Dahl pointed through the gap where the front door would be. “Just a few feet down the hallway,” he said, “is my closest estimate.”
Drake led the way, closely followed by Mai. When they passed the area indicated by the flashing dot, Dahl called out to them. When they passed it again, still seeing nothing, the Swede shook his head.
“I don’t get it.”
Drake surveyed the hallway. It was wide and high, with plasterboard to both sides. Empty doorways provided dark outlets further away. The ceiling was an untidy jumble of exposed timbers and hanging wires. Again, Dahl called out as they passed the correct location.
Drake let out a breath. “There’s nothing here but floors and walls, Dahl. Is your equipment malfunctioning?”
Dahl lowered the tracking device. “Floor and walls? Oh shit, remember the grave?”
Drake caught on in the blink of an eye. Instantly, he turned and kicked at the plasterboard, his boot cracking the gypsum and going straight through. He pulled out a chunk with his hands, ignored the white plume, and kept going. To his side Mai attacked another eight-by-four sheet and Alicia another. Gypsum dust filled the air, making them cough. Mai curled one hand around a jagged hole beside her head and pulled hard. The piece came away, leaving her staring into the frightened eyes of another victim.
“Here.”
Crouch galloped over. He ignored the man’s silent pleas whilst checking under his shirt. “Same layout as before,” he reported. “Give me a minute.”
“Not too long,” Dahl said. “We’ve taken over one hour to deactivate the first two. Even for a Swedish elite soldier that’s not a good start.”
Drake pretended to choke on plasterboard dust, coughing, “Swedish elite soldier,” as he fell to his knees, head down. Dahl threw a black look his way.
Crouch unhooked the nano-vest, holding it up to the light. Mai let the leather feed through her fingers.
“Same as the last one. Exactly.”
Alicia pursed her lips. “So. Did someone have a surplus of these things and sell them to the highest bidder?”
“Coyote?” Crouch sounded doubtful.
“The Blood King,” Alicia stressed. “This is his final curtain call.”
“Perhaps. But the op is still Coyote’s. She’d have full autonomy. And the nano angle just doesn’t make sense.”
“Well, if we can stop the debate and get moving,” Dahl said. “We might even be able to save the other two. Then you can examine the vests all you like.”
The group prepared to move off, directing the civilian again toward the church. They didn’t want him going home, pointing out that he’d already been abducted once tonight. The church might be the safest place.
Dahl held up the tracking device. “All right folks—”
The streak hit him in the midriff, travelling at high speed and taking no prisoners. Dahl’s exclamation of shock was torn from his mouth. The tracking device flew into the air. The Swede flew back and slammed into the side wall, shattering apart even more plasterboard and landing in a heap, spluttering.
A darkness detached itself from his body, a lithe, twisting darkness, every sinuous movement speaking of malice.
It leapt at Alicia, making the Englishwoman squeal before she could catch herself. The attack was so sudden, so precise and hard, that it had disconcerted everyone. The single person in the team that wouldn’t have been disquieted was Dahl, and he’d been taken out first.
Design.
Drake ran to Alicia’s aid. His friend had recovered quickly, but the bruise along the top of her left eye was already coloring. She stumbled away, and Drake was in. The Yorkshireman stepped up hard, striking at the black-clad figure with tough, accurate blows. As he worked, Mai drifted in from the right-hand side.
“Beauregard Alain,” she said softly. “Try me. I’d like to take you one-on-one.”
Soft laughter issued from beneath the mask. No words, just the whispered sibilance. No arrogant return, only quiet confidence. Drake knew that kind of confidence and knew better than to push the kind of man that oozed it. They needed to take this enemy down, and fast. He struck even harder, but the Frenchman had other ideas. With a lightning quick rib kick he doubled Drake over and switched his attention toward Mai.
The ex-ninja targeted the man’s knee with a side kick, his throat with a finger jab and his ribs with a flying-knee — all in the same movement. Beauregard caught them all and executed a comeback of his own. As Mai drifted past, he elbow-jabbed and back-kicked, striking flesh, then whirled with a reverse flying kick. The blow glanced across Mai’s skull, barely making contact.
Dahl groaned, trying to extricate himself from the wall and the broken plasterboard and failing. Crouch had already retrieved the tracking device and was checking to make sure it was still working. Drake and Alicia had recovered and were looking for the best way to enter the fray.
Beauregard’s head swiveled from side to side, the movement inside the mask giving him the appearance of a deadly predator; a black snake, a confident killer. Then he performed a feat Drake wasn’t even sure Mai could pull off. He leapt straight up, pushed off the wall at his back, and smashed both feet into Mai’s chest, using her as a way of deflecting his flight toward Drake and Alicia. Then, still in mid-air, he kicked Drake hard in the chin and Alicia right on the nose. He landed with a flourish.
And rose with a semi-automatic in each hand. “Seems I won,” he said with a heavy accent but no bravado in his voice.
Before he could fire, Michael Crouch moved to stand in front of the stunned team. “Not so fast,” he said. “You’ll have to go through me first.”
“And you are?”
But the hesitation was clear. The fact that he hadn’t pulled the trigger was obvious. He knew this man.
“You know me, Beauregard. And I know you. We worked together, before you became greedy and went rogue. You were a good man back then. Fact is—” Crouch coughed. “I still am.”
Beauregard still waited. The gun didn’t waver a millimeter. He seemed to be weighing up past impressions with current positions. Clearly, there were a lot of factors involved, both old and new.
“Who are you working for, Beauregard?” Crouch suddenly asked. “What do you know of the nano-vests?”
All of a sudden Beauregard moved. His gun arm flexed. Quickly, he saluted Crouch with the weapon. “For the past,” he said thickly. “One reprieve. Next time, it will go differently, Mr. Crouch. Do not get in my way again.”
Then he was gone, a shadow blending with the retreating dark of the night. A ghost warrior, flitting beyond vision.
“Shit and bollocks.” Alicia slapped Crouch on the back. “You do have some uses, old man.”
Crouch nodded. “Once this is all over we’ll need to move fast. Beauregard is yet another deep mystery. The man wouldn’t stoop so low as to enter a tournament like this. Somebody is running him, a hidden party. Add Mossad and the nano-vests, and you’ll see that we need to finish this fast, then get back to MI6 to get the war cabinet involved. If James isn’t awake yet I’ll bloody well shake his head from his shoulders. The security of much more than a small English village is at stake.”
Drake knew that Crouch was referring to the British Prime Minister, James Ronson, without hint or thought of vanity. Crouch was simply the most well-connected man he knew, and for good reason. If he wanted to he could topple governments and move mountains. In fact, Drake imagined, with the Ninth Division now defunct, Crouch could pretty much write his own ticket.
What next for the eminent leader?
Dahl had managed to climb upright and dust off. He retrieved the tracker from Crouch. “Now then. After that — short interlude — we can continue. Only thirty minutes left to rescue two people. Only one tracker. Are we ready?”