Duster cackled through it all.
Mai picked up top speed almost immediately, anticipating the trajectory of the crumpling edifice. The blocks never came near her, but at the end of her sprint she tucked herself into a ball and simply launched herself into the flames.
Drake gawped. “No!”
He ran closer, as near as he dared go, squinting and sweating as a wall of heat pushed him back. The height of the flames had decreased; they were dying down. Just at the edge of his line of sight he saw Torsten Dahl following Mai’s lead, barreling toward the searing curtain and leaping through.
Drake stepped back. “Bollocks to it.”
With a short run up he too dared the blaze. Sharp, sizzling tongues licked at him from every angle, hungry for flesh. A brief crackling sound struck his ears, striking a fervent desire inside that the sound wasn’t his own burning flesh.
He landed on two feet, still running, hot but alive, charred maybe, but still on mission. Duster was in the process of rising from his prone position. Mai angled toward him. Dahl came from another angle.
“What the hell were you thinking?” Drake managed, panting.
“Got tired of waiting,” she said.
“Wotcher,” Duster cried, madness in his voice as he stood up to the odds. “Bin waiting to try this little baby out f’meself fer weeks. Now it’s bagged me five million quid.”
Drake saw in his hand a black plastic box and beneath his thumb a tiny red button.
Mai sprang for his throat.
“No!”
CHAPTER TWENTY
Mai ploughed into Duster at chest height. The look of surprise flew across the assassin’s face almost as fast as the plastic box flew out of his hands. Drake fought the choices — help Mai or try to secure the box. If it landed red-button down the odds weren’t good for survival.
Dahl had veered toward the box, an eager fielder racing for the catch of the game.
Drake ran and slid in. Duster hit the ground as Drake arrived, eating a good chunk of boot and dirt for his trouble. Mia’s leap had taken her beyond the two of them, and now she landed cat-like, already turning.
Duster groaned.
Drake let his eyes flick toward Dahl. Even Duster was trying to see what happened, cringing slightly.
Dahl flung himself forward, one hand out, as the plastic box came down to earth. Tumbling, tumbling, it hit, but Dahl’s palm was there to catch it before it landed. Furthermore, he managed to grip its square edges, preventing the little red button from striking his palm.
“Fucker landed face down,” Drake shook his head. “Always does.”
Dahl’s outstretched hand gripped the trigger harder now, the button a hair’s breadth from his skin. He sat up, grinning. “You’re out.” He nodded at Duster.
Alicia’s voice could be heard through the dwindling flames. “Are you idiots all right in there? What the hell’s going on?”
But Duster wasn’t done yet. With stamina born of years of hardship and fighting he rolled and jumped to his feet, running hard for the wall of flame. Drake knew the assassin could have traps and stashes all over the castle; allowing him his freedom wasn’t an option. Thinking on his feet, he grabbed one of the big, tumbled wall stones and flung it at the man’s back. The blow sent him reeling, straight through the flames and staggering across the other side.
“At last,” they heard Alicia say. “Something to hit.”
Alicia made short work of the assassin, holding him up by the hair as Drake, Mai and finally Dahl made their way over. The wall of flames had all but dwindled to nothing, allowing shrouds of darkness to creep back across the land.
“Shall we tie him up?” Alicia said dubiously. “Or just throw him off one of the battlements?”
“Tie him up?” Drake echoed. “You’ve brought rope?”
“Handcuffs.” Alicia smiled wickedly. “Never know when they might be useful.”
“Let’s try that,” Dahl said. “And—”
The snapping report of a gunshot cracked the night apart, echoing around the castle walls. Duster collapsed in a spray of blood, half his head blown away. Drake dived for the floor.
“We’re sitting ducks up here!”
“There were two signals.” Dahl hit the dirt beside him, still holding the detonator. “Why wait this long?”
“It is the coward’s way,” Mai said. “This assassin will have been hoping Duster would do the hard work first, then step in after.”
“That way,” Alicia said, nodding at the eastern slope. “Shot came from the west.”
Drake slithered off. As he passed Duster a hand slammed down on his own, grasping hard. “V… Vin… it is the…”
Drake gripped the man’s hand hard. Foe or not, a man about to die passed easier with a little compassion.
“All right, mate. It’s all right.”
Duster’s vision cleared for a brief second. “Vincent,” he said. “The Ghost.”
Drake nodded. Blood pooled in the grass around the man’s head. His passing was marked by nothing more than the sudden slump of his shoulders; the expected lot of a paid killer. The other three were already over the summit of the hill by the time Drake looked up and started to follow.
“What did he say?” Alicia asked.
“The shooter is Vincent, The Ghost. The notes said he likes to make use of his terrain to stay hidden; that he can wait unmoving for days until the perfect opportunity arises.”
Dahl made a speculative face. “Around that side of the castle are a few crumbling walls, a partly broken-down structure, the culvert, and the stumps of other walls long since gone to wrack and ruin. Also the ticket office.”
“One wrong move and that bastard will pick us off,” Alicia said.
“Stay close.”
Mai moved off, hugging the grassy hill as if it were her last hope. She angled downward as she crept along, slinking even further into shadow. Their adversary couldn’t know which direction they’d take, and Mai went the long way around. As Drake followed he saw her plan. Whilst still not a great advantage, she led them toward the deep culvert that led to the rusted old gate. The depth of the culvert would help shield them and get them closer to Vincent’s lair.
Wherever that was.
The team climbed down the slope and entered the culvert, slipping down to the bottom. The grass was a little wet down here, the ground soft. The sides were slick and could become a hindrance. The group kept low, moving out of the shadow of the hill and able to carefully view the western side of the castle’s grounds. Sure enough, Drake saw a discontinuous ruin of inner castle walls, one covered by foliage; enough dips and hillocks to hide a circus; a ramshackle structure; and the modern timber-built ticket office. Not to mention the battlements and even more leafy foliage and shadow coating the far castle wall.
The team watched, observed. All they needed was a glimmer.
“Getting on for oh three thirty hours,” Alicia said into the silence. “We have to end this soon if we’re still set on ruining the Coyote bitch’s grand entrance.”
“If Vincent’s dug in,” Dahl whispered. “He could stay hidden until I’m doing my victory lap.”
Drake scratched his head. “Who? You?”
“Well, we can’t just crawl on outta here and leave him behind,” Alicia hissed.