Page 82 of The Knight
“Like swimming through your damn tea, Fox.” The words came through clenched teeth as he powered forward.
“Twenty feet to sensor line,” Fox grunted. “Keep pushing.”
Abe’s watch face flashed, counting downward in his peripheral vision.
“Twenty seconds.” Zak’s voice had lost its usual calm. “You’re on track, but cutting it damn close.Move it.”
Abe kicked harder, fighting through the debris-choked water. His lungs flatlined, screaming for more oxygen than the rebreather could provide.
“Fifteen seconds.” Zak’s voice crackled through. “Still in the sensor zone, gentlemen.Push it.”
Fox churned water, twigs and leaves spinning in his wake. “Next time Zak”—Fox’s voice was guttural, “—you swim through this goddamn forest soup.”
“Cut the chatter.” Zak commanded. “Ten seconds.”
Abe’s visor display showed they’d passed the sensor markers, but the safe zone might as well have been miles away.Fuck. Twenty feet to safety.Ten. Nine. Eight.Sweat stung his eyes despite the cold.Seven. Six. Five.
“Fucking fuck this.” Fox’s breathing was ragged.
Four. Three. Two. One.
Red sensor indicators blazed to life on his visor as the power surged back online. Abe tucked and rolled, pulling his legs tight to his body. He held his breath as he somersaulted, anticipating the inevitable—klaxons splitting the air, boots churning the water, muzzle flashes destroying the dark night.
Nothing.
Only his labored gasps through the rebreather.Made it.
“Gentlemen, I can confirm your painfully slow asses cleared the sensors. Ground security is running a rotating patrol pattern. Watch your exit point.”
“Thank fuck for that,” Fox muttered. “I vote Zak plays swamp rat next time.”
Zak’s snort echoed on the comms. “You’re killing me.”
As they moved into shallower water, Abe’s feet found rocky grip on the riverbed. He surfaced in tandem with Fox, eyes and noses breaking the surface as they surveyed the landscape.
No sign of any security.
The mansion loomed ahead, pale stone rising into the night. Flood lights carved harsh shadows across its walls, creating pools of absolute darkness between brilliant white glare.
Perfect killing zones—for them or for Korolov’s men.
He checked his wrist. The tracker was still maddeningly silent.
Beside him, Fox rose and removed his mask. His teeth shone white against his dark face. “Awful quiet up there.” A wide smirk lifted his features. “Let’s make some noise.”
45
Abe waded outof the water and up the muddy bank, weapon ready. Drizzle painted his face in cold pinpricks, but visibility had improved since they entered the river. Together with Fox, he stowed his air tanks beneath dense undergrowth and peeled off his dry suit to his tactical kit underneath.
“Switching to night vision.” The world transformed through his goggles—inky shadows resolving into sharp-edged shapes lit in ghostly green.
“On your six.” Fox bumped up against his back, and they moved as one across the sodden grounds, covering each other’s blind spots, their boots making no sound on the wet grass.
Up close, Korolov’s mansion was a grotesque marriage of old and new money. Three stories stretched skyward, flanked by marble columns the color of bone. Modern black window frames violated the building’s classical lines, reflecting the dismal night.
“Millions doesn’t buy taste,” Fox grumbled under his breath.
Almost at the house, they took cover behind a massive oak. Rough bark pressed against Abe’s back as he assessed their position. “The blueprints showed access points on both east and west wings. Ground floor doors.”