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“How far to the stables?”
“On a straight line, a quarter mile, but this grove zigzags, so it’s probably double that. Ready?”
“Whenever you are.”
For the next twenty minutes they picked their way along the game trail, pausing every dozen paces to look and listen. Frequently they saw flashlights or shadowed figures moving around the estate grounds, sometimes hundreds of yards away, sometimes so close that Sam and Remi had to lie flat, not daring to breathe or move as the guards scanned the trees before moving on.
Finally the grove began to thin around them and soon the game trail opened into a clearing of grass across which they could see the south wall of the stables. Sam wriggled ahead, did a quick reconnaissance, then returned to Remi. “The party lawn is off to our right. The guests are gone but all the cars are still in the parking lot.”
“Bondaruk’s probably got them inside, lined up for interrogation,” Remi muttered.
“Wouldn’t be surprised. I didn’t see any posted guards—except for one, and as bad luck would have it he’s standing at the corner of the stables right beside the entrance.”
“Any chance of taking him out?”
“Not unless I can levitate. His head’s on a swivel. I wouldn’t get halfway across the clearing before he heard me. I do, however, have an idea.” He explained.
“How far?” she asked.
“Sixty, seventy yards.”
“Over the stable roof, no less. It’s a long shot, if you’ll pardon the pun.”
They spent a few minutes rummaging around the trees until they had a pile of a half dozen golfball-sized stones. Sam picked up the first one, crab-walked to the edge of the clearing, waited for the guard to look away, then popped up and hurled the stone. It sailed in a high arc over the stable roof. Sam popped back down and scurried back.
Silence.
“Miss,” Remi whispered.
Sam grabbed another stone and repeated the process. Another miss. Then a third, and then a fourth. He picked up the fifth stone, shook it in his hand like a pair of dice, then held it before Remi’s lips. “For luck.” She rolled her eyes, but dutifully blew on the stone.
He crawled out, waited for his moment, then hurled the stone.
Two seconds passed.
From the parking lot came the sound of breaking glass, followed by the rhythmic honking of a car alarm.
“You sank someone’s battleship,” Remi said.
The alarm had an immediate and dramatic effect, starting with the guard at the stable door, who turned and sprinted toward the parking lot. Voices from other parts of the estate began shouting to one another.
Sam and Remi bolted for cover and sprinted for the wall, reaching it in under ten seconds. Bent at the waist now, they slid down
its length to the corner. Ahead of them they saw five or six guards rush headlong across the party area and through the hedges.
“Go,” Sam rasped. They stepped out, around the corner, and through the door into the stables.
They weren’t two steps inside when a massive dark form rose up before them. Sam pushed Remi left then rolled right. The horse, a jet-black Arabian stallion standing at least sixteen hands high, reared up, its hooves clawing the air before Sam. It let out a deep-chested snort then slammed back to the ground, galloped down the alleyway, and disappeared into an open stall door.
Behind Sam the door opened. The guard saw Remi first and wheeled on her, his MP5 coming up. Before he could utter a word, Sam was there, driving a right cross into his temple. He stumbled sideways and fell to the ground. As Remi scooped up his gun, Sam closed the door and dropped the crossbar into place. Outside they could hear boots pounding on gravel.
“So much for a stealthy exit,” Sam muttered.
“At this point I’ll settle for any exit at all,” Remi replied.
They turned and sprinted for the tack room.
CHAPTER 42