Drake eyed her, sudden hope lighting his face. “Now there’s a plan.”
They convinced Alicia that since it was her plan, she should be the one to carry it out. The Englishwoman only rolled her eyes and sighed, but left the departing comment that they should stop trying to be smart and pull it together. Truth be told, Drake did feel that the long, tense night was starting to take its toll. He gave Alicia one of their two guns and made sure he reminded her to pick up Duster’s on her way out of the castle.
They waited.
It didn’t take long. Drake, Mai and Dahl carefully found comfortable vantage points and set about surveying the entire western side between them. The night’s silence was unbroken, lending an air of isolation to proceedings that frayed their nerves even further. Absolute stillness was essential; Drake was just glad it wasn’t your typical brisk and rainy English night.
A gun was fired, the shot echoing far and wide, but clearly some distance away. Then a shout and another shot — this one coming from a different gun. The caliber of the bullet told the tale to any experienced ear. Six seconds later and another bullet was fired.
Drake waited. Their ruse had been played. It made sense that if Vincent fell for the deception he would break cover. Either way, he’d take only minutes to decide.
Not a blade of grass stirred. A hush like the calm before the storm enveloped the castle. Twenty seconds passed, then thirty. Drake could imagine Alicia becoming impatient, wondering if she should let loose another salvo. He prayed she didn’t. Vincent would surely recognize overkill.
“It didn’t work,” Dahl said.
Drake cursed inwardly. What next?
Then, eagle-eyed Mai focused on a particular spot. Drake could see by the set of her shoulders, the sudden tensing, that she’d spotted something. He squinted as best he could in the same direction, but saw only black layered upon deeper black. All of it covered in hanging foliage.
Bit by bit, Mai turned to Dahl. “Run,” she whispered.
The Swede’s jaw hit the ground. “What? Are you insane? He’d pick me off in three seconds.”
“I only need two,” she said grimly. “Now. Run.”
“Well, sorry, but that’s still cutting it a little bit fine. How about Drake? He’s fast and dumb.”
“That might have worked,” Drake admitted, “if I wasn’t standing next to you.”
Mai fixed the man with questioning eyes. “Are you losing it, Dahl?”
The Swede’s jaw picked itself up and set hard. “If you’re sure?”
“Trust me.”
Dahl did. Drake could see it in the man’s eyes. He doubted there was another person on earth Dahl would put so much faith in. If Mai said she could pull the trigger one second before Vincent, then that was good enough.
“Ready?”
Dahl took a deep breath and set himself. Mai readied their last weapon and clenched a fist. When she relaxed it, Dahl exploded into action. Dirt flew from the heels of his boots as he sprinted from full dark to partial dark. Vincent The Ghost was a sharpshooter and would be on him already, tracking for the perfect shot. Dahl’s life would be measured in the next few seconds.
Mai never wavered. Her concentration was absolute. Drake counted the seconds, every nerve in his body strained to the limit.
One… two…
Nothing happened.
Shit… Dahl!
… thr…
A shot rang out. Drake’s ears rang, signaling that it was from Mai’s gun. Despite having his eyes glued to the same spot as Mai he never saw a thing, but the Japanese woman caught a flicker, a darkness that shouldn’t be there, an odd shape that seemed somewhat alien.
It moved, just a trace, a fine adjustment of a sensitive sight perhaps, giving Mai the target. She fired. Dahl dropped to the ground.
Something fell from the foliage clinging to the ruined castle walls. At first appearance it was a leafy monster, an indeterminate shape dropping like a shapeless sack. Mai broke cover, her weapon still aimed. Dahl looked up from where he’d dropped.
Drake grinned. “Did ya break anything in your heroic dive?”
Dahl ignored him, staring at the bizarre clump. “Is that him?”
Mai moved in closer, gun arm steady, very much aware that this man was an elusive wraith — an international assassin prone to acts of misdirection. In a moment of doubt she pumped two more bullets into the mass, just in case.
Drake nodded. “Good move.”
They approached slowly. Drake whistled his admiration as Vincent’s elaborate disguise became clearer. The man had coated himself, top to bottom, in foliage then fashioned a little perch among the leaves and other greeneries that grew up the castle wall. He even wore a leafy helmet and the barrel of his gun was covered and dulled with vegetation.
“The Ghost,” Mai said. “I see why.”
“How the hell did you see him?” Drake asked.
“You can disguise and cover up all you want,” Mai said. “But you can’t hide your eyes. Not if you want to see your target.”
“You saw a glint in his eye from all the way over there?” Drake shook his head.
“You didn’t?”
“Must have been the angle,” Drake muttered. “Still, that’s another one down.”
Alicia came running up to them. “C’mon!” she cried. “Didn’t you hear the screams?”
Drake let his focus spread out. Terrified screams drifted on the air, setting the night on edge. The citizens of Sunnyvale were in trouble.
Alicia ran ahead. “It’s coming from the supermarket.”
CHAPTER TWENTY ONE
The clock ticked, moving closer to that 0600 hours pivotal point when Coyote would enter the fray. The enormous impact and potential consequences of that single act faded into the background for now as Drake heard the terrified screams coming up from the town below. The team hurried along the benighted streets, even now forced to leave nothing to chance. Assassins continued to stalk the shadows and the team had to be vigilant every step of the way. Drake knew the position of the supermarket, understanding immediately why Alicia had pinpointed it. Nothing else of any note stood out that way, save for a large parking area. What worried him was that at this time, the supermarket should have long since been deserted.
They lingered around hedgerows that clung like motorcycle sidecars to the bend that opened up on its way to the supermarket. The cries had died down by now, but Drake could still hear the low pleas of the trapped and deep groans of those in pain.
Almost on cue a voice rang out, distorted and boosted by the building’s public address system. “Drake and team. I give you five minutes then we try again. Five minutes to show yourselves and surrender to me.” A pause, then, “If not…” A scream rang out.
Drake tensed. Mai’s hand fell on his shoulder. “Wait. We have five minutes.”
“But—”
“We have five minutes.”
Drake’s natural instinct was always to rush to the aid of the innocent, those dragged into hardship and warfare through no fault of their own. But Mai was right. To rush in now was to lose whatever slight advantage they may have. Waiting gave them options.
“We need a plan,” Dahl said unnecessarily.
“Well, I got plan B covered,” Alicia smiled mirthlessly. “Storm the place.”
“The accent,” Mai said. “I think Israeli. This would be Blackbird then, the Mossad operative.”
“Didn’t think Mossad would stoop this low,” Drake grumped.
“Who knows?” Mai said. “Could be rogue. Either way, they would never admit anything. And their operatives are notoriously hard to break. The only people we actualy know that want you dead over in that general part of the world are all those terrorists you ambushed at the arms bazaar in the Czech Republic.”