Free From Russia Without Love by Stephen Templin Page A

have a clear shot at the driver. Chris pressed his pistol against the window, to prevent getting sprayed in the face with the glass, and squeezed the trigger. He thought he hit the driver with the first shot, but there was no immediate reaction as he continued to squeeze. His second shot clearly landed, spraying crimson on the shattered window. Chris fired again for good measure.
    The driver’s head flopped to the side, and Xander’s BMW veered off the road until it struck a building, crumpling the front of the vehicle and stopping it.
    Hannah sped forward, racing southwest. Chris checked the view to the rear. Xander’s white BMW sat dead on the side of the road.
    “Shit!” Sonny exclaimed.
    “Are you hit?” Chris asked, turning toward him.
    Sonny held one hand against Michael’s head and another on the side of his neck, his fingers feeling for a pulse. When he pulled his hands away, they were bloody. “At least one of Xander’s rounds penetrated the door. One of them hit Michael in the head,” Sonny said, sadness filling his voice. “He’s dead.”
    Chris’s soul dropped out of his body, and a heavy cloud of discouragement descended on him. The cloud was so thick he thought he might choke on it. As a child, while his parents were diplomats in Damascus, Chris and a classmate were kidnapped in front of their elementary school. Chris was later rescued, but Nikkia died in captivity. A part of Chris died with her that day, and the part that survived wished it had died, too. He’d packed away the sorrow he felt then, but seeing Michael’s dead body had opened up old wounds. Now he wanted to cry but didn’t have the energy.
    Hannah called the chief and reported. When she hung up, she said, “They want us to go to Minotaur.”
    The ride to the port of Pairaeus was a blur. Chris was too out of it to notice what had become of their shot-up vehicle. They were met by a small US Navy vessel, which shuttled them across the Mediterranean Sea, but while Chris went through the motions, it was as if the black cloud of despair had magically transported him from Athens to Crete.

7
    _______
    X ander’s servant led Animus through the house to the master bedroom, where the walls were as white as the exterior of the mansion. The swinging windowed doors to his veranda were locked, but the curtains were open, displaying the Aegean Sea as it reflected the sapphire sky.
    “I’m checking my bug-out bag to make sure I have everything needed to sustain myself until we reach London and our mission cache there,” Xander said. “The Americans will be looking for us here. The Hellenic Police will be looking for us, too.” He took a look around. “I’m going to miss this house.” He peered out the window. “And the view.” His eyes returned to his bug-out bag. “But in this job, adapting is the key to survival, and adapt we must.”
    “Yes, sir.” Animus was going to miss Athens, too. He was born here, and although he thought he’d die in Athens, it now occurred to him he might die in London. Even if he survived, he might very well be the lone survivor. But dying was something Xander never talked about, and Animus didn’t dare to mention it for fear of crossing some unmarked line.
    “Is Evelina packed?” Xander asked.
    “Almost,” Animus said. “That’s what I came to talk to you about.”
    Xander stopped what he was doing. “My bag was all packed a minute ago, and I guess it will all still be there no matter how many times I check.” He turned to Animus. “Is there a problem?”
    “Evelina doesn’t seem sure she wants to go with us on this mission.”
    “Does not seem sure?” Xander said with disbelief in his tone.
    “She said she doesn’t feel she has enough training or experience.”
    “What do you think?” Xander asked.
    “I agree. But I didn’t tell her that. I didn’t tell her anything. I just listened.”
    “Do you think she should come with us?”
    Animus looked him in the eye. “I think she’s