Cast No Shadow, Peter Sharp [books to get back into reading txt] 📗

wall he adopted the pose of an all-American baseball star, the bat poised high in the air. With his left heel he banged sharply on the door. The door swung open and the guard took a step inside. He spotted Kelly immediately, but too late to evade the swinging bat which caught him square on the temple.

The big man was sent wheeling against the wall. He staggered a few steps before collapsing onto the body of Botvinik. Kelly quickly closed the door and advanced on the downed Spetsnaz soldier with his bat raised. The man was unconscious. Kelly wondered about the sub machine gun that had clattered onto the floor when the guard was downed but decided against it. Too conspicuous. Instead, he rolled the big soldier off the dead Botvinik and searched Botvinik’s body. With a grunt of satisfaction, he found a small 9 mm Beretta, already loaded, cocked and on safety. He tucked it into his waistband and advanced to the door.

He had taken a chance that the curt dismissal of the two guards would result in one of them standing down and it had paid off. Now he hoped that no one else was in the corridor. Opening the door a crack, he peered down the passage. A figure had just passed the door and was heading along the corridor. Even from the rear the fat man was easily recognisable as Diego Diez.

Kelly watched as Diez entered a room. He waited for the door to click closed. The door was pushed to, but there was no click.

Kelly hesitated for a moment, but only for a moment. He had to move. He could be discovered at any time. He decided against the stairs that he had previously ascended knowing these led directly to Vladeshenko’s lair. Instead, he moved in the other direction, along the corridor in the hope of finding an alternative staircase. This route took him past the room Diez had entered. Fortunately, although the door hadn’t fully closed, there was only a slight crack. Kelly paused and listened for a moment. There were voices speaking in Russian, laughter interlaced with conversation. Diez was clearly at home here; that would explain the information that the Russians had on himself and on Jenny Drinkwater and the student Negrin.

Kelly eased past the door and continued quickly down the passage. To his delight, a spiral staircase led down to the floor below. However, as he descended, he could see that it brought him up abruptly to a heavy wooden door bolted on this side. Kelly prayed it wasn’t also locked on the other side. As quietly as he could he slid the top and bottom bolts across, then grabbed the old iron handle and turned. The door swung open an inch and Kelly peered through the gap. A museum!

He opened the door just enough to allow himself to ease through, then closed it behind him. The room was full of cases displaying artefacts relating to Cuba’s past. It was quite busy with tourists, but he still caught several people glancing at him, made conspicuous by his wet clothing and general state of disarray. Ignoring the curious stares, he looked around for a staircase that would take him down to the ground level. There! He spotted it on the opposite wall.

Kelly made his way around the room as unobtrusively as possible, taking his time and glancing at the exhibits arranged against the walls. On reaching the staircase he walked down at a casual pace and found himself in the entrance foyer. There was a throng of people at the entrance desk, and Kelly felt comfortable about walking past them and out of the exit. He smiled at a bored security guard as he passed, and apart from giving him a quizzical look, the attendant did nothing to impede his exit.

Once outside, Kelly quickly scanned the area. A bus had pulled up to the entrance of the castle and passengers were just starting to disembark. About five yards to the left of the bus, under the shade of a lilac tree, was the American car that had brought him to the castle. Beside it stood a single guard. No weapons were visible, but his blond hair made him stand out. Kelly continued to scan. He could see no alternative form of transport other than the car. Trying to make it on foot was out of the question, he would be picked up in no time.

Kelly circled the bus, hidden by the passengers emerging from it, and moved into the garden area keeping undercover until he was within a few feet of the Russian guard. Without further ceremony, Kelly broke cover, walked up to the guard and tapped him on the shoulder. As the Russian turned, Kelly hit him with a vicious right hook, connecting on the point of the chin. The soldier stiffened and fell like a tree, completely poleaxed, crashing into the gravel face first without his arms ever leaving his sides.

Kelly jumped into the driver’s seat, noting the sub machine gun resting on the passenger’s seat, no doubt the property of the recumbent Russian guard. To his great relief the keys were in the dash. In one fluid movement he started the engine, shifted into drive and spun the car around. He started down the drive, scattering a number of bus passengers as he did so. Through the side window he saw Vladeshenko, Diez and several of the Spetsnaz scurrying out of the side door in a clearly agitated manner. They are bound to have other cars nearby, thought Kelly.

Once on the main roads he kept his speed to a sensible level and headed north, taking to the side streets as soon as he had his bearings, then out onto the road leading to the crossroads. Sierra Maestra or Guantanamo? He was tempted by the latter option, but he needed to find Peregrine. He turned up towards the mountains and gave the vehicle its head.

The response of the car