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A neat hole appeared in Kholkov’s sternum; a red stain spread across the front of his sweater. He collapsed to his knees and gaped at Sam and Remi. Sam saw Kholkov’s gun hand twitch, saw the Glock start to rise. Spear held before him, Sam charged onto the bridge. Kholkov’s fading reflexes were no match for the spear’s seven-foot reach. The steel head plunged into Kholkov’s chest, then out his back. Sam leaned forward, wrenched the Glock from Kholkov’s hand, then planted his feet and gave the spear a twist. Kholkov tumbled over the side. Sam stepped to the edge and watched him spin out of sight.
Remi walked up. “Couldn’t have happened to a nastier person.”
Back in the cavern, they picked their way through the stalactites, frequently checking behind and to the sides on their way back to the platform. Bondaruk was nowhere to be seen. They half expected him to step from the darkness of one of the tunnels, but nothing moved. Aside from the distant rush of the waterfall, all was quiet.
They stopped at the platform. “I’ll play ladder this time,” Sam said, then knelt down and formed a stirrup with his hands. Remi didn’t move.
“Sam, where’s the chem light?”
He turned. “It’s right over—”
Behind the barrel, the green glow of the chem light shifted.
Sam whispered out of the side of his mouth, “Run, Remi.”
She didn’t argue, but turned and started sprinting back across the cavern toward the tunnels across from the dragon’s teeth.
Ten feet in front of Sam, Bondaruk rose up. Like a cougar attracted by a fleeing hare, he spun, raised his gun, took aim on her.
“No!” Sam shouted. He jerked up the Glock and fired. The bullet missed Bondaruk’s head, grazing past his cheek and slicing through his ear. He screamed, turned, fired. Sam felt a hammer blow in his left side. A wave of white-hot pain rushed through his torso and exploded behind his eyes. He stumbled backward and fell. The Glock clattered across the floor.
“Sam!” Remi shouted.
“Stop right there, Mrs. Fargo!” Bondaruk barked. He came out from behind the barrel stalactite and stalked over and leveled his gun with Sam’s head. “Come back here!” Bondaruk commanded.
Remi didn’t move.
“I said, come back here!”
Remi put her hands on her hips. “No. You’re going to kill us anyway.”
Sam lay still, trying to catch his breath. Through the rush of blood in his ears, he tried to focus on Remi’s voice.
“Not true. You tell me where the columns are and I will—”
“You’re a liar and a murderer, and you can go to hell. You may find the columns without us, but you’re going to have to do it the hard way.”
With that, Remi turned on her heel and began walking. Her unexpected defiance had the desired effect.
“Damn you, come back here!”
Bondaruk turned, bringing the gun to bear on her. Sam took a deep breath, set his jaw, then sat up. He raised the Xiphos above his head and chopped downward. The blade caught Bondaruk at the wrist. Despite having gone unused for two-and-a-half millennia, the Spartan sword still bore enough of an edge to sever bone and flesh.
Bondaruk’s hand came off and dropped to the ground. He screamed and clutched the stump with his opposite hand. He collapsed to his knees.
Remi was there seconds later, kneeling beside Sam. “Help me up,” he said.
“You need to stay still.”
He rolled over, got to his knees. “Help me up,” he repeated.
She did so. Grimacing against the pain, Sam straightened up. He pressed his palm into the bullet wound. “Is my back bloody?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“That’s good. Through and through wound.”
“I wouldn’t exactly call that good.”
