Katch leaped and struck Julian in the chest, transforming from shadow back to savage muscle. The impact carried the cat’s prey to the lip of the cliff—then over it.
Both man and beast plummeted away.
Julian continued to scream. Duncan pictured Katch ripping into the man as they fell. Then a long moment later, the agonized cries cut off with a distant thud of flesh on rock.
Archie stepped next to him, stunned into silence.
In respect for the dead.
But not for Julian, of course.
In that quiet, a new noise arose. The harsh rumble of a helicopter’s engine. The reverberations quickly grew into a roar.
Duncan cringed at the implication, reminded that Julian wasn’t the only concern here.
“Tissot and Ferhat!”
He and Archie ran for the exit. Each step shot pain up his arm, but he did not slow. Duncan burst outside. Above, a blue sky defied this dark day. Blinded by the brightness, he squinted toward the plateau.
One of the helicopter’s blades spun into a blur. The other two followed to match.
“Over there!” Archie yelled and pointed to the far end of the trail.
Two figures rushed toward the plateau. Ferhat hauled Tissot by the arm. The captain must have radioed ahead, ordering an immediate evacuation.
Archie cursed loudly.
Duncan understood his fury.
No way we can reach them in time.
Then from around the mountain’s shoulder, a trio of massive military choppers, badged with roundels of the Italian air force, swung into view. They swept down upon the plateau. From side hatches, soldiers fired at the helicopters, shattering canopies and rotors. One engine coughed up a spat of flames, then a gout of black smoke.
Ferhat shoved Tissot away, sending the cardinal into a faceplant on the rock. The captain tried to make a run for the slope that led to a neighboring bowl. But rounds sparked across the rock, caught him, and tore him apart.
Duncan retreated, pushing Archie toward the bunker’s opening. He didn’t want them to be mistaken for enemy combatants. To ensure that, he tossed his rifle down and waved for Archie to do the same.
One of the helicopters swept past the opening in a squall of hard wind. The open hatch faced them. Both Duncan and Archie lifted their arms high. A helmeted soldier manned a mounted gun, pointing its barrel at them.
Behind him, a smaller figure pushed forward and shouted—not at them, but at the gunman. Though buried in a vest and helmet, this one was easy enough to identify.
“Naomi . . .” Duncan gasped out.
Another figure, equally weighed down by armor, joined her.
Archie frowned. “Is that my dad?”
74
3:42 p.m.
Sharyn rode in the rear cabin of the medivac. As the helicopter made a wide sweep over the face of Monte Antelao, she was relieved to leave the chaos behind her. Only an hour had passed since theConfrérie’s stranglehold on the mountain had been broken, but already an ever-growing presence of military personnel and police forces descended on the peak to secure the treasure at its heart.
She had done her best to warn those incoming of the toxins that protected the gold, but her words fell on deaf ears. Orders were barked. Commands made. Mostly in Italian. Archie had tried to act as a translator, but even his efforts had little impact. Still, his father helped expedite their transfer to a local hospital, where Tag awaited them—and where undoubtedly weeks of questioning would follow.
For now, she simply pushed deeper under Duncan’s arm, which draped over her shoulders. His other wrist bore a thick cotton wrap, a temporary splint until something more could be done.
Across from them, Archie bowed his head next to his dad, likely relating events in greater detail. But the roaring engine drowned them out. Still, she smiled as Archie’s father pulled his son into a warm embrace, kissing the top of his head.
