He nods, then grabs the Soakzooka and runs to the cypress tree that’s closest to the compound wall. The water cannon came with a nylon strap, and he hooks it now over his neck, starts to climb. Ten feet up, he hugs a fat branch, peers over the lip of the wall.
The guest house is a two-story building, about one hundred feet wide, that sits a stone’s throw from the wall. It has a tiled, Spanish-style roof and a balcony on the second floor, where the master bedroom must be. The sliding door to the master is open, and there is a guard sitting in a recliner on the balcony, his assault rifle leaning against a glass table. He appears to be dozing. In the distance, Samson can see other guards walking the property. He counts to five on the roof and balconies of the main house, another dozen on the grounds.
Samson looks down at Story and gives a thumbs-up. He works his knee into a depression in the tree, securing himself in place, and raises the Soakzooka. The smell of gasoline is overwhelming. Were someone to light a match near him, Samson would go up in a whoosh of flame, taking the whole tree with him.
He aims for the guest house roof and pulls back on the trigger. A plume of gasoline arcs from the mouth of the gun and sprays over the wall. About half of it splashes down on the ground, but the rest traces a line up the back wall of the guest house and onto the roof.
The process is not silent.
Samson hugs the tree as the guard on the balcony stirs but doesn’t wake. It’s clear that stealth will be impossible, so Samson settles for shock and awe. He straightens, hugging the branch with his thighs, and begins firing arc after arc of gasoline at the house, hosing it down as quickly as he can.
Gas rains down on the roof, the walls, the balcony. The balcony guard wakes as gasoline sprays him from above. He looks around, disoriented, face wet, grabbing for his gun.
Samson looks down at Story, mouths, Now.
She flips the switch on the ball launcher. The first tennis ball comes out like a shot, passing through the stove lighter’s flame and igniting. It arcs above the wall and fires clean over the roof of the guest house, landing in the pool.
“Lower,” yells Samson, as the guard gets to his feet, his rifle coming up, scanning for the source of the assault.
Story drops to her knees in the pickup truck, finds the angle dial and twists it, lowering the nozzle. A second tennis ball flies out, but she’s set it too low now, and it bounces off the top of the wall, shooting back over the pickup truck into the street.
“Shit, shit, shit,” she says, dialing it up again, trying to find the mid-point.
In the distance, shots ring out. Samson ducks reflexively, but it’s only Avon in the Amazon truck. The assault has begun for real. There’s no turning back now. On the balcony, the guard’s eyes go to the cypress tree. He sees Samson, lifts his rifle, as Samson fires another torrent of gasoline directly at him, splashing his clothes and spraying in his eyes.
The guard curses, finger tightening reflexively on the trigger, as he turns away from the deluge. The rifle fires, igniting the cartridge and heating the barrel. The gasoline coating the gun erupts. The guard and the balcony go up in flame. At the same moment, the next tennis ball fires, flying a perfect arc onto the guest house roof. Flames race across the building’s exterior and onto the ground below.
Hearing the balcony guard’s screams, Samson drops the Soakzooka. He vaults onto the lip of the wall and drops into the bushes inside the compound. Behind him a roar goes up as flames consume the building. Samson feels the heat. Aware that he himself is now eight percent gasoline, he pulls his pistol and runs for the side of the house, careful to stay away from the inferno.
*
Bathsheba is in the bathroom when she hears the first shot, and then the world outside her window turns orange, and flames shatter the glass. She manages to get her pants up and stumble into the hall, hearing more gunfire now, and then the sound of shouting voices. Is this it? she wonders. Rescue or death?
The front door of the guest house opens and Boaz Orci is there with Aragorn and two other guards. They pick her up by the elbows and rush her out the door, running for the main house. Behind her, the guest house burns. A gun battle is raging at the service gate. Then one of the guards stumbles as a shot rings out, and he goes down. Liam and Aragorn speed up, each with a hand under her arm, as the other two guards stop and return fire at a shooter who has appeared from around the side of the house.
It’s her brother.
*
The door to the spa room flies open. Liam Orci is there with the guards. This is the scene he finds—Louise half rising from the sofa, a pair of scissors in her right hand, as she lunges for Mobley—but the men bursting into the room distract her, and her first stab slices Mobley across the cheek. He curses, grabs her wrist, and they struggle as Liam pulls his pistol. He moves into the room, trying to get a clear shot.