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With the assailants gone, Seichan dashed out of hiding and retrieved a weapon from one of the dead men. She fired at Valya’s back, but the assassin had reached the end of the row and rolled out of view, tossing the dead man aside. Valya had also somehow gained another weapon—maybe from the assailant she had used as a shield.
She fired in both directions, driving Zhuang and Guan-yin into hiding, and fled for the stairwell to the right.
Zhuang shot after her, but Valya pounded through the far door and vanished.
By now, Gray had followed Seichan’s example and snapped off thewrist ties on a bolt in the shelving. He grabbed the sheaf of old papers and tucked it into the back of his pants under his windbreaker. He also armed himself.
To the side, Kwong stumbled out of hiding. The director clutched a hand to his neck. Blood poured between his fingers. Gray cursed himself for failing to note the man’s injury.
He crossed and gathered Kwong under an arm. He carried the man toward the research lab. At the door, Seichan noted the director’s state and came up on the man’s other side. They headed out together.
Zhuang ran up to them, hefting a Glock 18, a fully automatic with an extended magazine. “Your mother,” he gasped to Seichan. “She ran after thatbiaozi.”
Seichan glanced at Gray.
“Go,” he ordered her, then passed the director to Zhuang. “Take him down the elevator. Get him help.”
Seichan took off, and Gray sprinted after her. They could not leave Guan-yin chasing after Valya. Not alone. Seichan’s mother could not comprehend the lethality and cunning of the Russian assassin.
They fled past the offices and burst out into the stairwell. Gray listened for any sound of gunfire below, but all was silent. With pistols in hand, they raced around and around.
As they reached the third floor, voices echoed up to them, sounding furtive. Gray knew Valya had more men. He overheard when she had ordered another group to lock down the security control room in the museum’s basement.
“Careful,” Gray warned.
Seichan barely slowed, anxious to reach her mother, too furious for caution. She swept down the next turn, only to be met by a torrent of automatic gunfire. She stumbled back. Rounds gouged into the concrete wall near her. Boots pounded up toward them, coming fast.
“This way!” Gray called to her.
She ran back to him.
He turned off the stairs and rushed to the door that led out onto the third floor. They ducked through it. Gray had barely closed it behind them when gunfire erupted. The door shook under the barrage.
He pointed across the breadth of this level. “Run!”
They fled, knowing they had only seconds before the men, armed with assault rifles, burst inside and caught them in the open. The far door looked an impossible distance away. A few rooms opened on the left, but if they sought shelter inside, they’d be trapped with no place to hide.
Gray placed his hope on what lined the other side of the third floor.
The wet collection.
Thousands of bottles packed the rows of shelves.
Gray pointed his pistol and fired as he ran, shooting down the length of the shelves. Each round shattered scores of bottles, splashing their contents to the floor. Pools of ethanol spilled and spread in a widening lake.
The door slammed open behind him.
As she ran, Seichan fired back to discourage entry.
“Your lighter,” Gray called to her.
With her free hand, she tugged out an antique silver lighter and tossed it to him. He thumbed it open, while still firing at the shelves. He flicked a flame and tossed it low at his heels.
It landed in the pool of ethanol as a pair of gunmen dashed through the doorway and splashed into the pool’s far edge.
The lake of alcohol ignited with a whoosh of red flames. The heat washed Gray’s back. The fire swept across the room in seconds, engulfing the two men.
Their screams chased Gray and Seichan.
