ARKANE Thrillers Books 4-6

Chapter 7

7

The rush of cold air on her face was bracing as Morgan jumped off the edge of the bridge, looking out to Margaret Island so that she didn’t pitch forward as gravity pulled her downward. She knew how to fall from her Krav Maga martial arts experience but also from the years that she had spent rock climbing and canyoning in the hills of Israel. Her muscles remembered the sensation of jumping from the top of waterfalls into icy dark water beneath.

She breathed out heavily to try and stem the flood of adrenalin, glancing down to see the canopy of the tourist boat rushing up to meet her. She heard the shouts of the people below, and just before she landed she saw the man turn and spot her. His eyes narrowed and then she lost sight of him as she landed heavily on the canvas.

Morgan felt the air whoosh out of her as she slid towards the deck, turning and grabbing for a hold on the cloth. There was shrieking from the tourists below as she landed with a thump onto the wooden boards, her fall slowed and cushioned by the canopy. It took her a second to reorient herself, and then she heard the revving of a powerful motor.

She stood quickly, brushing off the concerned comments of the tourists, pushing through the throng. She hopped up onto the side of the boat and looked towards the source of the noise.

At the stern, the man ditched his parachute and was standing, waiting to jump onto a fast-approaching speedboat.

“Hey,” Morgan shouted. “Stop him.”

But the tourist crowd was more interested in taking photos of this strange incursion than joining in. The man turned at her shout and she saw his hawk-like profile. It was the Raven himself, his mouth twisted into a mocking smile, as Morgan began to fight her way to the back of the boat.

The speedboat pulled alongside, and the Raven leapt deftly in, his step light. Morgan reached the stern just as the boat pulled away, the sound of his laughter just audible above the engine’s roar.

High above the Danube, Zoltan examined the large package that the man had left. The explosives were encased in clear solid plastic and a prominent timer counted down from five minutes. It was a taunt for anyone who discovered it, for there was no way into the package to stop the bomb going off.

Zoltan felt a cold calm descend as he analyzed his options. The bomb wasn’t big enough to cause severe damage or destroy the bridge, but it would be a symbolic attack on a nationalist icon, and the media would infer responsibility from the almost complete blue star graffiti.

The timer ticked into four minutes remaining. He had to do something, and fast.