The Venetian Betrayal Read Online Free PDF Page B

fought with each other.
    Whips snapped.
    Men groaned in pain.
    Obscenities were exchanged.
    She surged into the lead, but only slightly. She'd have to slow to round the pole and begin her return to the circle of justice, which would give them all an opportunity to pounce. Though her team had been accommodating to this point, the rules now allowed anyone to steal the boz and make a run of their own.
    She decided to catch them all off guard.
    Kicking, she directed Bucephalas to angle right.
    No out of bounds governed. Riders could, and did, venture anywhere. She arced their galloping path outward, the bulk of the chopenoz massed to her left, stretching her advance to the field's fringes where rows of tall trees guarded the perimeter. She could weave between them--she'd done so before--but today she preferred a different route.
    Before any of the others could react to her sudden shift, she hooked left and crisscrossed the field, cutting off the main body of galloping riders, causing them all to slow.
    Their instant of hesitation allowed her to sweep ahead and loop the pole.
    The others followed.
    She turned her attention ahead.
    One rider waited fifty meters down the field. He was swarthy, bearded, with a stiff face. He sat tall in the saddle and she saw his hand emerge from beneath a leather cape, holding a gun. He kept the weapon close, waiting for her.
    "Let's show him, Bucephalas, that we're not afraid."
    The horse raced forward.
    The man with the gun did not move. Zovastina stared him down. No one would ever cause her to retreat.
    The gun came level.
    A shot echoed across the field.
    The man with the gun teetered, then collapsed to the wet ground. His horse, spooked by the retort, raced away riderless.
    She trampled the corpse, Bucephalas' hooves digging into the still-warm flesh, the body swept away in their wake.
    She kept riding until the circle of justice came into view. She rode past and tossed the boz into its center, then brought Bucephalas to a stop.
    The other riders had all halted where the dead man lay.
    Shooting a player was absolutely against the rules. But this was not part of any game. Or maybe it was? Just a different contest. With different players and different rules. One none of the men here today would either understand or appreciate.
    She yanked on the reins and straightened herself in the saddle, casting a glance toward the palace roof. Inside one of the old Soviet gun stations, her sharpshooter signaled success by waving his rifle.
    She returned the gesture by rearing Bucephalas onto his hind legs and the horse whinnied his approval of the kill.

    Chapter EIGHT
    COPENHAGEN
    :10 A . M .
    CASSIOPEIA FOLLOWED MALONE AND HENRIK THORVALDSEN into Malone's bookshop. She was tired. Even though she'd expected a long night, the past few months had taken a toll, especially the last few weeks, and the ordeal seemed far from over.
    Malone switched on the lights.
    She'd been told about what had happened the previous fall--when Malone's ex-wife had appeared...and the firebombing--but the restorers had done a terrific job. She noted the workmanship. New, yet made to appear old. "My compliments to the craftsmen."
    Thorvaldsen nodded. "I wanted it to look like it once did. Too much history in this building to be blown away by fanatics."
    "Want to get out of those damp clothes?" Malone asked her.
    "Shouldn't we send Henrik home first?"
    Malone grinned. "I hear he likes to watch."
    "Sounds intriguing," Thorvaldsen said. "But tonight I'm not in the mood."
    Neither was she. "I'm fine. Leather dries quickly. One reason I wear it when I'm working."
    "And what were you working on tonight?"
    "You sure you want to hear this? Like you say all the time, you're a bookseller, not an operative. Retired, and all those other excuses."
    "You sent me an e-mail telling me to meet you at that museum in the morning. With what you said back at the fire, there wouldn't have been any museum there tomorrow."
    She sat in one of the club chairs.