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Authors: Chris Kuzneski
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was a decision that would never happen.
Despite the distance, she saw the gun before the trigger was pulled. It emerged out of nowhere like a magic trick. One moment it wasn’t there, and the next it was.
But the barrel wasn’t pointed at her. It was aimed at the man she was there to meet.
Before Allison could react, his head exploded in a burst of pink mist. The roar of gunfire was muffled by a silencer. The first sound she heard was the loud splash as the man tumbled over the railing and landed in the upper fountain. He was dead before he hit the water.
It took a moment for things to sink in. But once they did, chaos erupted at the Peterhof.
Parents were screaming. Children were crying. Tourists were running everywhere.
And Allison wanted to join them. She wanted to sprint toward the exit and forget everything that had happened—like a bad dream that faded away when she woke up. Yet her legs refused to move. So she sank to her knees and tried to breathe as she stared at the waterfall.
Seconds later, the trickling water turned blood red from the corpse of Richard Byrd.
13
A fter Ulster’s lecture on smuggling, Payne felt like a total hypocrite. He had always viewed smugglers as modern-day pirates, hardened criminals with rusty boats and no morals. Ruthless men who rarely shaved and reeked of sweat. The real scum of the earth.
Yet according to Ulster’s definition, Payne was a smuggler himself.
Excluding his stint in the military—when he and Jones had frequently shipped men, weapons, and supplies across enemy lines—Payne had been involved in two recent smuggling operations, although he hadn’t viewed himself as a smuggler at the time of the incidents.
The first occurred shortly after he met Ulster. Payne and Jones uncovered a plot to rewrite the history of Jesus Christ, and in the process they recovered several religious artifacts that had no rightful owner. Since they didn’t want the relics locked away in the Vatican basement, they had smuggled them out of Italy and delivered them to the Ulster Archives.
The second had been even more dramatic. Payne and Jones sneaked into the Muslim-only city of Mecca to thwart a terrorist attack and ended up rescuing an American archaeologist who had discovered an Islamic treasure the Saudi government knew nothing about. Worried that the Arabs would claim it for themselves, Payne and Jones had smuggled it out of the Middle East and donated it to Ulster’s facility, where it could be examined by experts in that field.
Ultimately, that’s one of the reasons Payne never viewed himself as a smuggler.
He never stole anything. He never sold the treasures. And most important, he always donated them to academia instead of keeping them for himself.
“You know,” Jones said after their call to Ulster, “we aren’t exactly angels.”
“I never claimed to be.”
Jones smiled. “Yet you want to be perceived that way.”
Payne shrugged. Deep down inside, he knew Jones was right. From the moment in the eighth grade when he lost his parents to a drunk driver, Payne had always craved the approval of others. It was his way of making up for the love and attention he had been denied. His paternal grandfather did a wonderful job of raising him after the accident, yet because of his duties as the founder and CEO of Payne Industries, he simply wasn’t around as often as Payne would have liked.
Instead of sulking or rebelling as teenagers are apt to do, Payne had poured his energy into every talent he had—academics, athletics, martial arts, and eventually the military—hoping his accomplishments would get him the positive attention he needed.
In the end, it made him a better person.
“So,” Jones wondered, “how do you want to handle this?”
“Not much we can do from here. Not until Byrd calls back.”
“And then?”
“Then it depends on him. If he seems legitimate, I say we bail him out. I mean, a friend of Petr’s is a friend of ours. On the other hand, if
Despite the distance, she saw the gun before the trigger was pulled. It emerged out of nowhere like a magic trick. One moment it wasn’t there, and the next it was.
But the barrel wasn’t pointed at her. It was aimed at the man she was there to meet.
Before Allison could react, his head exploded in a burst of pink mist. The roar of gunfire was muffled by a silencer. The first sound she heard was the loud splash as the man tumbled over the railing and landed in the upper fountain. He was dead before he hit the water.
It took a moment for things to sink in. But once they did, chaos erupted at the Peterhof.
Parents were screaming. Children were crying. Tourists were running everywhere.
And Allison wanted to join them. She wanted to sprint toward the exit and forget everything that had happened—like a bad dream that faded away when she woke up. Yet her legs refused to move. So she sank to her knees and tried to breathe as she stared at the waterfall.
Seconds later, the trickling water turned blood red from the corpse of Richard Byrd.
13
A fter Ulster’s lecture on smuggling, Payne felt like a total hypocrite. He had always viewed smugglers as modern-day pirates, hardened criminals with rusty boats and no morals. Ruthless men who rarely shaved and reeked of sweat. The real scum of the earth.
Yet according to Ulster’s definition, Payne was a smuggler himself.
Excluding his stint in the military—when he and Jones had frequently shipped men, weapons, and supplies across enemy lines—Payne had been involved in two recent smuggling operations, although he hadn’t viewed himself as a smuggler at the time of the incidents.
The first occurred shortly after he met Ulster. Payne and Jones uncovered a plot to rewrite the history of Jesus Christ, and in the process they recovered several religious artifacts that had no rightful owner. Since they didn’t want the relics locked away in the Vatican basement, they had smuggled them out of Italy and delivered them to the Ulster Archives.
The second had been even more dramatic. Payne and Jones sneaked into the Muslim-only city of Mecca to thwart a terrorist attack and ended up rescuing an American archaeologist who had discovered an Islamic treasure the Saudi government knew nothing about. Worried that the Arabs would claim it for themselves, Payne and Jones had smuggled it out of the Middle East and donated it to Ulster’s facility, where it could be examined by experts in that field.
Ultimately, that’s one of the reasons Payne never viewed himself as a smuggler.
He never stole anything. He never sold the treasures. And most important, he always donated them to academia instead of keeping them for himself.
“You know,” Jones said after their call to Ulster, “we aren’t exactly angels.”
“I never claimed to be.”
Jones smiled. “Yet you want to be perceived that way.”
Payne shrugged. Deep down inside, he knew Jones was right. From the moment in the eighth grade when he lost his parents to a drunk driver, Payne had always craved the approval of others. It was his way of making up for the love and attention he had been denied. His paternal grandfather did a wonderful job of raising him after the accident, yet because of his duties as the founder and CEO of Payne Industries, he simply wasn’t around as often as Payne would have liked.
Instead of sulking or rebelling as teenagers are apt to do, Payne had poured his energy into every talent he had—academics, athletics, martial arts, and eventually the military—hoping his accomplishments would get him the positive attention he needed.
In the end, it made him a better person.
“So,” Jones wondered, “how do you want to handle this?”
“Not much we can do from here. Not until Byrd calls back.”
“And then?”
“Then it depends on him. If he seems legitimate, I say we bail him out. I mean, a friend of Petr’s is a friend of ours. On the other hand, if
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