I took a run at him, two strides and up onto his back. I stamped hard into the back of the calf muscle of his right leg as I went. At the same time I landed a short vicious blow into his left kidney. As his back arched from the impact, I hooked my right hand around his neck, grabbing his Adam’s apple through the thin material of the hood and jerking his head back.
My weight came down, one foot landing heavily on the back of the man’s knee. He let out a low grunt as it folded and he twisted instinctively, trying to bring the weapon to bear, but he was too slow. I stayed on him as he dropped hard to his knees, riding him down, then stepped to the side to swing him away from the door. I released my hold, only for a second, to wrap my right arm around his throat and lock it in place with my other hand just behind the nape of his neck, making sure I kept my head well to the side in case he tried to reverse-head-butt me.
He was expert enough at hand-to-hand to know I’d got a killing grip on him. He started to panic then, scrabbling at my arm, letting the gun drop. The weapon hit the polished wooden floor with a crashing thud that was desperately loud in the darkness.
He thrashed under me. I took up whatever slack remained and jerked him still, knowing that I could cut off the blood supply to his brain any time I wanted to. Or worse.
By the time the other man darted back into view at the far end of the landing, the one I’d grabbed was rigid and motionless. I could smell the fear and the anger rising off him like cheap scent.
The second man was smaller, almost slender. He froze in midstep when he saw the two of us and he was cool enough to pause and consider his options. The nearest window was behind him and to his left, but all I could see of his face was the matte material of the ski mask he wore. I had time to register, despite the mask, that he was wearing glasses. I could tell from the set of his shoulders that he, too, was carrying something in his right hand.
“Put it down,” I said, gruff, “or I’ll break his neck.”
The man with the glasses didn’t move, just continued to stand and stare me out. We were only three meters or so apart and he was armed. At that distance, even in semidarkness with me using my captive for partial cover, he would have had to be a very mediocre shot to have missed.
“Harder than you think,” the man with the glasses said calmly, “to break a man’s neck in cold blood.”
“Easier than you think,” I returned, “to do it while your blood’s up.” I left it a beat, then hardened my voice, knowing it was unlikely he would believe me, even so. ‘And this won’t be my first time.”
I sensed rather than saw his eyes flick to the face of his larger friend. I bunched the muscles in my arms and an involuntary muffled hiccup of sound escaped my prisoner. I could feel him trembling, little more than a mild vibration, and knew he, at least, was convinced.
The man with the glasses let the muzzle of the gun drop slightly. He seemed about to speak when suddenly we heard muffled voices coming from the Lucases’ room behind him. Rosalind’s sharper tones overlaying her husband’s deeper mumble.
The man with the glasses glanced over his shoulder. Clearly he didn’t want to be the filling in a hostile sandwich. I saw him lift his shoulders slightly in a shrug that could have signified either defeat or apology. Then he was moving for the stairs.
As he made a fast but somehow unhurried descent, he swung through the full glare of the moonlight, lighting him fully for the first time. In that split second I mentally photographed the shape of his body and head, the way he moved. I wouldn’t be able to pick him out of a police lineup, but I was damned sure I’d know him if I ever saw him again on the street. Then he’d dropped from view, his footsteps suddenly heavy now the need for stealth was gone.
As his comrade abandoned him and withdrew, the big man erupted, a last-ditch attempt to effect his own release before my reinforcements arrived. Just for a second I tightened my grip, felt the creak of sinews under tension as I considered the wisdom of finishing him and going after the slim man.
Then the door behind me was yanked open and I heard Simone gasp, then Ella’s voice.
“Mummy, what-?”
“For God’s sake, Simone,” I snapped, back over my shoulder, “don’t let her see this!”
“See what?” I heard Simone take a step out onto the landing. Her voice was low with shock. “Charlie, what the hell d’you think you’re you doing?”
“What you pay me for,” I said. “Now get Ella back into your room and lock the door.”
For once, she didn’t argue. I heard the door close behind her and realized sweat was dribbling past my left eyebrow I leaned close to where I judged the man’s masked ear to be, and whispered, “You’ll never know how lucky you just were, sunshine.”
He made a strangled grunt that sounded a lot like, “Fuck you!”
With a sigh, I let go of my choke hold and kneed him roughly between his shoulder blades, punting him down onto his face. He landed hard, the air gusting out of his lungs so that it was easy enough to haul both his wrists as far up his back as the tendons would allow
At that moment, the bedroom door at the far end of the landing was yanked open and Greg Lucas came stumbling out, dressed in pajama trousers and a toweling robe. Rosalind was right behind him and before I could stop her she’d reached out to flick on the landing lights.
I flinched under the harsh bulb, momentarily blinded. The man tried to use the distraction to break my restraint, but I had leverage on my side and I used it, piling on top of him so my weight helped hold him down.
“There’s another guy,” I threw at Lucas. “He headed downstairs, and he’s got a gun.”
If I was expecting the ex-SAS man to give chase, however, I was disappointed. When my eyesight recovered enough for me to glance up at the pair of them, they hadn’t moved, both staring wide-eyed at the man I had pinned on the ground in front of them.
“Lucas!” I snapped, and he finally seemed to register the urgency in my voice. He looked up, a little dazed, and shook his head as if to clear his ears but made no moves to check out the lower floor.
“Get me something I can tie him with,” I said to Rosalind.
“Like what?”
I jerked my head towards Lucas’s robe. “His belt will do.”
They unthreaded the thin cord belt from its hoops and handed it over without a word. I tied the man’s hands together behind his back as tightly as I could manage, not caring about whether he still had circulation or not. The belt was on the thick side to be totally secure, but at least it was long enough for me to tie his ankles as well, cinching them up and back towards his wrists so his spine was bowed awkwardly. I hoped it hurt.
When it was done I patted him down quickly, just in case he was hiding another weapon. Nothing. I reached over and picked up the gun he’d dropped when I’d first grabbed him.
The gun was a Beretta M9, a 9mm standard-issue U.S. Army pistol, but with an extended barrel to take a quick-detach Advanced Armament suppressor. I thumbed the release just behind the trigger and dropped the fifteen-round magazine out, just to check, but it seemed our boy had come prepared. I shoved the full mag home again with the flat of my hand.
Before I got to my feet, I reached down for the man I’d caught, yanking the mask roughly off and tossing it aside. I rolled him over slightly- as much as I was able to with his hands and feet bound together- so his face was in the light. It gave me my first proper look at him.
And as soon as I did so, I realized I’d seen him before. It was the man from the Aquarium. The one who’d lured Simone out of the sea lion display and charmed her enough for her to call him and set up the scene of their next encounter on Boston Common. Or what would have been, if I hadn’t got in the way of it. How the hell had he followed our trail up here- unless Simone had called him? I let go of him and swore under my breath. Rosalind glanced at me sharply.