. Predator mode.

  Tempest charged in the gate—only to find the place empty. They were too late. She said, “Shit!”

  Chaucer wasn’t ready to give up. “What were those noises then?”

  Safira pointed behind them, “There.”

  Behind them was an emergency exit door.

  Tempest raced down the hall and kicked the door in.

  The stairwell was rough-hewn concrete and nothing else. Once in the stairwell, she could hear them clearly. But they didn’t go down.

  They were going up. She popped her head into the space between the stairs. She saw an arm just two flights up. And then Tempest ran. Chaucer and Safira were only a few steps behind and followed suit.

  One landing up they found Lorna Clark, lying on the ground, trembling. Tempest just vaulted over her. Chaucer paused for the briefest of seconds before continuing, pointing her out to Safira.

  Safira stopped to check on the woman. She was alive but injured from a blow to the head.

  Tempest gained quickly on the team of four. But her speed came at a cost: stealth.

  Two of the four men heard her and Chaucer below. One of them made a loud clicking sound with his mouth.

  Saad clutched the stainless steel case tightly and motioned for them to turn around and intercept their pursuers. The largest man on his team, Ofir, continued the climb with his boss, protecting his back.

  Tempest had sprinted for four flights. By her estimation, there were five or six more to go, but she was flagging. She slowed down, trying to judge her oxygenation so she could finish strong.

  It was a move that may have saved her life, because a second after she slowed, the stairwell erupted with automatic weapons fire. The two men above her tried to time their shots, and had she maintained her pace, she might well be dead.

  Instead, she dropped to the rough concrete and raised her submachine gun, sticking it around the corner where bullets ripped apart the rock wall. She fired blindly, but not entirely blind. The geometry of a stairwell isn’t some great mystery.

  Return fire made her pull her gun back, but she noticed it was at roughly half the intensity of the first volley. She thought she had probably got one of them.

  This time she went for the bank shots. Firing into the part of the stairway wall she could see, and counting on the ricochets. The concrete here wasn’t particularly well mixed, so she figured only one bullet in four would actually ricochet, so she emptied the entire rest of the magazine in the effort.

  Silence. She changed mags, and gritted her teeth. No guts, no glory. She saw Chaucer coming around the bend below as she raced into the firing line.

  And found two dead a-holes on the landing above. “Okay. Moving on.”

  Tempest continued her climb, at a slightly faster pace, aided by the brief rest of the firefight.

  She ran up another three floors when she heard it: a door opening. Someone made it to the roof. She heard another sound behind the one of the door. A rotor. There was a helicopter up there.

  Tempest gritted her teeth and doubled her pace.

  She rounded the next bend and came face to face with the largest of her prey, guarding the exit door to the roof. She swung her submachine gun in his direction, but he did the unexpected. He launched himself down the flight of stairs right at her.

  The gun would not get there in time. She braced for impact. He hit her like a three hundred pound slab of masonry, knocking her to the ground.

  This guy wasn’t just a bruiser. He was skilled. The first thing he did was kick her gun down the next flight. But the move cost him the first-hit advantage.

  Tempest slammed her forehead into his solar plexus, using the move to regain her feet as it staggered her opponent.

  Tempest smiled. Her last decent fight was with Carl in Tongata, and she was itching for somebody who could give her a challenge.

  CHAPTER 47

  Chaucer turned the corner of the stairwell to see the biggest of Chaban’s agents grappling with Tempest.

  He ran toward them to make it a two on one, until Tempest yelled at him, “Up! Go! Get the weapon!”

  Chaucer hesitated just one second longer, trying to decide if Tempest was being valiant or pragmatic.

  When he saw Tempest gouge the man’s left eye out, he chose pragmatic and kept running up the stairs.

  The huge man howled and broke off the grapple. He made it clear his intention was to box—not a good choice for a one-eyed man. There wasn’t much room on the emergency staircase landing, but there was enough for Tempest to circle toward his left, toward his literal blind spot. He lunged at her; she bobbed into the blind spot. He lunged at her again. Again, she bobbed down into his blind spot.

  He lunged a third time, following a strong jab with a haymaker that was heading right for his blind spot, right where Tempest had gone twice before. But Tempest wasn’t there this time. Tempest backed up one extra step and ended up with the big man’s entire right side exposed to her.

  She went for the quick knockout.

  Two punches landed. The first collapsed his trachea; the second pounded on his jaw. She didn’t break his jaw. But she didn’t need to. What she did was snap his neck around ninety degrees. When you have a collapsed trachea and your neck spins to that degree, you’re swallowing blood until you get to an emergency room.

  The man made a startled, gargling sound and went down hard.

  Chaucer reached the top of the stairs, throwing caution to the wind. He burst out of the emergency exit door and stared at the ten metal-grate steps that led up to the helipad. A Kuwaiti military helicopter powered up to full and prepared to take off. Saad and the box were the last to board. And on the helicopter, waiting for them, was Chaban.

  Chaucer charged up the stairs, hoping no one would turn back and look. He got lucky.

  Chaban and Saad strapped themselves in as Chaucer came up behind the helicopter, and a single thought formed in his brain: what the hell do you do now?

  The helicopter had a gun mount on its side, right next to the wide-open door. It had a series of straps and webbing coiled up, no doubt to secure a gunner in that position.

  An idea came to Chaucer.

  He ran for the helicopter, heading for that gun. At the last second, Chaban saw him approach and pressed the release on his harness.

  Chaucer got to the gun first.

  Chaucer spun the gun around, intending to fire it into the helicopter, but then the articulated mount hit a stopping point. Two pieces of lubricated, machined metal hit the point where they would no longer pass each other, and Chaucer’s dreams of a quick end came to an abrupt halt.

  Chaban leapt at him, a half-smile on his face as he realized the error of Chaucer’s thinking.

  Chaucer spun the gun unexpectedly in the other direction, and the butt of it slammed into Chaban as he tried to grab Chaucer.

  Chaban yelled, “Go! Go! Go!”

  Chaucer grabbed one handle of the .50 caliber and used it to swing under the gun and kick Chaban in the head, knocking him back into Saad, who himself had just gotten out of his harness.

  The helicopter lifted off, quickly rising.

  Chaucer could hear his name being called out. He glanced over his shoulder and saw Tempest racing up the stairs of the helipad. She was going to be too late.

  Or maybe not.

  Chaucer kicked the webbing over the side of the helicopter, and it unspooled, dangling down below. When he saw it go taut, he hoped it meant that Tempest was along for the ride, because he didn’t think that himself versus Chaban and Saad was anything like a fair fight.

  CHAPTER 48

  Tempest climbed the single strand of webbing with as much speed as she could muster. Below her, the skyscrapers of Kuwait City raced by. She wasn’t sure how long Chaucer could last above her. He was getting himself back into fighting shape, but he wasn’t quite there yet.

  Two assailants versus one? She didn’t like his odds.

  Suddenly the helicopter banked sharply, and the webbing she was on swung wide.

  She caught a brief glimpse of the inside of the helicopter. Chaucer was still alive. But then she saw that the helicopter copilot had spotted her.

  She doubled the speed of her ascent.

  In the cockpit, the pilot and copilot kept their cool. After all, they had a mission to perform.

  The copilot yelled, “Passenger in the webbing!”

  The pilot nodded and pushed forward on the yoke, putting the helicopter into a dive, aiming for the skyscrapers ahead.

  The sudden turn nearly threw Chaucer out of the helicopter. Just a single hand on the machine-gun grip kept him in. Chaban and Saad were in a better position. They had firm handholds to grasp.

  Chaban yelled to him, “If one of us kills the other, we will be forever alone in this world!”

  Chaucer yelled back, “You already are!”

  The helicopter leveled back out, and Chaucer pulled himself back in as the two men descended upon him.

  Chaucer went low, diving to the floor of the compartment and sweeping legs. Saad went down with him, but Chaban leapt over the leg sweep and kept his footing—until the helicopter dove.

  Chaban flew backward, surprised by the rapid movement. He threw his hands backward to cushion any head blow that might be coming. His gun hand hit first, knocking the gun loose. But he arrested his fall and reached up, finding another handhold.

  Saad was less lucky.

  The quick dive threw him and Chaucer up off the floor. Chaucer watched as Chaban’s tumbling gun fell right into his hand. Saad grabbed Chaucer’s gun in midair, and Chaucer went for the man’s own pistol in his waistband.

  Saad was fast. He twisted in midair, pushing off a seat and flipping them both over, trying to wrest at least one gun loose. A moment later, the helicopter came out of its dive, smashing them both back to the floor of the chopper and dislodging both pistols at once.

  Saad watched helplessly as the pistols slid across the floor and out the open door.

  The dive helped Tempest climb. Suddenly gravity was not working against her so much. But Tempest was no fool. She knew what the pilot was doing. She blocked it out of her mind, willing herself not to look in the direction the helicopter was heading.