The two boats at the rope ladder lurched, breakers kicking them against the ice. Wintz desperately held on as his overladen craft rocked. He hurriedly increased power, putting speed over stability as he headed into the tunnel.

The falling sensation eased. Loud bangs came from behind Nina – not plummeting ice, but metal striking metal as the Dionysius shook. One of the hanging chains broke free and plunged into the water, kicking up an angry flume of spray. The anchor’s swing became wider, wilder. ‘Holy shit!’ yelled Roche. ‘Harhund, fuck getting more coffins – we’ve got to get out of here!’

Harhund watched the boat depart, then shouted a reply. ‘Agreed! We have one coffin, the key and Professor Wilde – that is all we need. Tell the rest of the men to follow us.’

‘What about the prisoners?’

The answer came without hesitation. ‘Kill them.’

Roche turned to pass on the message—

Nina beat him to it. ‘They’re gonna kill you! Run!’

Her words echoed across the cavern. Imka and Cheng both stared at the American, disbelief and uncertainty momentarily paralysing them – but Vorster had spent enough years at sea to know that hesitation in the face of danger could be fatal. He charged at the nearest mercenary, knocking him over the edge to plunge to his death before shoving his companions through the open hatch. ‘Go! Get in—’

August overcame his surprise. His SIG whipped up – and a burst of fire erupted from its muzzle.

All three rounds hit Vorster in the back. He staggered, his last conscious act being to push Imka further inside before he toppled from the ledge, spinning into the deadly field of frozen spikes below.

Cheng and Imka had no time to look back. They ran into the crystal-lit tunnel as more bullets twanged from the walls behind them.

Chapter 11

11

Eddie waited at the bottom of the mausoleum stairs, Braun standing guard at the top. The Yorkshireman’s gaze never left him, waiting for some distraction that he could use to attempt an escape—

One came – but it caught both men by surprise.

The ship shook, knocking them both off balance. Eddie gripped the wall, about to charge up the stairs at his captor. But Braun also recovered and realised the Yorkshireman’s intent. He spun to shoot his prisoner—

Eddie dived into the mausoleum.

He slammed against a sarcophagus, which lurched as its base cracked, then rolled over its side and dropped again to half run, half slide down the steep floor as bullets struck coffins behind him. The mercenary cursed and descended the stairs, searching for line of sight on his target.

Eddie wasn’t going to give it to him. He landed at the room’s foot, moving to put as many obstructions between himself and the gunman as possible. If the bastard wanted to shoot him, he would have to come and find him – and by then he would have armed himself . . .