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from under his vest.
                “A sound idea, Michael,” Shotsky added.
                “Then let’s do it!” Hannigan snapped.  He fired at the door just as a booted foot sent it swinging open.  The Nazi that had kicked it flew backwards into the stairwell.  “Run!”
                The four ran towards the edge of the roof and jumped into space. Their stomachs lurched as they hung suspended over the long drop then settled with unpleasant abruptness as they landed on the adjacent roof.  Hannigan fired out the magazine in his pistol to keep the Nazis down until they reached a door leading down into the building.
                Gunfire pummeled the wooden door as Hannigan threw it shut behind him, exploding into splinters as heavy lead slugs chewed it to pieces.
    “They must want this mystic rock pretty bad!”  He shouted over the din.  “Maybe these Nazi guys aren't such pushovers after all!”
                He buttoned the magazine out of his Colt and slammed a fresh one home.  He was careful to pocket the empty magazine; he had a couple boxes of rounds in his duffel, but he had a feeling finding replacement magazines for the American-made Colt would be next to impossible in Africa.
    He charged down the stairs eager to catch the others, but found Bridget stopped behind Gregor and Degiorno who stood arguing in the center of an intersecting hallway. 
    “We don’t have time for this!” he snapped, shouldering his way through them and grabbing Bridget’s wrist to drag her along behind him.
     
                                        *****
     
    Bridget gave only a token resistance before following him… so far Mike Hannigan had kept her alive. 
                Not that she needed any man's help.  She didn’t have the heart to tell Hannigan - who imagined himself the chivalrous knight, rescuing a damsel in distress - that her adopted father had taught her the mysterious Oriental martial art he called “Te-lo.”  She could kill with nearly any part of her body if threatened.  Still, she liked the young American, and wanted to see what he had in mind.
    She was worried about her adopted father, but knew that Niles McKenzie could take care of himself.  If anyone could elude the Nazis, it was her dad.
                Hannigan kicked open a door and half-dragged her into the room.  She could hear shouts from the floors below them and knew that some of the soldiers were entering this building from the ground floor.  She shot a glance over her shoulder and saw the other two men following.
                Hannigan released his tight grip on her wrist and ran for the balcony.  He slipped outside for a moment and then waved for the others to follow.  There was a balcony on the next building about six feet away.  Bridget risked a glance at the street below.  No Nazis yet.
                “We need to get across this,” Hannigan said, upping the safety on his pistol and stuffing it into his waistband.
                “How?” Degiorno demanded, gasping for breath. 
                “Gregor?” Hannigan gave his former shipmate a hard look, and the Russian nodded quickly. 
                Almost before she realized what was happening, Bridget saw them each grab one of the Italian’s arms and run towards the edge of the balcony.  She gasped in horror as they threw him over the edge of the balcony.
                A loud bleat of fear escaped from the Italian’s mouth as he flew through the air and then crashed down on the opposing balcony.  Hannigan turned to look at her.
                “I don't need any help, thanks.”  She gave a flip of her ponytail, and then broke into a run and jumped, planting one foot on the balcony rail and pushing off, launching herself into space.  She landed on the fat Italian with a thud, driving the breath from