The Warsaw Protocol: A Novel(47)

A quick glance around one of the glassed exhibit cases and he spotted two security guards examining his handiwork at breaking the wire seal. No way he could escape there without some carnage. He decided to backtrack and find another way out. But he had to avoid Sonia. Hopefully all the doors leading from the inner loggia were locked, and her search for a way in would give him time to bypass her.

He hustled through the north wing.

Windows lined both sides of the rooms, all mullioned with watered glass. No way to see through. A blurry shadow moved past them on the outside, from room to room, stalking him from the exterior.

Sonia.

Had to be.

At some point they were going to come face-to-face, probably at a far exit point where she’d come up to this floor. The same exit he would need to leave. Perhaps she knew he was trapped and was simply biding her time, waiting for him to figure things out. He was still toting the heavy wooden box, which made the going a bit awkward.

He reentered the Battle of Orsha Room.

His mind wound through the possibilities, and only one made sense. On his trip through the north wing he’d noticed that the rooms were all roped off, keeping visitors from getting too close to the furnishings. The rope used was sturdy nylon, threaded through iron pedestals. He headed back and retrieved three lengths, obtaining a good hundred feet.

He heard glass shatter.

Apparently Sonia had grown impatient.

He carried the rope and the box back to the small study that jutted off the Orsha Room and locked the door from the inside, engaging an iron latch. He headed back outside onto the loggia, laid the wooden box down, and tied the rope to one of the stone pillars. He tossed the rest over the side and saw that there was enough slack to make it to the grass below. He quickly reeled the rope back up and tied the end to the box, then maneuvered it to the ground.

He heard the door back in the study being forced. Sonia or the guards were trying to make their way in. But the iron latch was holding. He wrapped the rope into a loop and stepped into it.

He heard muted gunfire.

They appeared to be trying to shoot their way past the door. He recalled that its wood was not all that thick, more just an interior door for privacy, not security.

Go. Now.

He hopped over the rail and began his descent, releasing the coil around his waist in short bursts and keeping his feet planted to the castle’s stone. He’d purposefully located the rope so he could use one of the buttresses as a path, avoiding the walls themselves as they were dotted with obstacles. He was also careful with the slack at the bottom, keeping plenty there so as to not jostle the wooden box.

The descent was relatively easy and he was nearing the grass when he looked up and saw Sonia and two guards staring down at him. Her gun came up into view and she nestled the end of the barrel to the rope.

And fired.

His support severed, he fell the remaining twenty feet, pounding into the hard turf. Which hurt his nearly fifty-year-old body. He glanced back up and saw her aim the gun down toward him and fire, stitching the grass to his left with two rounds. He ignored the pain in his legs and snatched the box from the ground, lunging into an open arcade to his left, out of her line of fire. He had to leave the castle grounds, so he ditched the rope wrapped around him and freed the box, running ahead, down another covered arcade that led to a passage opening on the far side of the castle at the inner lawn, near where he’d first entered the administration building.

No one was in sight.

He assumed the guards themselves knew nothing about what was really happening. To them, this was real.

So he had to avoid them.

Exterior lights atop the buildings began to spring to life, dissolving the darkness and making him much more visible. He turned right and bolted back toward the main gate, passing the cathedral and the museum. Beyond the archway he found the same brick-lined passage that led down to street level. Lights burned here and there illuminating the path. At the end of the incline he saw that the heavy wooden gates were now closed. They were also tall, as were the surrounding walls. No way to scale either and no telling what type of lock secured the exit.

He had to find another way out.

And fast.

He could not go back inside the castle grounds. The guards would be on the move. To his left a rough cobbled path ran along the base of the castle’s outer wall. Another smaller wall paralleled the outside, overlooking the river a hundred feet below. This had surely once been a path from which men and artillery could be shifted around the outer walls without risk. He ran down the path, visualizing in his mind the map of the castle’s grounds he’d seen earlier outside the administrative offices.

There was another way down.

A popular spot, too.

The Dragon’s Den.

He knew the story.

King Krak had lived in a castle atop Wawel Hill. A village lay below, beside the river, on fertile lands, and would have been rich and prosperous if not for a fierce fire-breathing dragon that occupied a cavern below the castle. The dragon liked to roam the countryside, eating sheep, cattle, and people. It particularly delighted in the taste of virgin flesh, as what dragon didn’t. The beast devoured virgin after virgin, until only the king’s daughter was left. It was then that King Krak declared that the brave hero who could slay the dragon would receive half the kingdom and his daughter’s hand in marriage. Knight after knight tried to kill the dragon, and all were devoured. Then a poor young cobbler’s apprentice wanted to try his luck. A mere boy. No warrior. No armor or sword.