Page 7 of The Last Kingdom

He was on his own.

Ahead the truck continued racing down the paved road, its headlights cutting a bright swath in the darkness. They were past the trees, now in an open meadow between the old Augustinian monastery, high on a hill to the left, and the lake on the right. Lights burned in a few of the monastery windows. The truck raced straight for the dock that jutted out into the lake.

He sped ahead.

Cold air kept searing his throat and lungs.

The truck came to a stop and its occupants fled. He saw them run down the dock and hop into a small boat tied at its end. He maneuvered the cart up alongside the truck.

An engine cranked, then revved.

He trotted down the concrete dock, watching as the boat disappeared across the black water. He stopped under one of the amber lights that illuminated the dock, offering plenty of brightness for those in the boat to see him.

Mission accomplished.

The lake’s large ferryboat, the one he’d ridden over in, floated to his right. Once it had been a true saloon steamer with a wreath of smoke announcing its presence across the lake. Now it was diesel-powered. He spotted a few people inside the enclosed cabin. Its engines revved. The boat was departing on its half-hour run back to the mainland. He should hop aboard and leave too. Maybe he’d stay in Munich a few days and check out the antique bookshops. Similar establishments all across Europe had yielded treasures before. Perhaps some of the local dealers harbored a few first editions he could resell to collectors. Or maybe instead of heading back to Copenhagen, he’d take a flight to France and visit with Cassiopeia for a few days.

That sounded great.

He wished Luke Godspeed.

Any assignment came with risks. A fact he well knew. His last with the Magellan Billet, in Mexico City, a perfect example when a bullet tore through his shoulder. He’d managed to take down the shooters, but the resulting carnage had left seven dead, nine injured. One of them had been a young diplomat assigned to the Danish mission, Cai Thorvaldsen. Ten weeks after that massacre a man with a crooked spine—a grieving father—appeared at his front door in Atlanta. Henrik Thorvaldsen.

And changed his life forever.

The ferry’s engines seemed to come to full power.

Lights out on the water caught his gaze. Another boat. Starting to speed toward the boat Luke left in.

Odd.

Then he heard the distantrat-tat-tatand spotted the flash of muzzle fire coming from the new boat.

Aimed Luke’s way. What the hell?

Things had suddenly escalated.

True, he didn’t have a dog in this fight, but it was not his nature to do nothing when a friend might be in trouble.

The ferry eased from the dock, its bow pointed out toward the dark water. Lights illuminated its hull and cabin, a powerful flood lamp pointed ahead off its bow.

Improvise. Use what you have.

He ran toward the ferry.

And leaped aboard.

Chapter 4

LUKE STOOD IN THE BOAT AND ALLOWED THE FRIGID AIR TO CHAPhis face. It felt great. His two compatriots stood with him as they powered across the lake toward their parked vehicle onshore. Christophe piloted the small craft, standing at the wheel, Lexi beside him keeping watch ahead. She was slim and curvy, her body definitely honed by copious amounts of diet and exercise. Her mouth was full but a little wide for her nose, a small imperfection that he’d concluded only added to her allure. She wore jeans tucked into knee-high boots and a loose black sweater beneath her wool coat. No makeup painted her sultry beige complexion, and never had as far as he’d seen. Her long-lashed, barely angled eyes definitely added a mysterious quality he liked. He’d detected a slight accent in her voice. Australian, if he wasn’t mistaken. He knew little about her and none of the few overtures he’d made her way had been returned.

Which was a bit annoying.

“Are you that lousy a shot?” Christophe called out. “The only thing you hit was the wall.”

“On purpose,” he said, not looking over at either one of them. “Would you have preferred him dead? That would have gone over great. Along with two snapshots of the both of you.” He held up the camera. “Luckily, I got the damn thing.”

“I would have preferred that we not be interrupted,” Christophe noted. “It was your job to make sure that didn’t happen.”