Page 71 of Belgian Betrayal

That voice was undeniable.

The man behind her was the same one who’d killed her parents.

“Want me to shoot her?” the man asked.

A voice behind them said, “No. We might need a hostage to get out of here. But take her cell phone. We can’t have those photos she took getting out.”

Catya turned her head enough to see the other two men behind the one with the gun.

There they were.

Lord Stanhope and the Deputy Prime Minister Blackhurst.

Walter Sykes appeared in the doorway and cursed. “What the hell? How did she get in here?”

“You tell me,” Blackhurst demanded. “You were in charge of security, yet there wasn’t a guard on the secret passage when we came through.”

Sykes’s eyes narrowed as he stared at Catya. “Wait a minute.” He shook his head. “Bloody hell.” The man’s hand snaked out, grabbed Catya’s wig and yanked it off her head. “It’s the assassin we sent to Rosolino’s. The one that fucked it up.”

“Ah, Walter Sykes. I should have known you were behind the multiple attempts to kill me.” Catya hoped her listening device was working and Ace was recording everything being said. She just had to keep them talking. She glared at Sykes. “You say I fucked up the operation?” She gave a bark of laughter. “You and your buddy here, Deputy Prime Minister Blackhurst, sent three assassins to kill one defenseless preschool teacher. She didn’t deserve to die.”

“An assassin with a conscience? How novel.” Blackhurst laughed. “It’s a good thing we sent more than one to get the job done.”

“Except you didn’t die when you were supposed to,” Sykes added. “Then Atkins welched on the deal to get his daughter back.”

“Seems your choice of operatives didn’t work out so well,” Blackhurst said.

“Yeah, well, I didn’t see you coming up with a plan,” Sykes said. “The Rosolino girl had the data. She could just as easily have sold it like Rocco threatened to do. Everything would have been all right if he hadn’t mailed that disk to his daughter when he got scared.”

“I doubt he’d have done it if he’d known it would be her death sentence,” Blackhurst said.

Sykes snorted. “We were lucky she contacted MI6 first instead of Interpol.”

“Well, we’re not so lucky now,” Blackhurst said. “Your assassin has a boyfriend. I’m betting he’s among our guests and looking for her as we speak.” Blackhurst turned to Stanhope. “So, Stanhope, do you have an exit plan?”

Stanhope raised an eyebrow. “Of course. We end the party and send everyone home.”

Blackhurst and Sykes frowned.

“How are you going to do that without alarming the guests?” Blackhurst asked.

“I want them alarmed.” Stanhope lifted his chin toward the room full of foreign buyers. “Sykes, escort our dignitaries to the ballroom.”

“Back the way they came?”

Stanhope nodded. “Once they’re all back in the ballroom, trigger the fire alarm. While the guests are running out the front of the house, we will make our exit out the back and head for the helicopter pad on the other end of the formal gardens.” Stanhope pulled out his cell phone and dictated a message. “Have the chopper on standby, ready to lift off in ten minutes.” He clicked a button, and the message was sent. “We have exactly ten minutes until liftoff. And go.”

Sykes spun and marched into the room full of restless foreigners, wondering what was happening. Sykes herded them through the closet and into the secret passage.

Catya had hung around as long as she had, praying Ace, out in the communication van, was listening to everything and recording. They had enough to nail the three men in court. Now would be a good time to get away. Once the last of the buyers had all gone through, she’d make her move.

Up to that point, Catya had been compliant with the murderous bastard who had his gun pressed to her back. He wouldn’t be expecting her to do anything rash.

Catya didn’t do rash. But she did do fast.

She spun, knocked the gun from the man’s hand and performed a sidekick, landing a stiletto in his gut.

The murderer with the gravelly voice flew backward and hit the wall.

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