No windows to crack, easy access from the beach. The shot fired came from a man who was now running through the sand as he tried to escape. Illya didn't hesitate, he was in pursuit almost instantly, glad to not be wearing street shoes as he hit the sand and labored against the natural resistence.
Illya was fast, faster than the assassin. He caught up with him and tackled him from behind, sending the rifle out into the water just as a blow was struck that knocked the man unconscious.
The others stood stunned at the violent intrusion. Sharon was on the floor, the flow of blood the first indication that she was severely wounded. Napoleon knelt down and tried to speak to her, his emotional state now compromised by both guilt and fear.
April ran towards the bar and yelled for help, sympathetic when the bartender rose up from behind the big teakwood structure, his face ashen from such a close encounter with violence.
"Can you call an ambulance, or a doctor… anyone?" The poor man fumbled with a phone, but they weren't in a cosmopolitan setting, or anything close to it. Help would be a long time in coming. He managed to dial an operator and explain that someone had been shot, promises were made on the other end.
"They will come, but it is slow here. Your friend…' he looked toward the table, still shaking slightly from the terrible event.
"She, is she alive?"
April put her hand over his and thanked him, then walked back over to the table. Napoleon was on his haunches, his head down. Mark took April by the arm, whispering the awful truth.
"Oh… Oh, Napoleon darling… I am so … " He looked up at her, his expression saying he didn't want to hear anything more. Sharon was dead, and his last words to her had been unkind. He stood up, looked at the others and past them to see Illya dragging the shooter behind him. Mark followed his gaze and ran out to help bring the man inside.
"Napoleon, is she…?" Illya's heart sank a little at his friend's expression.
"Who sent him? Whose side is he on, do you know?" Napoleon wanted to know why two people were dead, and how politics played a part in all of it. Illya shrugged, he had nothing to offer. The man was still unconscious and he hadn't stopped to ask questions before knocking him out.
"We will get to the bottom of this, but I suspect …' Illya hesitated, looking around the table. Suzi Chen was trying to remain composed, but nothing had prepared her for this. No one was supposed to die. Something made Illya look at her more closely, scrutinizing her expression and body language. Something was off.
"I … Miss Chen, when this man comes to, is he going to recognize you?" There was a collective gasp at the implication Illya was making. Suzi Chen straightened up and turned her head, she was thinking and trying to figure out a way to avoid being interrogated.
"Mr. Kuryakin, what are you implying? I do not know anyone on Bali, I have only just come from Hong Kong, as you well know." She was determined to remain calm, this was not the plan she had agreed to.
Now Napoleon moved in a little closer. What was Illya on to? He trusted his partner, and if he was suspicious of Miss Chen, then so was Napoleon.
"What about it Miss Chen? Do you know that man? Are you involved somehow? Tell us now, perhaps we can help you." Was he crazy? This woman was handpicked to follow in April's footsteps. If they were wrong, Raymond Tse, the Asian Section Chief, would nail them to the wall over it.
No amount of Survival School training could have prepared Suzi Chen for an interrogation by these people. She felt trapped, and she was guilty by association. She never intended for anyone to get hurt, or to die. She had lobbied for this assignment in order to set things straight, because the death of Dave Rogers had been a mistake. The wrong person in the wrong place.
Napoleon could see her thinking, saw a small bead of sweat on her upper lip. She was guilty. Damn it all, she was involved somehow.
