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“I’m not armed.”
“Show me.”
Kholkov took off his jacket, turned it inside out, gave it a shake, then dropped it on the ground.
“Shirt.”
Kholkov pulled his shirttails from his waistband and slowly spun in a circle. Sam nodded at Umberto, who circled around Kholkov and backed across the open space, stopping to retrieve the Luger, which he handed over to Sam.
“Stronzo!” Bianco barked.
“What did he say?” Sam asked.
“He seems to think my mother and father were not married when I was born.”
“I will kill you,” Bianco spat. “And your wife!”
“Shut up. Now I recognize that one—the one with the mustache.”
“Who is he?”
“A nobody. He’s a petty thief, a thug.” Umberto called to the man, “I know who you are! If I see you again, I’ll cut off your nose!”
Sam said, “Kholkov, here’s how this is going to work: You’re all going to lie on the ground and we’re going to leave. If you follow us, I’ll burn the book.”
“You’re lying. You won’t do that.”
“Bad gamble. To save our lives, I’ll do it without a second thought.”
It was a lie, of course, and Sam knew that Kholkov knew it, too, but he was hoping to plant even a slight seed of doubt, enough to buy them some running room. He’d considered other options—tie them up, disable their vehicle, call the police, but his every instinct was telling him to put as much distance as possible between themselves and Kholkov, and to do it as quickly as possible. And were he a different man, there would be a fourth option: Kill them right now. But he wasn’t that kind of man and didn’t want cold-blooded murder on his
conscience.
Kholkov was a superbly trained soldier who knew more ways to kill than most chefs had recipes. Every minute he, Remi, and Umberto spent around these men increased the chances of the tables being turned.
“You won’t get off the island,” Kholkov growled, lying down.
“Maybe, but we’re going to give it the old college try.”
“Even if you do, I’ll find you again.”
“That’s a bridge we’ll cross when we get there.”
Umberto said, “Sam, a favor if I might. I’d like to take Bianco along with us. I’ll make sure he’s no trouble.”
“Why?”
“Let me worry about that.”
Sam considered this, then nodded.
“Let’s go!” Umberto ordered Bianco. “Hands up!”
Under Umberto’s gun, Bianco started walking toward the fence. Once they were over it and standing beside the car, Umberto plucked Bianco’s handcuffs from his belt, secured them around his wrists, frisked him, then shoved him in the backseat and climbed in behind him. Remi started the car, then opened the door for Sam and slid over to the passenger seat.
Sam got in the car, put it in gear, turned around, and headed around the fence toward the main road.
“How long do you think they’ll wait?” Remi asked.
