"The Venetian Betrayal" - читать интересную книгу автора (Berry Steve)

THREE

COPENHAGEN

MALONE WATCHED AS THE FLAMES DESCENDING THE STAIRCASE stopped three quarters of the way down, showing no signs of advancing farther. He stood before one of the windows and searched for something to hurl through the plate glass. The only chairs he spotted were too close to the fire. The second mechanism continued to prowl the ground floor, exhaling mist. He was hesitant to move. Stripping off his clothes was an option, but his hair and skin also stank with the chemical.

Three thuds on the plate-glass window startled him.

He whirled and, a foot away, a familiar face stared back.

Cassiopeia Vitt.

What was she doing here? His eyes surely betrayed his surprise, but he came straight to the point and yelled, “I need to get out of here.”

She pointed to the door.

He intertwined his fingers and signaled that it was locked.

She motioned for him to stand back.

As he did, sparks popped from the underside of the roaming gizmo. He darted straight for the thing and kicked it over. Beneath he spotted wheels and mechanical works.

He heard a pop, then another, and realized what Cassiopeia was doing.

Shooting the window.

Then he saw something he’d not noticed before. Atop the museum’s display cases lay sealed plastic bags filled with a clear liquid.

The window fractured.

No choice.

He risked the flames and grabbed one of the chairs he’d earlier noticed, slinging it into the damaged glass. The window shattered as the chair found the street beyond.

The roving mechanism righted itself.

One of the sparks caught and blue flames began to consume the ground floor, advancing in every direction, including straight for him.

He bolted forward and leaped out the open window, landing on his feet.

Cassiopeia stood three feet away.

He’d felt the change in pressure when the window shattered. He knew a little about fires. Right now flames were being supercharged by a rush of new oxygen. Pressure differences were also having an effect. Firefighters called it flashover.

And those plastic bags atop the cases.

He knew what they contained.

He grabbed Cassiopeia’s hand and yanked her across the street.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

“Time for a swim.”

They leaped from the brick parapet, just as a fireball surged from the museum.