The Doomsday Key (Sigma Force 6)

Kowalski retrieved her gun, then helped them back to their feet.

Seichan shoved roughly out of Gray’s arms, took an unsteady step, then gained her balance. Turning, she cleanly plucked her pistol out of Kowalski’s fingers before he could react.

“Hey…” Kowalski stared at his empty hand as if the appendage had betrayed him.

“There’s another fire escape over here,” Rachel called to them. Her eyes momentarily flickered between Gray and Seichan.

They all hurried over. The top of the fire escape was sheltered behind a bulky ventilation unit. They began a rapid descent, leaping from landing to landing. This fire escape dumped into a different alley. It would buy them an extra half breath, but Gray knew that whatever net had been cast around the hotel was surely being extended. They had to escape before it fully closed around them.

At the end of the alleyway, a street opened. They headed toward it. With no way to identify the assassins, they were still in grave danger. They could stumble right into one of them and not even know it. They had to get well away from the area, out of the city.

Gray’s questioning glance slid from Rachel to Seichan. “Anyone have a car?”

“I do,” Rachel answered. “But it’s parked around the corner from the hotel.”

He shook his head. It was too dangerous to go back. And considering that the streets had already turned into a parking lot due to the morning gridlock, a car might not even serve them.

A growl on his left warned him of the danger. Gray leaped back as a motorcyclist sped through the stalled traffic, riding almost up on the narrow sidewalk. Kowalski was a second slower. The cyclist nearly clipped him, which only pissed the big man off.

“Screw you, Knievel!”

Kowalski shoved with both arms as the man passed.

The rider flew out of his seat. The cycle struck a parked car and toppled on its side. A second motorcyclist who hadn’t seen the altercation and was following the same winding path could not get out of the way in time. He was forced to drop his bike and skid along the street gutter.

Seichan stared at Gray and lifted an eyebrow.

Good enough, he answered her silently.

Seichan went for the first bike; Gray headed to the second.

They needed transportation.

Seichan’s pistol discouraged any complaints from the first rider. Catching on quickly, Rachel followed Gray. She flipped out her carabinieri ID and held it high, yelling in Italian, full of command. The second rider backed away from his fallen motorcycle.

Gray righted the bike and hitched his leg over it. Rachel climbed on behind him, hugging one arm around his waist.

Seichan had already mounted the other. Kowalski stood in place, not sure what to do. Siechan patted the leather seat behind her.

“You gotta be kidding me,” he said. “I don’t ride bitch behind anyone.”

Seichan still had her Sig Sauer in hand. She flipped it around and offered the butt end toward Kowalski. She couldn’t maneuver and fire at the same time.

It was like offering a bone to a dog.

Kowalski could not resist. He took the gun and climbed on behind her. “That’s more like it.”

They set off as police sirens sounded in the distance. Gray took the lead. Swerving back and forth through traffic, he skirted the creeping cars and dodged bicycles. Rachel shouted directions in his ear, guiding them toward the wider thoroughfares where the congestion wasn’t so tight. They slowly gained speed.

But they didn’t get far.

A squeal of brakes drew Gray’s attention around.

Behind them, a black Lamborghini peeled out of a side street, tires smoking, and aimed straight for Seichan and Kowalski. A black-jacketed figure leaned out the passenger window of the sports car and lifted a thick-barreled weapon to his shoulder. He aimed at the trailing motorcycle.

Gray recognized an M32 grenade launcher.

So did Seichan.

She tucked lower in her seat and gunned her engine, but in the tight traffic, there was nowhere to run.

With his target trapped, the gunman fired.

2:22 A.M.

Washington, D.C.

Monk waited with Kat in her office within Sigma Command. They shared her leather sofa, sprawled together. Monk cradled Kat, appreciating the warmth of her body, the softness of her touch. While Sigma Command had a series of bunk rooms, neither of them would be able to sleep until they finally got word about Gray.

“I should be there with him,” Monk mumbled.

“He has Kowalski.”

Monk stared down at her.

“Okay,” she agreed. “That might make matters worse. But we don’t know for sure anything is even wrong.”

“He’s not answering his phone.”

Kat curled tighter to him. “He was meeting Rachel,” she said and cocked an eyebrow, leaving the implication hanging.

Monk wasn’t buying that explanation.

A long stretch of silence followed, with each lost in their own thoughts. Painter was continuing to pull strings to find out what was happening in Rome. Kat had also made further inquiries into the bombing at the Vatican. She was waiting for a comprehensive report from Interpol to come through. This moment of quiet was just the eye of the storm. Still, Monk took what he could.

He reached and placed a palm over her belly. Her hand rose to cover his. Their fingers entwined.

“Is it wrong to hope for a boy?” he asked.

She used her other hand to punch him halfheartedly in the leg. “Yes…”

Monk tightened his arms around her and teased. “But a boy…someone I can play catch with, shoot hoops with, go fishing…”

Kat wriggled, then sighed and leaned into him. “You can do all those things with a daughter, you sexist pig.”

“Did you call me a sexy pig?”

“Sexist…oh, never mind.”

He leaned down and kissed her lips. “I like sexy better.”

She mumbled between their lips. Monk could not make out her words, but after a moment more, a contented silence followed. A knock on the door interrupted them. They broke their embrace and sat up. Kat stood and crossed to the door, running a hand down her suit. She glared back at Monk, as if it were all his fault.

Kat opened the door to find Painter standing outside.

“Director—”

Painter cut her off and pointed down the hall. “I was on my way down to satellite com. We’ve got trouble in Rome.”

Monk gained his feet. “Gray?”

“Who else?” Painter set off down the hall.

8:21 A.M.

Rome, Italy

The Lamborghini drove straight at the trailing motorcycle. There was nothing Gray could do.