Donovans 01 - Amber Beach

scope, whereas you cannot be certain where my attention is.”
    Jake already had figured that out. What he hadn’t come up with yet was a way to get up that slope and grab the rifle before Resnikov shot everyone in sight.
    Slowly Jake put his hands against the edge of the box. He kicked his feet, pushing the box ahead of him in the water.
    “At first I was troubled by your presence,” Resnikov said to Jake. “You are a formidable foe. On reflection, I decided that to have you here is a bit of good fortune for all of us. You have the experience not to, um, lose your cool and force me to kill. You know that death is not necessary for any of us. Only the Amber Room is necessary. Bring it to me, Jacob.”
    There was a good possibility that Resnikov was telling the truth, that he wouldn’t kill anyone unless pushed to it. But it wasn’t a possibility Jake wanted to bet anyone’s life on. Especially Honor’s.
    “Slowly, my friend,” Resnikov cautioned as Jake stood in waist-deep water, pushing the shipping box toward shore in front of him. “I must always see your hands. Do not remove your fins when you come ashore.”
    “Why?” Jake said as he slogged through knee-deep water. “I can barely walk in them and you have a rifle on me in any case.”
    “Yes. Comforting, is it not? Leave the fins as they are. The dive cylinder, however, you may remove.”
    “Afraid a bullet would ricochet off the tank?” Jake asked.
    “It is possible, yes?”
    Cursing, Jake splashed ashore as noisily and awkwardly as possible. It wasn’t hard. The big fins were meant for ocean diving, not walking along a rocky shore. While he thrashed around removing his tank and harness, he was careful not to look at Kyle.
    Jake was certain Honor’s brother would try something. He only prayed that Kyle was thinking well enough to wait until Resnikov came down off the slope to inspect the amber. Until then, they didn’t have a snowflake’s chance in hell of getting their hands on the Russian without getting killed in the process.
    “Kyle, if you are gathering yourself to stand or roll into the trees, do not,” Resnikov said crisply. “I would surely shoot your sister. Remember, I would rather shoot no one.”
    “But you will,” Kyle said, his voice savage.
    “It is my worst choice. Please do not make it my only one.”
    Pale, tight, Honor stood rigidly and watched while her brother slowly relaxed. Only she could see the rock that was now clenched in his big fist.
    “Just take the damned amber and get out,” Kyle snarled.
    “I will,” Resnikov assured him. “First, however, I will see that I have genuine goods. You will assist me in that, will you not, Jacob?”
    “Sure,” Jake said acidly. “Always glad to help a friend.”
    Honor couldn’t see the Russian’s reaction. His face was hidden behind rifle and sniper scope.
    “Open the box, my friend,” Resnikov said.
    Jake looked at the shipping box. It was nailed shut. Water ran from every seam. The edges were so badly matched that they leaked even after being swollen from submersion in salt water. The inked words on the outside had faded and run, but were still legible: “Fishing Greatness/Camp of Kamchatka.” Then there was another stamp: “dried ice, game fish, PERISHABLE.”
    “Open it, huh?” Jake called to Resnikov. “Easy for you to say. I don’t have a pry bar.”
    “Use the knife you wear. When you are finished, cast the knife into the water.”
    Without a word Jake pulled his diving knife from its sheath and went to work on the box. Taking it apart was a lot easier than he thought it would be. Like the wood, the nails were made of inferior material. They had already begun to rust.
    He ripped off the lid and tossed it out of the way. A thick, opaque plastic bag lay inside the remains of the shipping box. Sitting on his heels, he cautiously slit the bag down one edge with his knife. When he finished, he put the knife back in its sheath.
    “No!” Resnikov said. “Throw the knife into the sea.”
    “There’s more wrapping.”
    Resnikov hesitated for a moment before he said curtly, “Continue. But I do not forget about your knife, Jacob.”
    “For the man with the rifle, you’re sure nervous.”
    “I have seen you move,” the Russian said, “in that pub in Kaliningrad. It was very instructive for me as well as for Kyle Donovan.”
    “Get real,” Jake said. “You’re twice as fast as I am.”
    “I thought so, once. Now I do not wish to put the