Chapter 96
THE PRIMAL INSTINCT of a father wanting to protect his child seized Knight so completely that without considering the consequences he climbed up on Lancer’s railing thirty feet above the ground, crouched, and dived forward.
As Knight pushed off from the wet rail his shoes slipped ever so slightly, and he knew in an instant that he wasn’t going to make it onto the floor of the balcony next door. He wasn’t even going to reach the railing, and he thought for sure that he was going to plunge and break every bone in his body.
But somehow his fingers snagged the bottom of the iron balustrade where it met the balcony floor and he grabbed at it for dear life, dangling and wondering how long he could hold on.
‘Shut up!’ Marta snapped inside, and slapped Luke again.
The little boy’s sobs turned bitter, and that was enough to trigger a massive surge of adrenalin in Knight. He swung his body left and right like a pendulum, feeling the iron biting into his hands, but not caring because on the third swing he was able to catch the edge of the balcony floor with the toe of his right shoe.
Seconds later he was over the railing and onto the balcony itself, his muscles trembling and a chemical taste in his mouth. Luke’s crying had become muffled and nasal, as if Marta had gagged Knight’s son.
Ignoring the stinging in his hands, Knight gripped his Beretta and eased up to the half-open French window. He peeked inside and saw that the living area was similar in layout to Lancer’s place. The furnishings were wildly different, however, with a much colder touch. Everything in the room, except a gold and red tapestry that hung on the right-hand wall, was the same stark white as the carpet. Luke’s muffled cries were coming from a hallway by the kitchen.
Knight pushed open the French window and stepped inside. He kicked off his shoes and stalked quickly to the hallway. He had no illusions about what he was doing now. Marta was a part of the death of Denton Marshall. She’d helped destroy his mother’s happiness. She had tried to destroy the Olympics, and she’d taken his children. He would not hesitate to kill her to save them.
Luke’s cries softened enough for Knight to be able to hear Isabel weeping too, and then a deeper groaning. All of it was coming from a room on the left, its door open and lights on. Knight hugged the wall and reached the doorway. He looked down the hallway beyond and saw two doors, both open, lights off.
It was all going down in the room right next to him. He thumbed the Beretta’s safety.
Gun held out in front of him, Knight stepped into the doorway, sweeping his weapon around the room. He spotted Isabel lying on her side on a bare mattress on the floor to his right, tied up, tape across her mouth, looking towards Marta.
The nanny was about fifteen feet from Knight, her back turned to the door, and she was changing Luke’s nappy on a table against the wall. She had no idea that he was standing in the doorway behind her, searching for a clear shot.
But James Daring did.
The museum curator and television star was staring at Knight, who understood much of the situation in a heartbeat. Knight stepped forward, aiming the pistol, and said, ‘Get away from my son, you war-criminal bitch, or I will head-shoot you and enjoy doing it.’
The nanny pivoted in disbelief towards Knight, her attention darting to a black assault rifle standing in the corner several feet away.
‘Don’t even think about it,’ Knight said, taking another step towards her. ‘Get down on your belly, hands up behind your head, or I will kill you. Right now.’
Marta’s eyes went dead and vacant, but she started to comply slowly, lowering her centre, watching Knight the way a cornered lioness might.
Knight took another step forward, gripping the Beretta two-handed, seeing her framed in his pistol sights. ‘I said get down!’ he yelled.
Marta went flat, and put her hands up behind her head.
Glancing at Daring, Knight said, ‘Cronus?’
The television personality’s eyes glazed before Knight heard a nearby thudding noise and something viciously hard hit his head.
It was like storms he’d seen come up over dry lowlands in Portugal: thunder boomed so loud that it deafened Knight even as heat lightning crackled, sending electric tentacles through his brain, so brilliant that they blinded him into darkness.