Page 143 of Enemy Within

Ethan’s legs kicked, scissoring wildly beneath Cook’s crouch. His superhuman strength, a gift of adrenaline, faded, leached away by the ice and his weakened body. His vision dimmed, growing dark around the edges, and all he could see was Cook’s mad grin and the insane light in his eyes, staring down at Ethan’s last moments.

PALOSHENKO WENT DOWN HARD, Sasha on top of him. His knife sliced through Sasha’s jacket, through skin. Sasha felt his muscle open up, felt warm blood flow down his back.

They skidded, grappling for the upper hand. Sasha twisted, rolling into Paloshenko’s arm and slamming it down. He flattened Paloshenko’s hand against the ice, dragging it beneath their skid. Paloshenko bared his teeth and growled in Sasha’s face, but refused to let go.

Fine.

Sasha slammed his head into Paloshenko’s, bashing his skull back against the ice. He moved fast, driving a one-two series of punches into Paloshenko’s ribs before grabbing his blade open-handed and ripping it away. Blood wept from his sliced hand, but in a single motion, Sasha flipped the blade around and slammed it into the center of Paloshenko’s palm, thrusting it into the ice.

Paloshenko roared. He thrashed beneath Sasha, kicking hard and swinging his hips, unbalancing Sasha just enough to throw him sideways. Sasha rolled away.

Paloshenko pulled the knife from the ice and through his palm, slowly. Blood dripped from the blade and ran down his hand, down his fingers, staining the glacier.

Shoulders heaving, Paloshenko stalked toward Sasha. Sasha waited, hands loose and ready. Lunging, Paloshenko swiped the blade down across Sasha’s face, his chest. Sasha ducked, and then ducked again as Paloshenko kept coming, kept lunging and ducking away, trying to slice him clean through from his throat to his groin.

Sasha ripped his jacket off. He held it by its sleeves, the fabric loose between his arms.

Paloshenko’s eye twitched. He roared and charged, swinging fast and furious at Sasha.

The blade nicked Sasha’s cheek, sliced down his jaw.

Sasha spun, rolling into Paloshenko’s hold, and wrapped his jacket-covered hands around Paloshenko’s arm. Caught, Paloshenko struggled, cursing, but Sasha twisted the jacket, tightening his grasp.

His back was to Paloshenko, their bodies aligned. Paloshenko wrapped one arm around his neck and started to squeeze.

Sasha grabbed his hair and yanked him forward, lifting Paloshenko’s feet from the ice as Sasha doubled over.

Roaring, Sasha flung them both backward, his momentum sending them both into the air before slamming back down to the ice, landing hard on Paloshenko’s back.

Crack!

Paloshenko gasped for breath, stunned and flailing on the ice. His legs went limp and loose, no longer kicking, no longer thrashing. Sasha scrambled as Paloshenko struggled to roll over and tried to drag himself away, reaching out with his bloody hand and pulling his broken body by the furrows of the glacier.

Sasha plucked the knife from where it had fallen on the ice. He stalked back grabbed Paloshenko, rolled him to his back, and stared down at the man.

Broken, bleeding, and shivering, Paloshenko glared back up at him. Fury and hatred burned in his eyes, black pools of emptiness that wanted to swallow Sasha’s soul. How many had he killed, hunting for Sasha in Siberia? Kilaqqi’s men hadn’t been the only ones to pay the price for Paloshenko’s merciless hunt. Kilaqqi, a man who gave everything he had to a stranger, only because he could. And Paloshenko had tried to murder him. Before that, even, Paloshenko had served with Moroshkin and had joined in his coup. Had taken Sergey’s government from him.

Wanted to take Sergey’s life from him.

He slammed the blade into Paloshenko’s chest, into the center of his heart, and watched his empty eyes go dim, and the hatred flare out of his gaze.

ADAM TURNED TOWARD THE gunshot as his blood stained the front of his jacket. He pressed his palm over his wound, ignoring the pain as his eyes caught on the man who’d fired.

Finally.

Standing behind him, swaying in the wind, stood Kobayashi. Blood covered one side of his face, matted his hair. His eyes were glassy, unfocused, but he blinked fast and sneered at Adam. “Lieutenant!” he shouted. “You’ve lost! It’s over!”

The rage, the all-consuming, world-ending fury he’d felt when he realized Kobayashi was workingagainsthim, was workingforMadigan, roared through his soul again. Kobayashi had played him, had played them all. He’d killed Park.

Had helped Cook and Madigan set up the ambush at the RusFuel station.

Had helped kill Faisal, the love of his life.

Adam started for Kobayashi. The rest of the world blurred: the glacier, the roiling seas and the cracked ice, Cook and Ethan, scrabbling and snarling, Sasha and Paloshenko, wrestling in a pool of blood. Even the gunshot in his belly, bleeding down the inside of his jacket.

He murmured softly, prayers for the dead that he hadn’t yet spoken. Prayers for Faisal, and prayers for himself.Soon, I’ll be with you,habibi. “Pardon my sins which are many and accept my deeds which are very little. Allah, forgive Faisal, and forgive me, for what I am about to do. Faisal is blessed, Allah. Bring him among the guided ones, raise him up, and let him by your side. Lord of the two worlds, forgive us, and make Faisal’s grave wide and full of light.” He swallowed. “Tell him I love him.”

He kept stalking toward Kobayashi. Kobayashi’s eyes widened, and he fired again at Adam.