Page 83 of Emerald

“I thought that was it,” I say stupidly. “That’s the only one we have.”

It’s a pathetic lie. Not convincing in the slightest.

Grinning harder than ever, the guard balls up his fist and hits me again, in the face, and then in the stomach. I double over, dropping to my knees once more, trying not to retch. I’ve been punched plenty of times before, but this guy feels like he’s made out of granite. Each blow hits me like a sledgehammer.

“Stop!” Sloane screams.

“We can stop any time you want,” Remizov says.

“He doesn’t have the drive,” Sloane cries.

I try to tell her not to say any more, but I haven’t got my breath back yet from the blow to the stomach. I’m still gasping and wheezing.

“Where is it?” Remizov says.

“It’s in Moscow,” Sloane tells him.

“Where?”

“I gave it away. To a journalist.”

There’s dead quiet in the room as this information sinks in to everyone present.

“A journalist?” Remizov says.

“Yes,” Sloane says. “She’s going to publish it all.”

For the first time, Remizov looks truly angry. His pale eyes become watery with rage, and his thin lips quiver.

But his voice is still flat as he says, “Then it appears the two of you have no use to me anymore.”

He looks over at the smirking guard, surely to give the order to shoot us both.

Before he can open his mouth to speak, the lights go out, and the room is plunged into darkness.

* * *

23

Sloane

When the power is cut, for a split-second, I think that I’m dead. The darkness is so immediate and intense, it’s like pulling the plug on my own brain.

But then I realize that I’m still very much alive, and so is everyone else.

Only a quarter of a second has gone by.

No one has moved an inch.

I’m considering if I should try to grab the other knife off the table, to stab Remizov in the dark.

But I also know Ivan is surrounded by three guards. And however skilled of a fighter he may be, those aren’t good odds.

So I tear myself out of Remizov’s grip and run to the table, but I don’t grab the knife. I search for the wine bottle instead, scrabbling blindly until my hand closes around the neck. I turn and throw it in the direction where the three men were standing.

I hear the heavy clunk of the bottle striking someone’s skull, and then the heavier thud of a body falling to the floor.

At the same moment that I throw the bottle, I hear Ivan diving at someone’s legs, and the mad scuffle that follows, in which I have no idea whatsoever who he’s fighting, or who might be winning.

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