More gunfire erupted from other spots across the back of the mansion, pinning Yuri down.
“Keep them busy as best you can,” Tucker radioed.
He tried the door. It was locked. No surprise there. Having anticipated this, he crawled out of the stairwell and skulked along the mansion’s foundation. He reached a row of basement windows. Fearing those closest were likely to be watched, he continued until he spied a dark, enclosed space with bright copper piping.
Boiler room...
Good enough.
The basement window was only a couple feet tall. He smashed his elbow through its glass, then used the butt of his pistol to clear the frame of shards. He then belly-slid headfirst into the overheated room.
Once inside, he rolled into a crouch, keeping his pistol pointed toward the door. He waited a few breaths, long enough to reload and to make sure no one had heard his entry.
Satisfied, he headed to the door and pressed his ear. He heard no shouts, no furtive whispers. He reached for the handle—then stopped.
The gunfight continued above, accompanied by cries and barked orders. As he paused, footsteps ran past the door outside. It sounded like five or six men. Archpriest Sychkin must have a small army bivouacked inside the mansion.
Tucker lowered his hand.
One extra person wasn’t going to be enough here—not to pull Seichan’s butt out of this fire and certainly not to rescue the others.
Earlier, as the sirens blared, Seichan had successfully distracted most of the forces inside, allowing Tucker and Yuri to get into position.
But now the enemy had regrouped, redoubling their effort, putting Seichan in greater danger. Recognizing that, Tucker knew what he had to do.
Return the favor.
To aid Seichan—to helpallof them—they were going to need a diversion.
A big one.
He swung around and faced the boiler.
That’ll do.
8:50A.M.
Seichan ran low along a hall on the third floor. It was heavily carpeted, the walls richly paneled, hung with paintings of Old World masters. Not that she had time to appreciate the opulence or art.
She carried an AK-15 that she had confiscated. By now, she hadnearly emptied the weapon and run through her SIG’s two magazines. A deep graze on her thigh bled through the habit she wore.
Ten minutes before, after ducking into the mansion, she had spotted the hulking form of Yerik Raz as he vanished behind a guarded door at the end of the long hallway. She had hoped to make short work of the two guards posted there and pursue him, but the archpriest’s forces proved more stubborn and in far greater numbers than she had anticipated.
Overwhelmed, she had been forced into a game of cat-and-mouse across the sprawling wings of the mansion. At times it was a rolling firefight—others, a stealthy hunt.
During one of the lulls, she had heard a fierce gunfight break out across the rear of the mansion. Knowing it had to be aimed at Tucker, she headed there now, to assist him and hopefully combine their forces.
At the end of the hall, a door had been left ajar. She used the toe of her sandal to ease it wider—enough to spot a gunman poised by an open bedroom window, an assault rifle at his shoulder. She also spotted the spare magazines near his knee.
Definitely need those.
She headed over, moving silently. Gunfire erupted from other rooms along this side of the house. She dared not draw attention to this one. A single gunshot might be lost amid the flurry of blasts, but she couldn’t take that chance.
She had her rifle slung over her shoulder and carried her new weapon in both hands. She reached the man and dropped the twisted length of her apostolnik—the clerical cloth that had draped her head—over his face and snagged his neck. She spun on a heel, drawing the rope tight, and yanked the man across her back, using his weight to choke him out. He gurgled and thrashed.
Once he went slack, she lowered his body to the floor. She gathered the additional magazines and glanced outside. She spotted Yuri sprinting toward the side of the house. The large man vanished out of sight.
Seichan searched the parking lot below, but there was no sign of Tucker.
