Cold Warriors by Rebecca Levene

heavier than it looked. Tomas wobbled in a half-crouch for a second, sure that his knees were about to give. He gritted his teeth and heaved, putting his back into it as well as his thighs.
    The table rose and then toppled, showering cutlery and crockery all over Karamov's men. The waiter, who'd been reaching for Tomas, paused to gape in shock. Karamov was shouting, the other customers were screaming, and there was cream sauce spattered everywhere.
    Tomas turned on his heel and sprinted up the stairs, the outraged cries of the restaurant staff and the enraged bellows of Karamov's men echoing after him. He had five seconds' start on them, if that.

CHAPTER FIVE
     
    Morgan was in a daze of boredom, looking at the narrow-fronted houses around him and idly wondering how much they cost, when Tomas sprinted round the corner and straight into him.
    "What -?" he said, but Tomas just grabbed his arm and ran. A moment later Morgan knew what he was running from. Four, five - no, every bloody bodyguard Karamov had came barrelling round the corner towards them. They hadn't drawn their guns, but from thirty feet away Morgan could see them bulging out their trousers at the ankle. Adrenaline surged through him and his own legs started pumping as Tomas released his arm.
    The streets were still crowded, and Tomas had to shoulder people aside as he ran. Morgan heard him muttering "Sorry, sorry" to everyone he hit. Karamov's bodyguards didn't bother to apologise and step by step they were gaining.
    Morgan leapt up, getting a brief view over the heads of the crowd. It went on forever, clogging the cobbled road all the way down to the main junction.
    They'd never evade Karamov's men here. But there was a narrow, darker street snaking off to the left twenty feet ahead. Morgan started curving round towards it. He thought he heard Tomas say something and he felt the brush of fingers against his arm, but there was no time to ask what he wanted. Karamov's men were so close now that he could hear the rasp of their breathing. He put on a burst of speed, forcing energy into muscles that were already protesting the fierce workout. Sweat was sluicing from his face and arms, soaking his green t-shirt.
    Ten more feet and he'd managed to cut his way across the crowd to the side street. The instant he was in there, the gloom hit, the street too narrow to let in the sun. It was damp too, as if all the humidity in the air had condensed to water on the decaying brick walls. A welcome cool washed over him.
    Morgan suddenly felt a hand, pulling at his shoulder. He'd almost lashed out before he realised it was Tomas.
    "We've lost them, for a minute at least," the other man said. He didn't even sound winded.
    Morgan bent over, hands on his knees, as he struggled to get his breathing back under control. When he straightened, he noticed for the first time that Tomas was carrying something clasped against his chest, a small briefcase. "That what this is all about?"
    Tomas nodded. "I took it from Karamov. I'm fairly sure it's what we were sent here to retrieve."
    "And what happened to keeping a low profile?"
    "Last-minute change of plan."
    Morgan laughed helplessly, punchy with exhaustion. "No shit."
    Tomas grinned for just a moment, the smile slipping as he darted a look behind them. "We won't have lost them for long, there are only so many places we could have gone. We need to keep moving."
    "Back to the hotel?"
    "They've seen you now. If any of them recognised you... it's too big a risk."
    "Sorry," Morgan said grudgingly. "It was stupid going down to the baths."
    Tomas cocked his head suddenly, and then swore. A moment later Morgan heard the clamour of running footsteps over the background wash of traffic. "They're coming," Tomas said.
    Morgan spun round, took two steps - and collided with a small body he hadn't expected to be there. He tripped and fell, desperately trying to roll away from the blonde girl he'd knocked to the ground. His chin connected with the